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The sun rose, revealing the sprawling kingdom of Eldoria– the fifth-largest kingdom of the human continent, stretched like a golden tapestry between the realms of man and myth.
For its king, ruling as a mere human was no ordinary feat–King Aaron, bore the crown not with pride, but with solemn fury.
He had inherited a kingdom surrounded by beings of ancient power—beings who had no love for humans, and even less patience for their frailty.
Wars had been fought. And lost. Eldorian soldiers were brave, but bravery did not shield flesh from claws, fangs, or fire.
Vampires, witches, werewolves—creatures whose strength could shatter armies—had once clashed fiercely with Eldoria's forces.
For years, King Aaron led futile wars against them, losing lives and stability.
To forge peace and halt the bloodshed, He made a bold and unheard-of decision: He offered alliances sealed not with signatures, but with sacred vows, oaths, rituals, and blood—he sought brides from the very enemies who had haunted Eldoria's borders for centuries.
In time, three supernatural queens share his throne:
— Queen Erica of the Vampires—cold, cunning, regal in her silence.
— Queen Odette of the Witches— calm, and enigmatic, her gaze relaxed with something primeval .
— Queen Alyssa of the Werewolves—fierce and quiet, intelligent with wildfire in her spirit.
It was not easy– not peaceful at first. The palace trembled beneath the weight of old rivalries. Jealousies bloomed like poisonous vines.
The queens were fierce, proud rulers in their own right, bound by history and hatred.
But through time, diplomacy, and the king's unyielding will, something miraculous happened: they began to love not just him, but each other. In place of rivalry bloomed sisterhood, and from their union came ten royal children—five princes, five princesses—each a testament to the power that now flowed through the kingdom's veins.
From Queen Erica, the vampire: Roland, Richard, and Dora.
From Queen Odette, the witch: Raymond, Rollins, and Darcy.
From Queen Alyssa, the werewolf: Robert and Dawn.
And from Queen Eunice, the human–his last wife: Bethany and Brittany.
The children were born one year apart, like verses in a carefully sung ballad—save for Darcy and Bethany, who shared a birth year, a bond deeper than coincidence. The palace was filled with their laughter, their duels, their rivalries.
And at the end of the lineage, smallest of all, was Brittany.
With a rather interesting backstory, she had a voice softer than the others', her aura nearly invisible—until you dared to look closer.
Her skin carried the softness of dusk.
Her bluish-amber hazel eyes shimmered with layered light, like a storm trapped in a jewel, that also held fire and mystery.
Likewise, her hair flowed like the river at sunset, and shimmered like twilight silk: brown with gold, dark with whispers.
There was something strange about her quiet—how it filled a room without saying a word.
She was doted on by many, but envied by more. Her beauty, soft and otherworldly, cast a light that seemed to eclipse even her most magical siblings.
And though she bore no visible powers, her very presence stirred something ancient and unspoken.
Brittany had no magic, or so it seemed.
While her siblings summoned storms or cast illusions, she walked barefoot through the royal gardens talking to birds and singing to the wind.
She was kind—too kind. Gentle in a court that rewarded spectacle. She was the easiest to ignore. And for some of her sisters… the easiest to envy.
Her stepmothers smiled in public, but their silences grew longer behind closed doors.
But Brittany didn't ask for attention.
What she would soon discover… was that fate had been waiting for her to awaken all along.
Power does not always arrive with thunder. Sporadically it lies coiled beneath the ribcage, waiting…