To the west of the capital, beyond the hills often covered in soft mist, stood Trevana — an old village that seemed to survive not because it was important, but out of pure stubbornness, like a child who refuses to fall asleep.
In the summer, sunlight would break through the fog and shine across the green fields, revealing a quiet beauty that felt almost forgotten. Trevana was rarely shown on the maps drawn by the capital's mapmakers, and the soldiers of the kingdom of Musvarod rarely passed through. Still, the people of Trevana didn't seem to mind being overlooked. Life there moved slowly and peacefully, as if time itself walked more gently in that part of the world.
The village's buildings were unlike any others — made of dark stone carved from the ancient rock of long-sleeping volcanoes nearby. According to old local legends, those volcanoes would one day awaken again. And when that day came, the sun would turn blue, marking the beginning of a great change lost to history. That, at least, was what the village elders believed, based on old carvings and quiet songs passed down through the years.
At the far northern end of the village stood Caerion Suerio's forge — one of Trevana's largest buildings. Its tall chimney always sent smoke into the sky, even on quiet days when no metal was being worked. This was the home of the Suerio family, known in the village for their kindness, respect, and peaceful way of living. Caerion and his wife Velmira had come to Trevana about ten years ago. Since then, they had lived quietly on the northern edge of the village. Over time, they had a single daughter: Emma Suerio.
Emma was especially close to her mother, who would tell her stories about life in the capital — tales of golden palaces, hanging gardens, and markets filled with fruits from faraway lands. Some believed that Velmira had noble blood, though no one ever dared to ask her directly. She was known simply as Velmira Tharys. Caerion, on the other hand, spent most of his time at the forge, working with iron and fire. He was a quiet man, strong and steady, with a serious presence. Each night after dinner, he would sit alone in his small study, writing slowly in handmade books filled with symbols, notes, and thoughts that only he seemed to understand.