(Princess Anna: Age 6)
The palace gardens were buzzing with more than just bees that summer afternoon.
Near the shade of a flowering arbor, two maids worked side by side, folding linens and whispering behind cupped hands.
"Did you hear the news about Lady Talia?" one of them asked, her tone a mix of awe and envy. "Only ten years old, and she's already been accepted into the Imperial Magic Academy with highest honors! The youngest in decades."
The other maid's eyes widened with excitement, her voice dropping to a breathless whisper. "I did! They say she conjured a Tempest Griffin during the entrance trials—so magnificent that even the High Magister was left speechless. Can you imagine? The Empress must be absolutely glowing with pride."
"Oh, she is," the first maid replied, shaking out a sheet with a sharp snap. "And why wouldn't she be? Even Lady Elara, at only eight, is showing strong promise. Her instructors claim she already channels raw elemental magic with more precision than most full-grown mages."
The second maid lowered her voice, glancing around before continuing, "It's said that His Majesty believes the Empire will have two prodigies in his daughters — that together, they'll ensure Astoria's magical supremacy for generations."
They both fell quiet for a moment, working in near silence before the first maid sighed.
"And then there's the little one. Lady Anna."
A shadow of pity crossed her face. "Sweet girl, but… well, she doesn't seem to have any gifts at all, does she? Always running wild through the gardens, getting into mischief. Perhaps she takes after her grandmother more than her sisters."
The other maid gave a small laugh. "The old queen does dote on her. I suppose every family has its delicate blossom. Some children simply bloom later than others."
Their conversation faded into the hum of palace life as they moved back toward the servants' quarters, never noticing the figure standing just beyond the hedge.
Aeloria's sharp eyes followed them until they vanished from sight, her expression unreadable. Her spine was straighter than usual today, her hands folded neatly before her, but beneath the outward calm, her heart smoldered with quiet determination.
Anna, her precious Anna, was no delicate blossom. The others might not see it yet, but Aeloria knew — the child's gift was rarer and more dangerous than either of her sisters' talents.
As Aeloria turned to look out in the sunlit courtyard, Anna's laughter rang clear as she dashed through the grass. In one hand she clutched a stick that she had declared her "royal sword," while the other was outstretched toward a cluster of startled pigeons.
"By the power of the Imperial Guard," she cried, "I command you to surrender!"
The pigeons scattered in a flurry of feathers, and Anna squealed with delight, chasing after them with no regard for her muddied shoes or grass-stained dress.
From the shaded edge of the garden, Aeloria watched her granddaughter with fondness and worry twined tightly together.
The child's sisters might have drawn the attention of the court with their dazzling magic and scholarly promise, but Anna's gift was subtler — and infinitely more dangerous. When Anna's emotions surged, the very air seemed to hum in response. Aeloria alone noticed how the ground beneath their feet sometimes trembled, how the birds stilled as if listening to something only they could hear.
It was resonance.
The same ancient magic that had once flowed through Aeloria's mother, Queen Athena — the same magic that had nearly been lost to history. And it was awakening in Anna, whether the world was ready or not.
"Anna," Aeloria called, her voice steady but warm.
Anna skidded to a stop mid-chase, her pink hair sticking out in every direction. A huge grin split her face. "Grandmother!"
She abandoned her "royal sword" and sprinted across the courtyard, flinging herself into Aeloria's waiting arms.
"You were supposed to come to me an hour ago for your studies," Aeloria chided lightly, brushing leaves from Anna's hair. "Your governess said you vanished the moment she turned her back."
Anna wrinkled her nose. "She wanted to practice writing again. But I already know how to write my name, Grandmother. That's boring."
Aeloria's lips twitched. "There is more to learning than your name, little one. But today… Yes, today's lesson will be different."
Anna's eyes lit with curiosity. "Different how?"
"You'll see soon enough."
Hand in hand, they left the gardens, slipping away from the noise and bustle of the palace. Aeloria led Anna through a long-forgotten wing of the palace — one that no servants entered, its corridors thick with dust and silence.
To the court, these "private lessons" were nothing more than refined tutoring in courtly manners, history, and diplomacy. Only Aeloria and Anna knew the truth: these sessions were a quiet awakening, carefully hidden beneath the guise of childhood games.
The secret chamber at the end of the hall had become their sanctuary. Its domed ceiling was painted with faded constellations, and its shuttered windows let in only narrow slivers of light. In the center of the room lay a woven mat surrounded by smooth stones etched with strange, swirling runes.
Anna paused at the threshold, a little breathless from their run. "I like this room," she said softly. "It feels… quiet. Like the whole world is holding its breath."
Aeloria's chest tightened at the truth in those words. "Yes," she murmured. "That is why we come here."
Anna plopped herself onto the mat, swinging her legs. "So what are we doing today, Grandmother? More stories? Or the game where I have to guess what you're hiding behind your back?"
"Not today." Aeloria sat opposite her, folding her legs gracefully. "Today, we will play a new game — one about stillness."
Anna groaned loudly. "Stillness sounds boring."
"Perhaps," Aeloria said, lips curving into a small smile. "But even the greatest warriors must be still sometimes, or they will swing their swords at shadows."
Reluctantly, Anna closed her eyes as instructed.
"Good," Aeloria said softly. "Now breathe deeply and listen. Imagine the world around you has gone completely silent. Somewhere beneath that silence is a song — very faint, very quiet. Can you hear it?"
Anna tilted her head, frowning in concentration.
At first there was only the creak of wood and the distant trill of birds outside. Then, slowly, her brow smoothed and her lips parted in awe.
"…It's like humming," she whispered. "Deep down, like when you put your ear on the ground and feel someone walking far, far away."
Aeloria's heart swelled with pride and dread.
She hears it already… sooner than I feared.
"Yes, my darling," she murmured. "That is the heartbeat of the world. Very few people ever hear it."
Anna's eyes flew open. "Does that mean I'm special?"
"It means," Aeloria said carefully, "that you are listening in a way most never do. And that gift must be guarded closely. Promise me, Anna — this stays between us."
Anna's small face was solemn as she nodded. "I promise."
Later that night, as Anna drifted toward sleep, she stirred and murmured dreamily, "Grandmother… I like this music."
Aeloria froze, her pulse thundering. "Music?"
Anna smiled faintly, still half-asleep. "It's so pretty… like the stars are singing."
Aeloria brushed a trembling hand across her granddaughter's brow, her touch soft as falling snow. "Sleep, little one. Listen only in dreams, for now," she murmured, her voice carrying a warmth that steadied Anna's restless breathing.
Leaning closer, Aeloria tucked a stray lock of hair behind Anna's ear. "You must rest, my sweet girl," she said gently. "Tomorrow will be a long day. We set out for the capital at first light, and the journey will demand all your strength."
Aeloria lingered for a moment, her gaze softening as she watched Anna's breathing settle into a steady rhythm. Satisfied that her granddaughter had finally surrendered to sleep, she rose from the bedside with a quiet grace. The weight of her thoughts seemed to cling to her shoulders, her steps careful and measured as she crossed the room.
She slipped through the door and closed it gently behind her, mindful not to wake Anna. In the dimly lit corridor, the warm flicker of torchlight revealed the storm brewing behind her calm expression. Her hands, though steady now, still tingled from the memory of the strange energy she'd felt radiating from Anna earlier.
With a purposeful stride, Aeloria made her way toward Selene's chambers. The palace was quiet at this hour, its vast halls shrouded in a hush that only deepened her unease. When she reached the Empress's private quarters, she knocked softly. The door opened almost immediately, Selene standing there, her silken night robe hastily tied, worry etched across her tired face.
"Mother," Selene breathed, relief and concern mingling in her tone. "How is she? Did the fever break?"
Aeloria stepped inside, closing the door behind her. "She sleeps," she said quietly, her voice low but edged with tension. "But, Selene… there is something we must speak of."
Selene's brow furrowed as she guided her mother toward the low table near the window. "You sound troubled. What is it?"
Aeloria hesitated, choosing her words with care. "Tonight, I felt it—raw and unshaped, but unmistakable. Anna's magic."
Selene's breath caught. "No," she whispered, shaking her head. "That cannot be. The physicians, the Magisters… they've all said she has no talent, no spark."
"They are wrong," Aeloria said firmly, her voice sharp enough to cut through Selene's denial. She leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with urgency. "It was only for a moment, like the earth itself exhaling, but it was there. And not like the magic of Talia or Elara. This was… different. Older."
Selene's hands trembled as she clasped them together. "Older? What do you mean?"
Aeloria's gaze drifted to the window, where moonlight spilled in pale, silvery beams, glinting against the cold marble floor. Her voice softened, carrying the weight of memories long buried.
"My mother once spoke of such magic," she began, her tone almost reverent. "She called it resonance—a connection not to flame or storm, but to the very breath of the world itself. It is rare, Selene. So rare that even in our most ancient records, it appears only as fragments, whispers lost to time. Those who carried it were not like other mages. Their power did not shout or burn. It hummed beneath the surface, like the pulse of the earth, subtle and profound."
Selene's lips parted, her expression caught between disbelief and fear. "Mother… you speak as though it's some old fable. A bedtime story."
Aeloria's eyes snapped to hers, sharp and unyielding. "It is no story. My mother lived it. I felt her resonance myself when I was a child. I swore I would never forget its touch—the way it seemed to align with the world around her, like a song only she could hear. And tonight, Selene…" Her voice trembled. "I felt that same song in Anna."
Selene shook her head violently, rising to her feet as if the very notion was too dangerous to remain seated. "No. That is impossible." Her voice cracked, climbing higher with each word. "Anna has been tested. Examined by every Magister in the capital. They found nothing. Nothing, Mother. Do you know what you're suggesting? Do you know what would happen if anyone—if Valerius—ever suspected such a thing?"
Aeloria stood slowly, her own voice steady though her hands clenched into fists. "Yes, I know. That is why we must guard this secret carefully. If Valerius discovers her gift before we understand it, he will not hesitate to—"
"Enough!" Selene's voice rang through the chamber like a whip crack. Her breathing came fast, unsteady, as if she'd been struck. She turned away sharply, pressing a trembling hand to her temple. "I will not hear this. Not tonight. Not when we must leave at dawn."
"Selene—" Aeloria began, but her daughter-in-law cut her off, her tone breaking under the weight of fear.
"No," Selene said firmly, though her eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Tomorrow, we face the capital. The court. Valerius himself. I cannot bear wild tales or ancient warnings clouding my thoughts. Anna is… she is my child, and I will keep her safe by ensuring there is nothing for anyone to suspect."
A heavy silence fell between them, thick and suffocating. Finally, Selene drew in a shaky breath and turned toward the door. "Go, Mother. Please. We have a long journey ahead of us, and I need rest… we both do."
Aeloria lingered for a heartbeat, her lips pressing into a thin, troubled line. "Very well," she said quietly. "But know this, Selene—truth does not vanish simply because we refuse to see it."
Without another word, she slipped from the chamber, leaving Selene standing alone, her back rigid, her hands gripping the window ledge as though it were the only thing keeping her from falling apart. Outside, the moonlight seemed colder, the silence of the palace heavier than before.