Kingdom of Eldoria

Chapter 2

Lyria's Pov

The walls of Eldoria Castle felt tighter today. Lyria stood by the window, gazing out across the sprawling city that stretched beneath the towering stone fortress. The distant sound of bustling streets and merchants' calls echoed faintly in the distance, but up here, the silence was suffocating.

She pressed her hand against the cold stone of the window ledge, the weight of her crown heavy on her head. She could see the distant edge of the Enchanted Forest, where the trees shimmered with a soft, ethereal light even in the daylight. That was where the world truly began, she thought. Beyond the castle, beyond the duties, beyond the suffocating rules and expectations, lay the freedom she had always dreamed of.

But today, she wasn't dreaming.

Today, something felt different, wrong.

A cold shiver ran down her spine, a creeping sense that something dark was stirring within the heart of the kingdom. She had heard the whispers in the court, servants speaking of strange occurrences in the villages, of creatures long thought to be myths seen near the Forbidden Lake. Her father, the king, had dismissed the rumors, but Lyria knew better. She had always been sensitive to the shifts in the air, the subtle changes in the kingdom's pulse. There was a darkness growing, one that no one wanted to see.

And her family was at the center of it.

She couldn't stand it anymore—the formalities, the masked faces of the royal court. Every smile was a lie, every word laced with deceit. Her curiosity about the world beyond the castle had grown into something deeper, something she couldn't ignore. She had read the ancient texts, the old stories of magic, of a time when Eldoria was not bound by laws and crowns but by the rhythm of the earth and the pulse of magic.

But magic had been outlawed long ago, banished to the fringes of their world, along with those who dared to practice it.

Morwen, Lyria thought bitterly, her hand tightening around the window's ledge. The fallen sorceress had been her father's trusted advisor once, before she turned to forbidden magic. Banished from the kingdom, her name was now a whispered curse in the halls of the castle. But Lyria knew that Morwen's fall had been more complicated than the court would ever admit. She had read the accounts, seen the hints in the royal archives—Morwen's magic was dangerous, yes, but it was powerful. Too powerful for the king's liking.

A knock on the door broke her thoughts.

"Your Highness, it's time for the council meeting," said the voice of Lady Serina, one of her ever-watchful attendants.

Lyria straightened, smoothing her dress as she turned from the window. "Tell them I'll be down shortly."

As soon as the door closed, her resolve hardened. I'm not going to that meeting.

She had made her decision days ago, as the rumors grew more sinister. If her father refused to see the danger, then she would find the truth herself. And the only place she could think of was the Enchanted Forest. The stories spoke of a healer who lived on its edge, a young woman skilled in magic—the kind of magic that could unlock the secrets of this growing darkness.

She had to find her.

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows over the Royal Gardens as Lyria slipped out through a hidden gate. The guards were posted at their usual stations near the entrance to the castle, and no one gave her a second glance. She had done this before, wandering the city in secret, dressed as a commoner, escaping the stifling gaze of the royal court. But this time, she didn't stop at the edge of the city. She didn't stop until she reached the forest.

The Enchanted Forest loomed ahead, its ancient trees standing like silent guardians over secrets long forgotten. Lyria hesitated at the edge, her heart racing. She had heard stories of those who ventured too far into the woods, never to return. But there was no turning back now. She had to know what was happening to her family, to her kingdom.

She took a deep breath and stepped into the shadows of the trees.

The forest was alive in a way the castle never was. Every rustle of leaves, every soft whisper of wind felt like a voice, as though the trees themselves were speaking to her. The further she went, the more she felt it—a presence, watching her, guiding her. The sunlight filtered through the canopy above, casting strange, shifting patterns on the forest floor.

And then, suddenly, the trees opened up into a clearing.

At the center of the clearing stood a girl, kneeling by a patch of herbs. Her auburn hair shimmered in the fading light, and her movements were careful, deliberate, as though she were listening to the earth itself. Elara. Lyria had heard of her—the healer of Fennor, raised by a witch, connected to the old ways.

She's the one.

Lyria stepped forward, the crack of a branch under her foot announcing her presence. The girl looked up, her green eyes locking onto Lyria's with a mixture of surprise and suspicion.

"You're the healer," Lyria said, her voice sounding more uncertain than she intended. She swallowed and stood straighter, determined. "I need your help."

Elara stood slowly, her hand resting on a small pouch at her waist, clearly wary of this stranger in royal robes. "The forest called me here," she said, her voice calm but guarded. "Why are you here, Princess? This place... it's dangerous for someone like you."

Lyria blinked, surprised that Elara recognized her so easily. "I—" She hesitated, the weight of her words catching in her throat. How could she explain the fear, the darkness that had been gnawing at her for weeks? "Something is wrong in the kingdom. Dark magic is stirring, and I think... I think my family is in danger."

Elara's eyes narrowed, and for a moment, she said nothing. The forest around them seemed to grow quieter, as though waiting for her response. Finally, she nodded. "The forest called us both, then. Whatever this is, it's not just about your family."

Lyria nodded, a surge of relief washing over her. She wasn't alone in this. Someone else saw what was happening.

But before she could speak, a sudden gust of wind swept through the clearing, and a voice—low and menacing—echoed from the shadows.

"You should have stayed in your castle, little princess."

Lyria's blood ran cold. She didn't need to see who it was. The voice alone was enough to freeze her in place.

Morwen