Acramen1
The Virel existed long before humans built cities or named the sky. They were not myths. Not legends. Just older. Stronger. Born with power running through their veins like a second pulse.
Among them stands Arya Ashen.
She does not bend easily. She was trained to endure pressure without breaking, to hold her ground when others fall. She is not loud power. She is contained power.
But not all power is meant to be contained.
Some strength does not come from discipline. It comes from letting go.
Many fear it.
Many want it.
Some are willing to bleed for it.
At the masquerade, beneath gold chandeliers and masked smiles, blood stains the stone, and someone stops her before she can move.
It is not something you wield.
It does not obey.
It does not belong to the careful.
It chooses.
And when it does, something always breaks sometimes the one who thought they were unbreakable.