Diana hurried back to the palace. The Water Tribe was divided into three provinces: the South, the North, and the Central Province. Diana was from the Central Province, the most powerful among the three.
The Central Province itself was divided into ten clans, ruled by her own clan, the First Clan, which stood above the other nine. Her grandfather, King Ura, sat on the throne as the supreme ruler.
By tradition, his daughter; Diana's mother should have been married off to another clan. But fate intervened: King Ura had no sons to inherit his rule.
Many of the clan elders urged him to adopt a son from among his brothers' children, yet King Ura hesitated.
Then, eighteen years ago, a fragile hope bloomed: Diana's grandmother became pregnant once more. The court physicians confidently predicted a son after three daughters, but no one foresaw the Fire Tribe's sudden and brutal assault.
The Fire Tribe had always been greedy; they hated the delicate balance between the Water and Fire Tribes. From time to time, fierce wars would erupt between these ancient rivals.
This attack, though sudden, was not the first. They warred for half a year. During this time, her grandmother did give birth to a son, but he was premature and did not survive.
Though prepared, both tribes suffered grievous losses. Yet, as always, it was the unarmed who bore the heaviest burden.
In the ashes of war, peace negotiations began. With no male heir, King Ura made a daring proposal: a marriage alliance between the Water and Fire Tribes, an alliance not forged for centuries.
Marriages between the two tribes had always ended in tragedy, with offspring dying shortly after birth. It was said that the two magical elements conflicted, and the children could not survive.
Still, King Ura, determined to break the cycle of bloodshed, dared to hope. If such a child survived, they might unite a divided world.
The Fire Tribe agreed; after all, they had more than one prince. If a child born from the marriage could survive, there would be lasting peace. If not, at least a few precious years of truce.
Thus, the young prince of the Fire Tribe was sent to the Water Tribe to marry the water princess ; Diana's mother, Princess Karen.
Through careful nurturing and vigilance, she bore a son, Eliza. His innate magic leaned towards fire, and though frail at birth, Princess Karen diligently shielded him from the water magic that might have unbalanced his fragile body.
With care, the first son grew past three years of age; a milestone no child born of such a union had ever reached.
When Eliza was nearly five, Princess Karen bore a daughter: Diana.
Princess Karen wanted to test and discover which innate ability was stronger in her daughter, hoping to shield her as she had shielded Eliza. But to her dismay, her daughter had no innate magical abilities at all.
This news shocked her and the royal clan.
It was not the first time such a thing had happened; it was rare, but not unheard of.
Usually, a child without innate abilities would immediately be expelled from the clan and tribe.
But Princess Karen loved her daughter dearly; who was very beautiful and the royal clan also feared that news of the princess giving birth to a powerless child would disgrace them.
Thus, they fabricated a story: that Diana's innate abilities were extremely strong and had to be sealed until she was strong enough to wield them.
Although a few people harbored doubts after all, no one had ever heard of sealing innate abilities before; person might have weak abilities, or damage their core, but sealing magic was unheard of.
Still, since no child born of the Water and Fire Tribes had survived more than two years and yet the Crown Prince was almost five they swallowed their doubts.
If one impossibility stood before them, how could they reject a second?
Diana had just turned thirteen that year and lived carefully within the palace's gilded cage.
She hurried to the Hall of Justice, not wanting to miss the steward's punishment.
Her elder brother followed behind her. Because of Diana's secret, she was rarely allowed to leave the palace, and only the most loyal servants were permitted to serve her.
That day, she had been allowed out only because her brother had promised to watch her closely.
Upon entering the Justice Hall, she realized the steward was already reporting the incident.
"The boy was ignorant, Your Lordship," the steward said, bowing low. "It was but a small difference in coin. When he dared to make a scene, I had no choice but to discipline him."
Diana's blood boiled. She stepped forward, her voice slicing through the hall.
"You lie! You paid them less than half their due. Your crime of stealing should be punished severely!"
She could not stand to watch the man escape justice.
The steward paled, sweat beading on his forehead.
Stealing was punishable by death. But since when had taking from the unarmed been considered theft?
"Your Highness wrongs me," he pleaded. "I have never stolen a pin from this palace!"
He looked at Diana as if she were committing a great injustice.
Diana sneered. A man quick to bully the weak but a coward when faced with justice.
The lord presiding; a distant cousin of the royal line — sighed heavily.
"What did he steal?" he asked, his tone indifferent.
Diana blinked. "Is taking the wages of workers not stealing?" she demanded.
The lord frowned but waved a dismissive hand.
"Steward Sma, you have made the mistake of miscalculating the workers' wages. You will be fined half a month's salary," the lord said.
He understood everything that had happened at the fields.
He deliberately chose not to pursue the matter further.
As long as there was no chaos, he did not care. Steward Sma had handled the situation "properly" enough.
It was enough to maintain appearances ; enough to keep order without empowering the unarmed to believe that justice truly applied to them.
Diana was dumbfounded. She opened her mouth to protest, but her brother quickly covered it with his hand, murmuring in her ear,
"Cause a scene, and you'll never leave the palace again."
Swallowing her outrage, Diana fell silent.
She understood. She was not a child anymore.
Still, the image of the boy cradling his wounded mother gnawed at her heart, stealing her breath.
Justice in the Water Tribe was like the river: muddy, slow, and always favoring those who floated above.