The journey to the capital was an excruciatingly long one for Aroha. The distance from Juza to the Croft Kingdom's capital was no small feat. Croft was, after all, one of the largest kingdoms in Maori. Yet what made the trip unbearable wasn't the distance but her companion: her spawn of the devil sister, Zhiyi. At least, that was how Aroha saw her. How could she not? She had to endure her endless chatter about things she couldn't care less about for what seemed like an entire day's ride. Oh, the misery. She had wanted to be a healer. She knew it would be an arduous, even gruesome task, but she hadn't imagined it would be this gruesome: trapped with Zhiyi in the same space for a whole day, or worse, perhaps for the rest of her life!
At home, avoiding Zhiyi had always been easy. Zhiyi rarely lingered once her chores were done or their parents had no need of her. Aroha preferred staying indoors, away from others, which made evasion simple. Whenever Zhiyi returned, Aroha left. It was a perfect system, limited exposure, manageable irritation. But now, no matter which way she turned, Zhiyi was there. And things were only bound to get worse.
Zhiyi, on the other hand, was having the time of her life. She chatted incessantly, unfazed by Aroha's blank stares. "Aroha! Did you hear that Prince Ara is currently in the capital? We might actually get to meet him! He's so dreamy!" she squealed, almost drooling at the thought of the kingdom's most talked-about prince. Every girl in Maori adored him. Some even claimed the princes were more beautiful than women themselves. Aroha thought that was an absurd exaggeration, but Zhiyi had fallen hopelessly in love at first sight, just like every other girl in the realm.
Aroha, however, only felt disgust. The more people adored someone, the more she loathed them. The only exceptions were her parents and, perhaps, Zhiyi to some extent. Though Zhiyi irritated her endlessly, beneath the irritation was a reluctant fondness. She genuinely cared for her sister. She just preferred to do it from a very comfortable distance.
"And what about Prince Zenon?" Zhiyi continued dreamily. "I heard he came back with Prince Ara this time! Isn't he so handsome? What if I meet both of them and they fall in love with me? Oh, what will I do? Who will I choose? The other girls will be so jealous!" she exclaimed dramatically, hands flailing as if she were performing before an audience. Her antics only deepened Aroha's displeasure. The swooning, the exaggerated gestures, all on horseback! She knew how much it irritated Aroha, which only made it more entertaining for her. If she hadn't been destined to be a healer, Zhiyi could have been a famous actress. She already had a fan base anyway; she was a people person. And Aroha despised people persons. There lay the problem.
No one could tell where Aroha's attitude came from, but she had been that way since childhood. Zhiyi had a theory. Aroha was gifted. Naturally talented people attracted love and hate alike. What tipped the balance was their temperament, and Aroha's was terrible. It made her easy to dislike. Worse still, she excelled at everything except making friends. Years of hostility had hardened her into a defensive shell. Her disdain for others was, perhaps, a justified survival mechanism.
Zhiyi never faced such troubles. Still, even the sweetest girl gathered a few enemies, but no one dared act on it. They feared Aroha too much. Despite being a healer, she was adept at inflicting pain. When boys bullied Zhiyi as a child, Aroha beat them all senseless. Some never recovered from the trauma. Only she was allowed to tease her little sister; anyone else who tried paid dearly.
Six armed guards escorted them on the journey, though their behaviour hardly matched the seriousness of their post. They were stifling laughter at Zhiyi's theatrics and Aroha's exasperated expressions. With all the clapping and cheering, one might have mistaken them for a travelling troupe. Aroha was furious. How could they find joy in her suffering? Damn those guards. If they weren't protecting her, she would have taught them a lesson they'd never forget.
"I wouldn't be surprised if you froze up when you finally meet them," Aroha teased. Zhiyi mentioned the princes so often that it had become her morning ritual, a daily routine. Aroha had seen people freeze when faced with their idols. Her own parents were prominent figures, and Zhiyi already had her share of admirers who melted at her smile. That sweet, perfect smile. How repulsive.
"Besides," Aroha added, "I wouldn't be surprised if both princes returned to the Lo Kingdom before we even arrive." She knew quite a bit about them, courtesy of Zhiyi's endless ramblings. Everyone did. Prince Ara Croft, heir to Croft, and Prince Zenon Lo, the third prince of Lo, had been childhood friends and comrades. Both were once members of the Wild Forces during the Great War, an elite battalion formed by Croft and Lo. Astonishingly, the two princes had joined at just ten years old!
It was a miracle that either kingdom allowed such young royals to fight, but their skill was said to rival seasoned soldiers. Their bravery forged a deep alliance between their kingdoms, and they often visited each other. Although Zenon wasn't heir to Lo, his importance in Croft was undeniable. Normally, such frequent travel would make them vulnerable, but no one dared attack them. Their reputations alone deterred most threats, and those foolish enough to try were swiftly annihilated by royal guards. Compared to the brutal princes themselves, that was the merciful end.
Many of their enemies had been rebels or remnants of smaller kingdoms ravaged by the war. Bitterness lingered, but such was the way of things. True peace, as history proved, was always an illusion.
Aroha brought up the topic just to silence Zhiyi and to annoy her, of course. But it backfired spectacularly. Zhiyi's excitement only grew, her fantasies wilder with every passing second. The guards exchanged uneasy glances, struggling not to laugh, while Aroha regretted ever opening her mouth.
"Okay, fine! Maybe they are still there," Aroha said, trying to pacify her sister. "They might even know we're coming. Our parents were close with theirs, remember?" But her attempt only fueled Zhiyi's daydreams. There was no winning with her. At least the guards seemed entertained again.
That was until a loud, piercing cry echoed across the sky. Every head turned upward. A wyvern.
Wyverns occasionally passed over Croft, but this one was enormous, nearly the size of a dragon. The dragons, ancient rulers of half of Maori, had long gone extinct. Their lesser kin, the wyverns, were all that remained. Most mystical creatures had vanished when the beasts and druids disappeared, severing many human bloodlines from their divine ancestry. Only a few families retained fragments of those gifts; ironically, the same royal houses were once responsible for turning against the divine. So much for cosmic justice.
The guards grew tense. Wyverns rarely attacked unprovoked, but no one dared rely on luck. They dismounted swiftly, forming a protective circle around the sisters. The horses neighed and bucked in fear. Aroha and Zhiyi tried to calm them. If the wyvern hadn't noticed them yet, the noise would surely draw its attention. But that was wishful thinking. Wyverns possessed extraordinary senses; they had seen them already. The only question was whether it would consider them a threat. A creature that size was likely of royal blood itself, and with royalty came pride.
Aroha, however, remained calm. Danger steadied her like nothing else could. As the wyvern circled above, she watched its pattern carefully. Its movements were deliberate, almost inquisitive. Then, a strange sensation coursed through her, familiar yet otherworldly. The same feeling she had during her meditations in the forest.
She could feel the wyvern. Its breath. The pulse of air as its wings tore through it. The weight of its gaze. And then, she heard it—a voice, echoing softly within her mind.
"Welcome," it said.
Aroha's eyes widened. The word wasn't spoken; it was felt, vibrating through her veins, ancient and warm, like the whisper of the forest itself. She looked up, and for a heartbeat, the wyvern's gaze met hers.