At first, only a small breeze encircled Mira—barely audible, like the hushed whispers of nature unwilling to disturb the morning stillness.
Strands of her hair lifted gently, swaying along the slow spiral of wind that danced around her small fra. Her dress rippled softly, as if breathing with the world itself. Dry leaves nearby rose one by one, spinning in a slow, srizing dance.
Then, droplets of water began to appear—forming from the humidity in the air, weightless and crystal-clear. They orbited Mira in a slow rhythm, catching the morning sunlight and scattering it like fragnts of a dream.
And then... sothing else arrived.
Faint streaks of lightning—barely visible—slipped through the breeze and mist. A subtle current humd through the air, tracing silver lines that wrapped Mira in an unseen field. There was no sound of thunder. No sll of burning. Only a gentle vibration, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
Wind. Water. Lightning.
Three elents... swirling around a girl who had yet to even open her eyes.
The scene looked like a living painting—impossible, and yet utterly real.
Riven stood still.
For a mont, he forgot to breathe.
His heart pounded in his chest.
Beside him, Lyrienne remained silent. Her expression was unreadable—eyes narrowed, jaw clenched, her ornate fan closed tightly in her hand.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
Only awe—and a trace of fear—grew steadily in the silence.
.
.
.
Behind thick wooden doors, the air inside Lord Valderacht’s study was tinged with parchnt, cinnamon, and the quiet crackle of fire from the hearth. There, Queen Ashtoria sat straight-backed, her expression calm, as she spoke with the patriarch of House Valderacht—discussing a matter that had lingered like rot in her mind.
The dragon.
Fresh reports lay scattered across the desk, so still warm from the hands of ssengers. The words written on them were cold and factual:
Five villages. One city. All reduced to ash.
Ashtoria read them in silence. Her eyes didn’t move, but when she finally spoke, her voice was low and sharp.
"It’s gone that far?"
Lord Valderacht gave a slight bow, his tone heavy with restrained guilt. "We believe the dragon is heading toward the Vathar Mountains. Scout units have been dispatched."
But the man’s voice beca little more than background noise in Ashtoria’s ears.
Her mind... had wandered back.
To that night—when she found Riven gravely wounded by the waves of beasts, which had been stirred up by the dragon. She had wanted to kill the creature right then and there, punish it for daring to harm what was hers. But when she heard Riven’s heartbeat fading, she chose instead to carry him to the city. She had already wounded the dragon—she could have chased it down.
But she didn’t.
And she didn’t regret it. Not even for a mont.
She instructed Lord Valderacht to report any sighting of the dragon imdiately. If it ever ca near the city of Dorthlam, she would hunt it down personally.
They also briefly discussed the reason Ashtoria hadn’t returned to the royal capital. She would be staying at the Valderacht estate for a few more days.
Once their business concluded, she rose and left the study without another word. Her low heels clicked softly against the carpet, elegant and quiet—hiding the storm rising within her.
Her steps were swift but unhurried as she walked down the long second-floor corridor. Through the tall windows lining the hallway, the back garden lay bathed in golden sunlight.
And then she saw it.
Riven.
Standing in the stone courtyard below, beside a pale-haired noblewoman. The woman was tall, graceful, her dress marking her status, and her smile...
...a delicate smile aid at Riven.
Ashtoria stopped mid-step.
The air around her felt heavier, pressing down on her chest.
The sensation ca suddenly—a strange warmth in her chest, like water beginning to boil but not yet spilling over. Her gaze locked onto them. Her heart beat faster without reason. Her hand clenched again, not out of anger... but sothing else.
Who is she?
Why is she standing so close?
What are they talking about?
A whisper stirred in her mind. She knew it was irrational, absurd even.
But she couldn’t silence it.
Why is she looking at Riven like that?
Is Riven... looking back?
She tore her gaze away, forcing her thoughts to settle—but then she noticed sothing else:
Mira.
Sitting cross-legged beneath the tree, surrounded by spiraling winds, floating droplets, and gentle arcs of lightning.
And in a blink—
Ashtoria vanished from her place.
Gone, as though she’d never stood in that corridor at all.
Suddenly... she was standing beside Riven. As if she had always been there.
Riven turned quickly, startled by her sudden appearance. Lyrienne took a half-step back, her body tensing as the smile on her lips vanished like mist in the wind.
Ashtoria turned slowly to Riven, her gaze serene yet carrying a strange, unspoken weight.
"It seems Mira has discovered her affinity," she said calmly, her tone as flat as ever.
Riven, still trying to calm his pulse from her sudden arrival, swallowed. He t her gaze briefly before glancing back at his little sister, still deep in ditation—wrapped in a growing storm of elents that shimred with power.
"Really?" he asked quietly.
He observed the leaves swirling without touching the ground, the droplets that never fell, and the flickers of light that ca and went in the folds of air. Then he spoke again, his voice hesitant yet hopeful.
"So... what do you think her affinity is?"
Ashtoria answered without pause, her voice cool and razor-sharp.
)
"Wind, water, and lightning."
Riven fell silent.
His mouth opened slightly, but no words ca out.
His eyes fixed on Mira, as if trying to find answers in the harmony of the elental dance around her.
On the other side, Lyrienne stood frozen. Her widened eyes betrayed a storm of disbelief that slowly overtook her elegant facade.
What was she witnessing?
How could a commoner like that man... speak so casually with the queen? Queen Ashtoria, infamous for her cruelty, her unpredictability—so whispered she was mad.
And yet here she was, standing close to Riven. Too close. Not bothered in the slightest. They seed... familiar.
Then, as the words "wind, water, and lightning" reached her ears, her entire body stiffened. She stepped forward without realizing it, as if her body moved before her thoughts.
"Th-three affinities...?" she whispered.
Then, with a trembling voice, she asked, "Most people only have one affinity. I’ve heard of so with two... but that’s incredibly rare. I’ve never heard of anyone having three... except in old stories..."
Her voice faded.
Both Ashtoria and Riven turned to her at the sa ti.
Ashtoria’s gaze was cold and empty—but beneath it lay an invisible pressure, a silent force that pricked the skin like needles. She still rembered this woman... how she had stood too close to Riven. How she had spoken to him with veiled contempt, as if he didn’t belong here.
And Lyrienne—once so full of pride—now felt her knees weaken. Her throat dried up. She bowed low at once, her voice trembling with forced grace.
"Forgive my rudeness for raising my voice, Your Majesty... If it pleases you, may I ask what you ant earlier...?"
Riven glanced at her, then sighed inwardly. ’Just one look from this woman... and a noble’s pride crumbles like ash.’
Ashtoria turned her eyes back to Mira, not responding at first.
"You’ll see it for yourself soon," she said coldly.
Lyrienne fell silent. Unsure if that was a reply... or a threat.
All three turned their eyes back to Mira.
The wind whirled faster. The water floated in elegant spirals around her small fra, refracting light like glass. Lightning arched gently, forming soft loops, as if the elents were recognizing her as their center.
And just as the breathtaking beauty reached its peak, sothing unexpected happened.
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