New Dawn

Princess Athena, momentarily relieved by her brother's presence, let out a soft laugh. The hint of gratitude crossed her face as she sought sanctuary from Eydis' teasing.

"Don't mind me, Athena," he drawled, hands clasped behind his back. "I love witnessing how flustered my baby sister gets around you, Eydis."

_Or not.

Eydis' grin widened, "Flustered? I believe you must be mistaken; Princess Athena is as composed as always."

Adrian's smirk deepened, his gaze lingering on his sister's face. "Trust me, you've managed to fluster her more than once. I'm surprised she hasn't run away yet." He cast a knowing glance at Athena, whose cheeks flushed pink despite her valiant attempt at a stoic expression.

"I wouldn't dream of running from a conversation, Adrian," she retorted, her annoyance laced with a hint of amusement. "Especially not one with such delightful company."

Prince Adrian's smile widened, a genuine warmth replacing the playful facade. Athena's laughter, a melody that had grown increasingly rare with the weight of responsibility, filled the air, a sound that resonated with nostalgia and a yearning to hold onto this carefree moment.

"Speaking of captivating company," he turned to Eydis, his eyes twinkling, "I recently stumbled upon a most intriguing fictional romance. A tale of a commoner who captured the hearts of both a stoic duke and a charming prince. Given your… insightful observations, I suspect you might be familiar with it."

Eydis felt the ground shift beneath her. She had just deflected inquiries about her own life, only to be drawn into a different kind of scrutiny. Adrian's gaze held an unspoken challenge, his eyes lingering on her lips just a beat too long, a miscalculation he swiftly realised upon seeing them curve into a semblance of a confident smile.

"I didn't realise Your Highness had such an intriguing taste in readings. Perhaps there was a lady who caught your eye, motivating you to delve into romance fan-fiction for inspiration?"

The tension in the air crackled, a subtle shift in the dynamic. Adrian's amusement faltered, replaced by a flicker of curiosity. Athena, however, burst into laughter, her earlier annoyance forgotten.

"Oh, Eydis," she gasped between giggles, "you're impossible!"

The trio continued to engage in playful banter, they appeared seemingly oblivious—or perhaps intentionally dismissive—of the disgruntled and envious gazes directed their way. Eydis, the seemingly powerless commoner, found herself in the privileged company of the Empire's most esteemed, a position that kindled covetous thoughts among onlookers. As she continued to showcase her bonds with royalty, a subtle air of intrigue and envy permeated the minds of those observing the scene. And amidst the whispers and glances, a lone figure slipped away, a silver flash disappearing into the crowd. Astra, the possessor of those striking eyes, had taken her leave, her ethereal features almost vanishing into thin air, leaving behind a lingering echo of the game to come.

The prince's appearance, adorned in formal attire, bore a singular significance: the commencement of the annual competition, signalling the initiation of the impending game.

 **

The servant, shrouded in a tattered cloak, bowed low. "Dear omnipotent one, this time, the ritual will succeed. I shall witness the dawn of a new era myself."

A flicker of amusement, cruel and fleeting, danced across the figure's shadowed face. "Bring me the children," they commanded, voice rising to a roar. "Bring me the fuel for revolution!"

The chamber pulsed with raw energy as a vortex of crackling gold light ripped open above them. The castle trembled, ancient stones groaning under the strain. Then, with a deafening boom, the figure vanished, leaving only the lingering echoes of their promise and the servant's resolute whisper:

"The old world crumbles. Let the flames of a new dawn rise from its ashes."

 **

Dust motes danced in the amber glow of the setting sun, swirling around Eydis as she hunched over the ancient book. The faded ink whispered tales of beings born of shadows. Twice, she'd crossed paths with these phantoms, twice danced on the edge of oblivion. In the Silverkeep, they'd slipped through Duke Theomund's defences like wisps of smoke, and on the road to the capital, a lone witch held them at bay with a fiery torrent. Even the academy students' magic, with its flashy displays, seemed pale in comparison. Why the spectacle? Why not strike from the shadows, unseen, unheard?

The answer shimmered in the fading light, teased from the cryptic symbols of the book: whispers of witches flitting through shadows, nobles vanishing from crimson-lined carriages, the Duchess of Sylvanwood with her starlit eyes searching in vain. The pages painted gruesome tales of Inferno's elite falling to these enigmatic figures, followed by knights and priests seeking answers. Then, Priest Indigo Crane, his blood whispering of royalty, his power a legend in its own right, traced the shadows back to a desolate forest, a dark emerald stain against Sylvanwood's embrace. Mythshollow Woods, they called it, where rumors of infernal pacts and moonlit necromancy clung to the very air.

These potent shadows had later claimed Duke Theomund's lineage, their darkness staining the very soil of Inferno, and much later on, Silverkeep. What's so significant about these houses? The trade conflict, an Inferno noble surviving magical overdose, followed by whispers of strange sightings at the edge of Sylvanwood five years later – surely not just coincidence? Her mind a whirlwind of questions, she flipped through the dusty pages, desperate for answers.

A passage jolted her, a close encounter with a witch: "...moonlight playing in obsidian waves of hair, eyes like starless voids… Beside her, a man, almost a shadow himself, stood silent, his brown eyes downcast. 'Arrogance,' the witch chuckled, her voice ice cracking in a frozen lake. But when she held a knight in her cold grip, ready for the kill, it was the servant's voice, barely a whisper, that stopped her: "There's no need for spilled blood."

Eydis' breath hitched. The knight lived, a Silverkeep survivor. And the man by the witch's side – more than a servant, a whisper of mystery himself. Were these shadows truly the monsters history painted them to be? The image of the otherworldly woman, listening to a plea, refusing the easy kill, challenged everything she thought she knew. If she, Eydis, were that witch, would she have shown such mercy? The question resonated, its answer a swirling vortex of doubt and intrigue in the fading light.