The journey from Dalsmere to the capital was long and tense. For days, Serenya rode in near silence, sandwiched between Lord Corvin and the grim-faced guards who spoke little and watched everything. The landscape changed with every mile—lush green hills gave way to dense forests, then to rolling fields littered with the remnants of old battlegrounds. Each step brought her closer to the truth—and further from the life she had known.
But what haunted her most wasn't the strange looks from passing villagers or the looming towers she could now spot on the horizon.
It was the dream.
It came to her the first night after she left her village. In it, she stood in a grand hall bathed in firelight. A crown floated above a golden throne, spinning slowly in midair, as if waiting. Flames licked the walls, but they didn't burn—they danced. Figures cloaked in shadow watched her from the edges, whispering in tongues she didn't recognize. Just as she reached for the crown, a pair of piercing silver eyes flashed before her, and she jolted awake.
She hadn't slept well since.
"Restless night again?" Lord Corvin asked as they stopped near a forest clearing for breakfast. His tone was casual, but his gaze was keen, as though he already knew the answer.
Serenya avoided his eyes. "It's nothing. Just… dreams."
Corvin handed her a cup of warm tea. "Dreams are rarely just dreams for those who carry old blood."
She took the cup, its warmth grounding her slightly. "Why me?" she asked quietly. "Why now? If my family was truly part of the royal bloodline, why wasn't I told?"
Corvin looked into the flames of their small fire before answering. "Because it was safer that way. After the Solmar line fell, those loyal to the crown scattered what remained. You were hidden in Dalsmere under a false name, watched from afar. No one could know who you really were—not even you."
"That sounds like something out of a bard's tale," she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking.
"And yet, here you are." Corvin met her eyes. "The blood of House Solmar lives in you, whether you asked for it or not. Your power will awaken. And with it, your enemies will come."
Serenya looked away, the weight of his words tightening in her chest. "So I'm supposed to just accept all of this? Abandon everything I knew and step into a role I never asked for?"
"Yes," Corvin said simply. "Because you have no choice."
His honesty was brutal—but it struck a chord. Deep down, something within her stirred at his words. It wasn't just fear. It was recognition. A thread pulling tight inside her soul, as if this path had always been there, waiting for her to step onto it.
As the sun rose higher, they mounted their horses and continued riding. By midday, the towers of Vireth broke the horizon. The capital city loomed in the distance, carved into the cliffs like a great beast watching over the sea. Its walls shimmered with silver runes, ancient protections that pulsed faintly even from afar.
Serenya had never seen anything so vast. Or so ominous.
"Welcome to Vireth," Corvin said, watching her carefully. "This is where the true game begins."
As they crossed the stone bridge that led into the city gates, Serenya felt it again—that strange sensation in her chest. Like fire curled beneath her ribs. A warning. Or a calling.
And for the first time, she wondered if the dream hadn't been just a dream at all.