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Chapter 2: The Kingdom of Women
The war burned through her homeland, tearing through villages and tribes like a curse. What remained were ashes… and women who refused to fall.
Zhalira stood alone at first—scarred, hunted, broken. Her people had been scattered, the warriors slain, and the girls taken. But in the shadows of the old forest, she began again. Not with an army, but with survivors.
The youth who followed her were all women—once slaves, servants, daughters of the forgotten. Some had been left behind. Some had escaped the chains. And others had been saved by Zhalira herself, carried across bloodied lands on aching feet.
Together, they carved a home from secrecy. Hidden deep in the earth, beyond the eyes of kings and men, they built Drakarra—a kingdom where no man ruled, and no woman knelt.
Zhalira bore three dragons in the heart of that forest:
One black.
One green.
One white.
Each pulsing with a power as ancient as the stars.
That night, thunder cracked. The skies dimmed. And a new fire lit beneath the world.
The women of Drakarra trained in silence—swords and sorcery, healing and flame. They wore scars as armor and wielded pain as strength. Zhalira led them not from a throne, but from the dirt beside them.
They became known as the Flameborn, daughters of war and rebirth. They were no longer forgotten—they were feared.
Drakarra was more than a hidden empire.
It was a kingdom of women.
A land born from loss, ruled by unity, protected by dragons.
And across the seas, in Loria, the men in palaces began to whisper.
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