In the realm of Palasia, where the Silver Church's iron grip extends across the continent, the conquered Illuri people still cling to the old ways, praying to spirits that have grown quiet. At the heart of this struggle are four souls bound by fate:...
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When Nodalen turned six years old, she was finally convinced to step outside the main keep for the first time. It was so early at dawn that the sun had barely cracked through the cloudless indigo sky and the thin veil of grey fog that had settled over the white walls of Highcrest.
It was her brother Stefalen that broke her slumber. When she woke, she spotted his pale face looming over her, half-shrouded in feeble shadows, his cheeks flushed red and his fiery hair shining like incandescent embers in the gleam of the lamp in his grip. A mischievous smirk tugged at his lips before landing on the princess's forehead in a sweet kiss.
"Happy Birthday, Nod!" he whispered as loudly as he deemed acceptable at such an ungodly hour. Most of the castle was still asleep after all. And Nodalen knew Stefalen was not supposed to be up so prematurely, much less be disturbing her.
Despite the fear of being in trouble, Nodalen could not help but grin. It was always Stefalen who greeted her first on her birthday, so their parents say. Every year, without fail, Stefalen would wait outside her chambers, or when she was but a babe, beside her crib, bobbing on the balls of his feet, eager to say the words: happy birthday.
She remembered Stefalen telling her that it was he who prayed to Lakan's image nightly for another sibling. He wished for her from the Silver God himself. He would constantly complain that Baldon was often cold, dismissive, and mean, and having suffered a callous toad for an elder brother, he promised to be nothing of the sort if he should be so lucky to be one. The young prince stayed true to his word.
Their queen mother recounted to Nodalen memories from a time when she was too young to recall. Stefalen was apparently so fond of the new addition to the family, finding any excuse to touch her or be in her presence. He would poke and prod at Nodalen's chubby cheeks, make silly faces to stop her crying, watch over her as she napped or crawled, and plant soft kisses on her bare head, humming sweet melodies to help her doze into peaceful dreams.
"Stip," Nodalen started, referring to him by her nickname for him. It was one she had conceived long ago, when she was most likely all gums and no teeth, trying and failing to pronounce his name. The closest she got to it was 'Stipalip'. She discovered that Stefalen once urged their father to formally rename him as such. A decision that he would later regret as Nodalen teased him mercilessly for it. Needless to say, Stefalen was grateful their father did not grant his request. "What are you doing here? The sun's not even out yet."
"I have a surprise for you! Put your slippers on and follow me."
"Must I?" she groaned, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
"You must!" Stefalen exclaimed. "Hurry before mother and father and the rest of the castle stir."
In nothing but her nightgown, her dainty slippers, and a knitted shawl wrapped around her shoulders, she followed her brother through dim corridors and down countless steps. She asked him where they were headed but received no adequate answer, for her brother only turned to face her roguishly, saying "be patient" and nothing more.
