Stelsa, the girl crafted from the broken leftovers from the Gods, is far from the expectations of a normal lady. Her father, Aaeron Meryls, and her uncles sought to train her in the way of the blade. Many whisper about her origin - is she bastard li...
"Harwin's name lingered inside the stones AS DID RHAENYRA'S."
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IN THE DYING LIGHT of the sun, there is only silence atop the stone walls of the keep. The orange and pinks blend together to create an ancestral gateway to the skies above. It was one that offered peace before the darkness of night consumed the sky. In its peace, there was a silence that made Stelsa feel as though she stood on the edge of the stone wall. Her feet ready to step into the pathway the sky had paved. There was no sound of conversations lingering in the air. No sound of children laughing and running. It was just silence.
And Stelsa hated the sound of silence.
It left a ringing in her ears that sought out any rustle of flags, any gust of breeze far stronger than the intended. That even seemed too much to ask for this evening. Stelsa glanced over her shoulder, staring at the sealed wooden door behind her. Behind her stored her family, full of conversations and children's laughter. All she had to do was step back inside its stoney walls. Stelsa looked back to the setting sun, letting her shoulders fall and her head lower. She was alone out here, away from the watchful eyes of those around the keep. The weight that laid across her shoulders made the girl feel increasingly exhausted – carrying a burden that was not just her own.
The sound of the door opening behind her made Stelsa straighter, once more bearing the weight that became heavier with each passing day. Stelsa glanced behind to watch as her father emerged from the walls. If the burdens that weighed on her body were heavy, the words that died on her tongue were heavier. She had not spoken much to her father, despite the months that had passed. Stelsa looked back at the sky, but remained standing straight as she watched the sky close its ancestral passage.
What was there to say after he called her by mother's name? The woman she had naught met or grown to love. This woman that her father had loved was just a ghostly whisper in the back of Stelsa's mind. She was just the first victim of Stelsa's as she clawed her way from the womb her mother had carried her in. For days, Stelsa had watched Heleana pace the room as Maelor fought to remain where he had nestled himself. She had watched Heleana practically claw at her own skin to get him out of her. Was that what her mother had done?
Was that all her father saw when he looked at her?
Her father came to stand beside her. His brown hair was brushed back, exposing his features to the realm before them. Lucky for the realm, Stelsa thought, at least he was open to something. "We should go hunting." Her father suggested, but Stelsa refused to spare him a glance. She gripped her hands together, nails digging like claws into the flesh.
"Is that a command?" Stelsa questioned, tone as curt as she could make it. Those were the first words she had uttered to him in days. The festering anger from the last time they truly spoke burned alongside the dragon's fire. Beneath the curtness the anger rose, causing Aaeron to swallow at the end of his daughter's sharp blade – the one he had built himself.
