The grand hall of Aurelia Palace shimmered beneath towering stained-glass windows, each pane catching the morning sun and scattering fragments of gold across the marble floor. At the far end, elevated upon steps of obsidian stone, the throne sat like a force unto itself—ancient, cold, and commanding respect from all who dared approach it.
Upon that throne sat King Aldric Vaelor, his posture straight, his presence heavy. His golden hair—only lightly touched by threads of silver—fell around strong shoulders. Though he seemed in his mid-forties, his sharp amber eyes held the weight of a lifetime spent ruling.
Beside him sat Queen Seraphina Vaelor, her silver hair cascading like moonlit silk down her back. She looked younger than her husband, her features soft yet impossibly regal. Her silver eyes narrowed with quiet calculation as she observed the man kneeling at the foot of the steps.
To the king's right stood their eldest daughter, Princess Lyria Vaelor, twenty years of age. Her long, smooth silver hair flowed like liquid starlight, reaching well past her back. Her eyes, the same silver as her mother's, glimmered with sharp intelligence. She stood with practiced grace, hands folded quietly in front of her.
On the queen's side, attempting to mimic her sister's posture, stood the youngest princess—Evanna Vaelor, only ten years old. Silver-haired like her mother and sister, but with striking blue eyes inherited from the king, she watched the kneeling man with curiosity rather than authority.
The hall fell silent as King Aldric spoke, his voice deep and resonant.
"Rise. Speak. Tell me what you have learned of the girl we inquired about."
The kneeling man—dusty from travel, brow damp with nervous sweat—slowly stood. He kept his eyes lowered.
"Yes, Your Majesty. I have… gathered all the information I could."
"Then speak," the king ordered.
The man swallowed.
"The girl's name is Riven Nightthorn, age eighteen. She has lived in an orphanage since she was no more than a month old. Records about her origin are nonexistent."
Queen Seraphina exchanged a silent glance with Lyria.
The man continued, voice trembling slightly.
"She began training herself at the age of seven. However… at eight, she crossed paths with a retired huntress, Elyra Voss, who took her in and trained her until she was ten."
Princess Lyria shifted, interest sharpening in her eyes.
"Go on," the king said.
The man took a steadying breath.
"At ten, she entered the Hunters' Guild—illegally. The minimum age to join the guild is seventeen, but her mentor bypassed the requirement for her. At eleven, she began entering dungeons…"
The king frowned. "At eleven? "
Yes , Your Majesty."
The man lowered his gaze further.
"She entered without weapons. As… a new form of training."
Shock rippled through the hall.
Princess Evanna whispered, "Without weapons…?"
Queen Seraphina's fingers tightened around the armrest.
The man continued quickly, hoping to ease the tension.
"She remained under this extreme training until she turned fifteen. Then, without warning, she left the kingdom to travel the world—seeking experience, knowledge, and strength."
Lyria's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, as though assembling a puzzle in her mind.
"And she returned yesterday?" the king asked.
"Yes, Your Majesty. This is all the information I have managed to gather."
Silence settled on the throne room—silent, heavy, loaded with calculations.
Finally, King Aldric asked,
"Her magical capability. What do we know?"
The man's shoulders sagged.
"N-nothing, Your Majesty. No one knows the true extent of her powers… or even the nature of her magic."
The king leaned back slightly, expression unreadable.
Princess Lyria, however, looked deeply unsettled.
Queen Seraphina's voice was soft but icy.
"That means she hides it well. Too well."
King Aldric lifted a hand.
"Then we require someone who will not be fooled."
He tightened his grip on the armrest.
"Summon Elyra Voss," he commanded. "The former huntress. If anyone knows the truth behind this girl, it will be her."
The man bowed deeply, relief washing over him.
"At once, Your Majesty."
As he hurried from the hall, whispers danced between the royal family.
Princess Lyria spoke quietly, almost to herself,
"Riven Nightthorn… entering dungeons at eleven, returning alive, and now showing power enough to shake the city…"
Her silver eyes gleamed with interest—and something sharper.
"What sort of monster have we allowed to grow in silence?"
King Aldric did not answer.
But the tension in his jaw said enough.
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