NELNIFA CORLEDIA IS SUPPOSED TO BE WEAK. During a brazen attack against her people, she is left with no choice but to take the lead. With knowledge coming from dubious places, a territory in shambles, and a people too scattered to fight back, she ha...
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2412 Dalfa 09, Daleth
The sea was not alone in its rage, and Nelnifa was no stranger to that. Underneath the shadows of the canopies, she slunk towards the clearing, keeping watch of the streaks of magic coloring the air overhead. Her hand tightened around the dagger in her hand, her muscles coiling in tension. She wanted to swing the blade at something, at someone, but a hand clamped on her shoulder.
She whirled to Ketha. Pink hair bounced against Ketha's nape when she shook her head. "Nifa, it's not the best time," she cautioned, her voice dropping into a low whisper. "Let's head back."
And do what? Nelnifa wanted to scream into her friend's face. She wanted to do a lot of things, but they would either expose them to the Heiress or get her killed. "I'm tired of hiding," was all she said, pressing her shoulder deeper into the trunk. All her weight leaned against it, making it bend forward. The undergrowth parted to reveal the source of the explosions wracking the shore, one that took away her attention from foraging.
Spells and blades arced in the air before finding their targets. The forms jumping around across the flat expanse of gold and beige resembled srilla inside their nests—too small to make out unless one stood inside it. Cardovian soldiers, which she could tell apart from the crowd because of their dark clothing and extreme aversion to sand through long-sleeves and trousers, tackled water sprites to the ground, securing their quota every day. Her people, defenseless and probably out to gather supplies to fend for another day or week, slammed cheek-first against the sand. Then, she could only watch them get hauled to their feet and shoved into huge, wooden carriages bound for a cursed place that was the Cardovian outpost in Orayta.
It wasn't supposed to be like this, and she certainly didn't imagine it'd get to this point when she declared a public dispute with Cardovia. When she discovered the organization hiding in the markers and siphoning off their resources, the first thing on her mind was to uproot them and drive them off the territory. But as the Generals advised her, as well as her father, the Water Potentate, dealing with Cardovia was an interterritorial matter, and therefore, beyond their jurisdiction as the incumbent Desaran royals.
And since the day she let the public know about the Heiress' and Cardovia's existence, not only did they not leave, but they climbed out of their manipulated space and started taking permanence in the city. No matter how many times Nelnifa attempted to open a dialogue about their forced occupancy on an otherwise sovereign territory, she got nowhere.
Then, came the fateful day that escalated the state of the territory into new levels of hell. Nelnifa remembered it being a rainy day, and she had been feeling a little odd since sunrise. She didn't, because when the Heiress strode inside the throne hall in the Oraytan palace, the overbearing woman demanded one thing.
"Where is the throne?" the Heiress demanded, her tone laced with not a trace of reverence. They might not look or conduct themselves like it, but her immediate family still hold most of the power over Desara. But Nelnifa had sensed the pure wisps of magical energy rolling off the Heiress. That raw power was what earned her the right to look down on everyone. At least, that's what she thought.
