Pearline ran through the forest, breath ragged, branches whipping past her as the world blurred. Elysia clung to her back, limp and bleeding, and Pearline's cheeks were soaked with tears.
If anyone had seen her then—just a child—they'd wonder how she was moving so fast. But it wasn't just fear that drove her. It was the blood of a Selus, strong and wild, and the legacy of a magician elf, threaded through her soul like starlight. That, and the sheer terror of losing the only family she had left.
Somewhere along the frantic run, without Pearline realizing, strands of her dark pink hair began turning pale—fading to white one by one, like a candle burning itself out.
Her head pounded. A piercing ache bloomed behind her eyes, but she pushed through it, feet flying over roots and stone.
Then—she stumbled.
Her knees hit the ground hard, and she gasped, clutching at the grass as Elysia slipped off her back with a soft thud.
"No—no, no, no..." Pearline crawled to her. "Elysia!"
She gently turned her over, hands trembling, eyes wide with panic. The wound on Elysia's side was deep, and the blood hadn't stopped. Pearline pressed her small hands over it, desperate to stop the flow.
"It's okay," she whispered, voice cracking. "You're gonna be fine. Just hang on, okay? Hang in there."
She screamed into the forest.
"Someone help! Please!"
But there was only silence. The kind of silence that makes you feel small. Alone.
Through tears, Pearline began to whisper the only healing spell she knew. Her father had taught it to her once, in the calm of the forest, never thinking she'd need it like this.
Light shimmered beneath her palms—soft, pinkish white—but her body trembled. The spell pulled energy from her far too quickly. Magic, though hers by blood, was still new to her. And it demanded more than her little frame could give.
Her vision swam, and her chest heaved as she gasped for breath.
"Please... don't go," she kept whispering. "Please, please..."
Her magic flickered. Her fingers were numb. Her head tilted forward.
No. Not now.
"I... need to stay awake... I nee—"
The world tilted.
Darkness pressed in.
And Pearline collapsed beside her sister, unconscious, the forest swallowing the sound of their breathing... the light in her hair still fading to white.
.
.
"Guess you girls are lucky..."
The voice was low, almost amused, as it cut through the haze of unconsciousness. The woman stood over the two girls, her sharp eyes scanning them, especially the one with hair slowly turning a pale white. Her gaze lingered on Pearline.
She crouched down, placing a hand gently on Pearline's forehead. The transformation in her hair was undeniable, the color shifting from dark strands to a ghostly pale white, creeping slowly from the scalp to the tips. "you were scared huh?" she whispered.
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.
.
As Pearline slowly opened her eyes, confusion clouded her thoughts. She was no longer in the forest, no longer battling to keep herself and Elysia alive. The room she found herself in was simple yet comforting, a quiet space with soft lighting and the gentle rustling of wind outside the window.
She tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness hit her. The soreness in her limbs was overwhelming, but it was nothing compared to the gnawing worry in her chest. Elysia.
A voice interrupted her thoughts. "You're awake."
Pearline turned toward the sound. A woman stood in the doorway, wearing a simple dress. Her expression was kind but professional.
With glimmer of curiosity in her eyes "Who—" Pearline's voice cracked, still weak. "Who are you?"
The woman bowed her head slightly. "My name is Lira. I'm a servant here in Lady Amira's household."
Pearline tried to sit up again, her hands shaking. "Where's Elysia? Is she... is she okay? Please, I need to know."
Lira stepped forward, a look of sympathy in her eyes. "if you are talking about the elf girl that came in with you then you dont have to worry about her she's being looked after. She's resting right now, just like you were. We've made sure she's comfortable, and Lady Amira instructed us to take care of both of you."
Pearline's chest tightened at the mention of Elysia. "I need to see her... now."
Lira's expression softened, and she shook her head gently. "I'm afraid i cannot allow that because any sound in her room will disturb her also you need to rest as well. Lady Amira will speak with you soon, once you've regained your strength. You've both been through a lot, and it's important you take time to heal."
Pearline stared at Lira, still feeling the weight of everything that had happened. The name "Lady Amira" was unfamiliar, but somehow it echoed in her mind. She needed to know more—needed to know who this lady was.
"Who is Lady Amira?" Pearline asked, her voice trembling slightly.
Lira took a deep breath, then sat down at the edge of the bed. Her expression softened, as if trying to find the right words to explain it all.
"Lady Amira," Lira began slowly, "is the heir to one of the most respected and powerful families in this region—the Laventhren family. They are known far and wide for their mastery of wind magic, and their influence in both politics and battle is unrivaled. Their legacy stretches back centuries." The Laventhren family has a unique bond with the wind, which allows them to manipulate air currents, create powerful storms, and even move at incredible speeds. They are not just elementalists—they're true masters of wind. Their techniques are passed down through generations, honed and perfected with each new heir. But more than that, they've chosen a path of protecting the realm and the innocent, not just wielding their power for their own gain."
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Evening had settled over the Laventhren estate, casting long shadows across the quiet hallways. The soft hush of wind whispered against the windows, like a lullaby only the walls could hear.
Pearline sat near the window in her room, knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped loosely around them. She stared out at the fading light, but her thoughts were next door—with Elysia.
She had gone to see her, just once, earlier that evening. Not inside the room, of course. She hadn't wanted to disturb her. Instead, she had stood silently at the glass panel in the door, her breath fogging the edge of it as she watched her sister sleep. Elysia looked so fragile, swaddled in clean linens, her brown hair spread over the pillow. Pearline had only stayed a moment… then quietly slipped away.
Now, she just sat still, heart heavy with thoughts too tangled for words—until a gentle knock interrupted the silence.
She turned, startled, just as the door creaked open.
The figure that stepped inside seemed to glide rather than walk. She was tall, graceful, and almost otherworldly in her beauty. Lavender hair tumbled like silk down her back, and at the center of her forehead bloomed a single delicate flower—shimmering with the same hue as her eyes: deep violet, calm but commanding. She wore flowing robes that caught the light like wind dancing over water, and though her presence was soft… it filled the entire room.
Pearline didn't need to ask—but the question still escaped her, barely above a whisper.
"Who… are you?"
The woman tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable but not unkind.
"Amira," she said simply.
Pearline's breath caught. So this was her.
"I—I don't know how to thank you," Pearline said, standing slowly, her voice shaking. "You saved my life."
Amira's eyes moved over her carefully, as if reading far more than words could offer.
"It's not much," she replied, her tone quiet but firm. "The least I could do. There were very few survivors in that fire. You and the elf girl… you were among the lucky ones."
Pearline's eyes dropped to the floor, her thoughts drifting again to the home she'd lost.
"Some survivors had family in nearby towns… so they left," Amira continued, studying her. "What about you? Do you have anyone else?"
Pearline lowered her gaze, voice barely above a whisper.
"I… I don't know. There's no one left. My family… they were all in the village."
A long silence followed. Amira didn't interrupt—just studied her, quietly.
Then she spoke, voice steady but gentle.
"For now, rest. We'll talk about it later—once you and your sister have recovered."
Pearline nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat. It wasn't a promise, not exactly. But it was enough.
Amira gave a final glance toward the window, then she turned and walked out, her presence lingering like a breeze even after the door clicked shut.
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FLASHBACK
The air was thick with smoke and blood. Screams echoed across the war-torn field, where men fell like broken dolls and magic scorched the earth.
Kaelen's breath came in ragged gasps as he staggered through the chaos, his robes torn, face covered in blood, his hands glowing with faint remnants of the spells he'd cast. He was bleeding from his side, his magic spent—but he didn't stop. Not yet.
Ahead, barely visible through the swirling smoke, he saw her—a girl, dragged by enemy soldiers into the forest beyond the ridge.
The youngest heir of the Laventhren family.
They had taken her while the others were distracted. She was their leverage, their prize.
Not for long.
Kaelen's body moved before he could think. He launched himself forward, a roar tearing from his throat as magic sparked violently at his fingertips. The pain seared through him—his body already pushed far beyond its limits—but he didn't care. He summoned wind, flame, and force all at once.
He would not let her be taken.
When the smoke cleared, three soldiers lay on the ground—unmoving. And Kaelen stood in front of the girl, panting, swaying on his feet.
She stared up at him, wide-eyed and trembling. He smiled faintly through bloodied lips. "You're safe now, young miss..."
Then the world went black.
.
.
The scent of blood and ash still lingered in the air, even as the night settled over the camp. Most soldiers were either asleep or nursing their wounds. Kaelen sat alone near a dim lantern, bandages wrapped tight around his torso. Every breath was a dull throb. Every movement sent a sharp pulse through his limbs—a reminder of the price he'd paid that day.
The tent flap rustled softly.
He looked up.
There, silhouetted against the moonlight, stood a young girl—barely fourteen—with the posture of a soldier and the eyes of someone who'd seen far too much.
"Lady Amira," Kaelen said, rising slightly out of instinct, though his body protested.
"You were the one, weren't you?" she asked quietly, stepping into the tent. "The one who found me. Who fought those men."
Kaelen offered her a faint smile. "It doesn't matter who did. You're safe now. That's all that counts."
"But you were injured. Badly." Her voice dropped. "Why didn't you say anything when the others took credit?"
He shook his head gently, eyes soft. "It was never about recognition, young miss. I did what I had to because it was the right thing to do."
Amira's jaw clenched. "Still. You should've been honored for it."
Kaelen chuckled under his breath. "I've been given my reward."
She blinked at him.
"I'm going home," he said, voice quiet and warm. "Got a letter last week. My wife gave birth to twins—two boys. I wasn't there to help her through it, and that eats at me. But I can make it right now. I can go back. Be a father. Live a simple, happy life."
Kaelen looked at her with quiet admiration. "Even at just fourteen, you were on that battlefield—fighting bravely. I was honored to serve beside you. If I ever had a daughter... I'd hope she'd grow to be just as strong and courageous as you."
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Amira gave a small nod. "Thank you."
Kaelen smiled again, settling back on his cot. "Rest well, Lady Amira. You've got a legacy to uphold."
She turned and walked back into the darkness, the flap closing behind her with a soft whuff.
Kaelen exhaled, a contented smile on his face.
He may not have gotten the medals. But he had his life, his family waiting.
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Flashback – The Final Moments of Kaelen
The air was thick with smoke, and the ground still trembled from the aftermath of the attack. Amira arrived at the heart of the ruined village, too late.
Kaelen lay among the scorched earth, his body bloodied and broken. His breaths came in shallow gasps, and tears streamed down his face as he reached out toward a lifeless figure nearby—Aeris, his beloved wife.
"Sir Kaelen…" Amira's voice was soft, trembling. "I'm sorry…"
A weak chuckle escaped Kaelen's lips. "Why apologize, Lady Amira…? I knew you'd grow stronger."
His eyes, dim yet kind, found hers. "Could you help this defeated man? Just… help me get to my wife."
Without hesitation, Amira knelt beside him, her hands trembling as she helped him inch closer to Aeris. His fingers brushed his wife's hand, and he whispered, "Love… I'm sorry. If I'm ever given another life… I'll spend every second of it with you. Forever and ever."
More tears fell from Kaelen's eyes. "Why… why did I have to see you like this? I wish I could've taken the pain instead…"
Amira wiped at her own tears, struggling to hold them back. "I should've come sooner… I should've been here to protect you both."
Kaelen turned his gaze to her, his strength waning. "Then… do one thing for me. My daughters… Pearline and Elysia. Please… save them."
Amira's breath caught, but she nodded. "I will. I promise."
And with that, Kaelen released his last breath—peaceful, yet heavy with the weight of love and sacrifice.
Amira rose, eyes gleaming with purpose, and vanished into the trees—determined to keep her promise.