Part I
The clearing was silent, save for the sound of Sylvara's heavy breathing. Sweat dripped from her brow, her sword still raised from the final motion of the test. Master Veyr stood across from her, arms crossed, his sharp gaze fixed on her form. Then, with a small nod, he stepped forward.
"You passed," he said simply.
Sylvara blinked, catching her breath. "That's it? No praise? No congratulations?"
Master Veyr smirked faintly. "You want praise? Earn it during training. This was merely the door. Now you walk the path."
With that, he turned and began to walk away. Sylvara, still panting, slowly lowered her blade and sat down right where she stood. The grass felt cool beneath her, and for the first time since morning, she allowed herself a moment of rest. She smiled—tired, sore, but proud.
As she sat there, arms resting over her knees, Master Veyr's voice drifted back to her. "Tired already? My real training is much harsher than this."
Sylvara looked up, slightly annoyed but still curious. "Before we start this 'real training,' can I at least know your name?"
He turned to face her again, one brow raised. "You came all the way here without even knowing who I am?"
"Well," she replied, folding her arms, "how could I? You appeared out of nowhere this morning, said a few cryptic things, and disappeared. Besides, I left without hearing Commander Blackfyre's full explanation."
He chuckled, the sound like gravel underfoot. "Fair enough. You may call me Master Veyr. That's all you need for now."
With that, he walked into the deeper woods, vanishing among the trees. Sylvara remained seated a moment longer, then slowly stood, legs aching. She stretched and started making her way back to the palace.
She didn't get far before she nearly collapsed again, exhaustion dragging at her limbs. It was just near the royal gardens when she finally gave up and slumped under a tree. She leaned back, letting her silver hair fall over her shoulder, eyes half-lidded.
That's when she heard a panicked voice.
"Your Highness?!"
Kaelen's voice rang out as he rushed toward her, eyes wide. He knelt beside her. "What happened? Are you hurt?"
Sylvara groaned, waving a hand lazily. "Relax, Kaelen. I'm just tired… That's all."
"You can rest in your room. Why are you lying out here?" he scolded, clearly still worried.
"I tried. My legs refused to walk any farther, so I decided to lie here," she said with a faint smirk.
Without another word, Kaelen swept her into his arms.
"What—Kaelen! What are you doing?" she yelped.
"If my father finds out I left you passed out in the garden, he'll murder me. I have to go home too, so let's get you there first."
Before Sylvara could argue further, Kaelen took flight, his black draconic wings unfurling behind him. He soared above the palace gardens, heading straight for Sylvara's balcony. With practiced ease, he landed softly, placing her on the couch near her window.
"Please," Kaelen said, brushing a few strands of hair from her face, "don't lie down in random places like that. You scared me."
Sylvara blinked up at him, then chuckled. "Thank you. Now I know exactly who to call when I don't feel like walking or flying."
Kaelen rolled his eyes but smiled as he turned to leave. "Get some rest. Training again tomorrow?"
"Of course," she said softly. "Every day from now on."
As Kaelen disappeared into the corridor, Sylvara glanced at the night sky. A new path had opened for her—one filled with fire, pain, and strength. And she would walk it, no matter how long it took.
---
Part II – Silver and Steel
The days turned to weeks, the weeks to months, and soon, two full years had passed. Sylvara, now fifteen, had grown in strength, poise, and discipline. Every morning, she studied with Commander Blackfyre—lessons on the history of the empire, diplomacy, governance, and the responsibilities that awaited her as the sole heir of the Drakonis line. And every afternoon, she trained with Master Veyr, the mysterious swordmaster who had once taught her father.
Her days were relentless. From the break of dawn to late at night, her schedule was filled with no room for rest. Yet Sylvara never complained. She pushed forward, driven by the fire in her blood and the echo of her father's words in her heart.
That evening, like many others, she returned to her chamber after a long day of training. Her muscles ached and her robes were stained with dust and sweat. She collapsed onto the velvet-cushioned sofa in her room and let out a long sigh.
"Two years…" she whispered to herself. "The most tiring years of my life."
She leaned back, staring at the painted ceiling above, thinking about how different she had become. No longer the spirited, impulsive girl who had left Virethia—now she bore the weight of the empire with grace and determination.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.
"Come in," she said.
Her personal maid stepped inside and bowed.
"Your Highness, a letter has arrived from Virethia."
Sylvara sat up and took the letter.
"You may go," she said.
Once alone, she opened the seal. The elegant script was unmistakably her aunt's. Queen Virella and Crown Prince Vaelen will arrive at the Imperial Palace in two days.
In the past, Sylvara would have leapt with joy at the news. But now, she remained composed. She folded the letter and called for the head maid.
"Prepare the palace. The Queen of Virethia and the Crown Prince will be arriving in two days."
"Yes, Your Highness."
---
Two days later, the gates of the Dragon Palace opened with thunderous welcome. Sylvara stood at the grand entrance, flanked by imperial guards. She watched as the silver-and-lilac banners of Virethia fluttered in the wind and the royal carriages rolled in.
Queen Virella stepped out first, radiant in her moon-silk robes. Beside her stood Vaelen Moonveil, tall and proud, his white hair catching the morning light.
Sylvara smiled gently and bowed.
"Welcome to the Dragon Empire."
Queen Virella took her niece's hands.
"You've grown beautifully, Sylvara. Strong and poised. You're maturing faster than I expected."
Sylvara allowed a small smirk.
"Isn't that a good thing?"
Before she could say more, Vaelen walked up with a grin.
"Still the same serious face. You really have changed, cousin."
"And you still talk too much," Sylvara replied with a playful look. "You should rest now—it's been a long journey."
---
That evening, Queen Virella and Commander Blackfyre spoke in the garden as the moon rose above them.
"She's no longer a child," Virella said softly. "She carries herself like a ruler already."
Commander Blackfyre nodded.
"She's her father's daughter."
Later at dinner, the royal family gathered around the grand dining table. The mood was warm, the room filled with laughter and light conversation. Sylvara, curious, finally asked:
"So, what was the surprise you mentioned in the letter?"
Queen Virella smiled.
"Vaelen will soon be crowned King of Virethia. That is why we came—to take you back with us for the coronation ceremony."
Sylvara blinked.
"We leave tomorrow?"
"Yes," the Queen replied calmly. "We set out in the morning."
"Isn't that too early?" Sylvara protested mildly, not expecting the news so soon.
But Queen Virella had already stood and was walking away toward her chambers. Sylvara sighed, glancing at Vaelen, who only shrugged and smirked.
"Looks like there's no arguing with her."
---
Part III – The Coronation in Virethia
The sky was still pale when the royal convoy departed from the Dragon Palace. Sylvara rode at the center, flanked by Queen Virella and Crown Prince Vaelen, the golden sun crest of the Drakonis Empire gleaming on her cloak. Behind them followed a train of Virethian and Drakonian guards, carriages bearing gifts, and servants bustling with preparations.
The journey to Virethia took days, crossing misty forests and starlit valleys. As they passed the borders of the magical kingdom, the landscape shimmered with otherworldly beauty. Glowing trees lined the moonlit roads, and silver rivers flowed gently, humming with ancient magic. Sylvara looked out at the familiar land of her childhood, the place where she had once played beneath enchanted willows and learned her first spells beside her aunt.
"It hasn't changed at all," she whispered.
"No," Vaelen said, riding beside her. "But you have."
Sylvara turned toward him.
"And you've grown into a crown prince."
"Tomorrow, I'll be a king," he said with a touch of pride. "You'll stand with me at the coronation, won't you?"
"Of course. We were raised together—it's your day as much as mine."
---
By evening, the royal procession entered Lunaris, the capital of Virethia. The streets were draped in violet banners, the people cheering and tossing moonblossoms from balconies. Children sang, and ethereal music filled the air.
The palace—an ethereal structure of pale crystal and silver towers—stood bathed in starlight, glowing as if carved from the moon itself. Inside, every hall was being prepared for the grand coronation. Foreign envoys had already begun to arrive: elves from the far forests, dwarves from the stone peaks, nobles from other kingdoms, and even a mysterious cloaked figure from the North.
That night, Sylvara stood on her balcony, watching the stars glimmer above the magical capital. For a moment, she let herself breathe, away from the duties and expectations. But her peace didn't last long.
Knock knock.
"Come in."
It was Kaelen.
He entered in travel-stained clothes, having arrived late with the Drakonian delegation. His hair was windswept, and there was a mischievous glint in his eye.
"You didn't think I'd let you come here without backup, did you?"
Sylvara raised an eyebrow.
"You missed the grand arrival."
"I heard the flowers were nice. I brought you something better."
He tossed her a small silver box. Inside, wrapped in black velvet, was a crescent-shaped pin carved with dragon wings—elegant, simple, and strong.
"For the coronation," he said. "A symbol of who you are."
Sylvara's fingers brushed over it. Her voice softened.
"Thank you, Kaelen."
He turned toward the window.
"You ready for tomorrow? You'll be standing in front of the entire world."
"I was born ready," she said, with a slight smile.
---
The next morning dawned bright and clear. The Coronation Hall of Lunaris was filled with dignitaries from every realm. Music echoed through the silver vaults as Vaelen Moonveil stepped forward in his ceremonial robes, the crown of Virethia shimmering with enchantments passed down through generations.
Sylvara stood beside him, dressed in a flowing robe of silver and midnight blue, the pin Kaelen gave her fastened near her shoulder. Whispers passed through the crowd. Many hadn't seen her in years—now, they saw not a girl, but the heir of the Drakonis Empire, carrying herself with regal strength.
Queen Virella spoke the ancient words, her voice echoing like chimes through the hall. As she placed the crown upon Vaelen's head, the light of the Moon Crystal above them burst into a radiant glow.
"By right of blood, magic, and moonlight—Virethia has its King."
Applause thundered through the hall.
Vaelen turned to Sylvara, his eyes shining.
"One day, it'll be your turn."
"Perhaps," she said, her expression unreadable. "But today is yours."
---
That night, the celebrations continued with music, feasts, and starlit dances in the palace gardens. But for Sylvara, the coronation was more than a ceremony—it was a reminder.
A reminder of the path still ahead.
A reminder of the legacy she bore.
And of the war that would one day come for her blood and her crown.
---