(~821 words — part 6)
The letter was sealed in silver wax, embossed with the crescent-feather crest of House Vael'Therin.
Inside, the message was brief:
"You are invited to the Palace of Mirrors as a guest of Princess Seralyth.
Your presence is requested within three days.
Discretion advised. Travel quietly."
The words glowed faintly with arcane ink—meant to vanish if tampered with.
Nyari stared at it in silence.
She didn't tell the guildmaster she was nervous. Or that her hands trembled, just a little, after folding the letter.
She didn't say that part of her—the part still tied to a boy who used to hide in library corners—was afraid.
She just nodded.
"…I'll go."
🛤️ The Road to Rivelorne
Two days later, Nyari rode alone.
No carriage. No guards.
Just her cloak, her dagger, and the sigil-sealed pass the princess had given her. She moved fast, sometimes running, sometimes leaping from branch to branch like a phantom. The capital, Rivelorne, was two towns east—a shining city of glass towers and mirrored waterways.
But even before the walls came into view, she felt the difference.
The guards stood taller. Eyes sharper. Air thinner with power and pride.
When she presented her pass at the gate, the armored captain raised a brow—but said nothing.
He simply bowed low and gestured her through.
"You're expected, Miss Nyari."
🏰 The Palace
The Palace of Mirrors was not named for vanity—but for memory.
Polished surfaces lined its halls—not just glass, but arcane mirrors, enchanted to reflect not just images but truth. Illusion spells flickered and failed in their glow. Lies stuttered. Disguises trembled.
Nyari stepped through its outer hall, every inch of her visible from dozens of angles.
She did not flinch.
Even when she saw her true self reflected—not just her white tiger form, but her goddess nature pulsing faintly in her mirrored pupils.
One servant whispered: "She doesn't even blink."
💠 The Throne Room
The doors opened with a deep, resonant chime.
She stepped into a vast chamber of crystal arches and velvet shadows. Courtiers lined the sides—nobles in layered robes, generals in ceremonial armor, advisors with gemstone quills.
At the center: Princess Seralyth on her throne of crescent steel, flanked by two elite knights in silver masks.
She rose as Nyari approached.
"Welcome, Nyari of Virelow," she said clearly. "You honor this hall."
Nyari bowed once, her tail steady behind her.
"I go where I'm needed."
Gasps. Whispered laughter. A noble scoffed: "She speaks like a storybook."
Seralyth smiled faintly. "That's what makes her interesting."
👁️ Court Games Begin
What followed wasn't combat—it was questions.
Probing. Loaded. Wrapped in civility but aimed like daggers.
"Where were you trained?"
"What beast clan claims you?"
"Who crafted your magic?"
"Are you truly alone?"
Nyari answered simply.
"I trained myself."
"No clan."
"My magic… responds to emotion."
"And I'm not alone. Just not claimed."
A noblewoman sneered. "So she's a stray mutt with a spark."
A pause.
Nyari's eyes glowed faintly.
"I'm a tiger," she said quietly. "And I bite back."
🐍 A Hidden Threat
Later, as the court dispersed, Seralyth motioned for Nyari to follow her into a private garden—where twilight painted everything in silver and indigo.
"You handled yourself well," the princess said.
"Your court hates me."
"They fear you. That's different."
Nyari sat on a stone bench beside a reflecting pool. "Is that what you want? A fearsome weapon?"
Seralyth turned.
"No. I want someone real. Not trained. Not bought. Not raised in gilded chains."
She leaned closer.
"There's something coming, Nyari. Something old. And it's moving through our lands like smoke under a door."
Nyari blinked. "The shadow thing beneath Virelow?"
Seralyth nodded. "It wasn't alone. And it wasn't acting on instinct. It was… searching."
"For what?"
Seralyth met her eyes.
"You."
💭 Nyari's Nightmare
That night, in the chamber offered to her—a guest suite hung with silk and soft moonlight—Nyari curled under the sheets but didn't sleep.
When her eyes finally closed, she dreamed.
A boy stood at the edge of a lake. Alone. Rain falling.
He looked up.
And saw her.
The tiger girl. The new self.
She reached out.
But something dark rose from the lake. Tendrils. Teeth. Memory.
"You are divine.
But you are also marked.
You were never meant to rest."
She woke—gasping.
Her room was empty.
But the moonlight on the wall… was shimmering.
Like something had just passed through it.
✉️ Morning
When dawn rose, a sealed note waited at her bedside.
It bore no crest. Only one sentence:
"If you wish to learn the truth of your rebirth… meet me beneath the cathedral. Come alone."
Nyari's claws flexed silently.
Her story wasn't just rising.
It was unfolding.
And the next page was written in shadow.
To be continued in Chapter Eight: "Beneath the Cathedral"
(Nyari descends into the sacred catacombs below Rivelorne to face the one who claims to know the truth of her transformation—and the ancient threat that hunts her kind.)