When Cherry Blossoms Bloom

Prologue

The realm of Valara had long been a land of peace and prosperity, its borders stretched across fertile plains, ancient forests, and towering mountain ranges. From the northern peaks where the snow never melted to the southern coast where the sea met the cliffs in thunderous waves, Valara was a kingdom blessed by nature and guarded by its people. For centuries, the balance of the realm had remained steady, its rulers just and its citizens content.

But beneath the serene surface, something had always lurked—something older than the mountains, deeper than the oceans. Ancient forces, long sealed away, had watched the kingdom from the shadows, forgotten by most and dismissed as myth by the rest. The magic of Valara, once woven into the very fabric of the land, had been subdued over the ages. Only a handful of scholars still whispered of it, studying the old texts in crumbling libraries and secret chambers, their warnings falling on deaf ears.

The land itself seemed to hold its breath, sensing a shift that was neither natural nor avoidable.It began with the whispers in the wind, soft at first, then growing louder. Travelers spoke of strange happenings in the far corners of the kingdom—farms abandoned overnight, animals vanishing without a trace, crops wilting in fields that had once been rich and bountiful. The people spoke of dreams—dreams that felt too real, too vivid, of shadows that moved on their own and figures cloaked in darkness that stalked the edges of the villages. And the trees... the ancient trees of the northern forests, said to be as old as the world itself, began to weep. Their leaves turned black as if touched by some unseen rot, and a sickly silence fell over the once-thriving groves.

The kingdom's rulers, the Kestraan family, had long been the stewards of Valara's peace. They had kept the realm safe from external threats, maintaining alliances with neighboring kingdoms and ensuring prosperity within their borders. But even they had begun to feel the unease in the air, as though the kingdom was on the brink of something they could not yet name. And then came the visions—the royal seers, once trusted and revered, began to speak of dreams of fire and ash, of a reckoning that would not be avoided. The earth itself seemed to rumble with warning.

It was not only the land that had begun to stir; the waters of Valara's great rivers were shifting, rising unnaturally, flooding once-quiet towns, eroding the very foundations of the kingdom's ancient stone bridges. The people murmured of old legends—of a time before the kingdom was founded, when the gods had walked among men and the land had been divided by forces beyond comprehension. In those days, magic had ruled, and the world was shaped by it. But the gods had long since abandoned their creations, leaving behind only the stories. The power of the earth, air, and sea had been bound, contained by rituals long forgotten.

But now, with the return of the shadows, something had begun to unravel. The winds carried whispers of an ancient power awakening from its slumber, ready to reclaim what had once been its dominion.

And so, the realm of Valara stood on the precipice of change, teetering between the known and the unknown, the past and the future. The winds that had long whispered now howled, and the very earth trembled beneath the feet of those who dared to listen. Whatever the future held, it was no longer a matter of choice—it was a matter of survival. And only those brave enough to face the coming storm would be able to protect what remained of the kingdom they had known.

As night fell over Valara, the stars glimmered in the sky above—silent witnesses to the unfolding of a story that had been centuries in the making.