---
The desert lands beyond the palace gates were a cruel, untamed expanse—a far cry from the soft elegance of Serenya's marble halls. As the sun climbed the sky, it scorched the sand and seared the soles of every living thing that dared cross its reach. And yet, there she was—Serenya of the Royal House of Eldros—riding a snow-white steed draped in velvet cloth, flanked by six guards in gleaming silver armor.
They had left the Palace of Eldros two days prior.
Serenya was no longer dressed in silks but in layered travel leathers, boots that bit into her calves, and a cloak of storm-dyed blue that shielded her from the sun's wrath. Her long braid clung to her back with sweat, and dust clung to every inch of her face. Her irritation was visible.
"I cannot believe I agreed to this," she muttered, shielding her eyes from the sun. "This is madness."
"You insisted, Your Highness," said Captain Darius, her personal guard. His voice was even, calm. A tall, imposing man with skin the color of scorched bronze and sharp eyes that missed nothing. He was a Level 4 fire wielder—known throughout the kingdom as The Ember Strategist.
"I insisted on finding him, not being boiled alive on the way," she snapped.
Darius raised a brow. "Then perhaps next time, Your Highness, we'll summon the Prime with a hand-carved letter and a royal invitation."
One of the guards chuckled. Serenya glared at him.
---
The terrain slowed them. Food ran low. Spirits dipped. But Darius remained vigilant, constantly scouting ahead. They made camp under stone overhangs, rotating watches and avoiding open plains.
That night, Serenya sat beside a struggling fire, arms wrapped around her knees.
"This is miserable," she whispered.
Darius knelt beside her and set down a wrapped parcel of dried meat and fruit. "You wanted to understand him. Understand the Prime. This is part of it."
"I imagined stories, not suffering."
"Stories," Darius said gently, "don't burn your feet or blister your hands. But they also don't show you who you are."
She looked at him. "And what do you see in me?"
Darius gave a small smile. "A spark. Not yet a flame. But you will burn, Princess. One day."
---
By the fifth day, they encountered trouble.
Bandits—or something worse. Figures shrouded in rags and masks, wielding crude but enchanted weapons. There were a dozen of them—waiting in the canyon pass. The moment the caravan entered, arrows rained from above.
"Shield up!" Darius barked.
A wall of fire erupted in front of them, melting the first wave of arrows. The guards dismounted, forming a defensive circle around Serenya.
She drew her blades—short, curved, and enchanted with air-bound speed. She summoned flames to her palms and sent bolts flying. Her training showed: her strikes were swift, her footwork elegant. But her precision wavered. Her fire lacked weight.
Still, she downed two attackers with sheer aggression.
But the numbers overwhelmed them.
One guard fell—then another. A blade struck Serenya's shoulder, grazing her. Darius moved like a storm, incinerating a trio of attackers in a swirl of fire and movement. He used the terrain to his advantage, forcing enemies into bottlenecks.
When the last of their caravan horses was slain, he grabbed Serenya by the arm.
"We're leaving. Now."
"But—"
"They're already gone. I can't lose you too."
She bit her lip, then nodded.
They ran.
Through fire. Through screams. Through smoke.
---
Day six.
They trudged through a marsh-lined trail. Their boots squelched in mud. Serenya's cloak had torn along one side, and her once-royal tunic was now stained with soot, blood, and river grime. She no longer looked like a princess—more like a desperate traveler with a sword far too expensive for her current state.
They slept beneath hanging moss. Ate what Darius could scavenge. She no longer complained, but each step showed weariness in her eyes.
"Darius," she asked quietly one night. "Do you think he's real?"
"The Prime?"
She nodded.
"I think the world is shifting. And things we once called myths are walking again."
She didn't answer. But she sat closer to the fire that night.
---
Day seven.
Serenya knelt by a stream, rinsing her hands and face. Her braid was frayed. Her boots had split along the seams. Her fingers trembled from fatigue.
Darius had stepped away to scout the surrounding area. He told her to stay near the water and warned of any sudden movements in the trees.
Moments later—a voice.
"You're far from home."
She turned sharply.
A boy stepped forward, dark-haired, battle-worn, with a sword slung over his shoulder. Behind him stood three others—two boys and a girl with a quiet but deadly stance.
"I am Princess Serenya of the Royal House of Eldros," she announced with defiance.
There was a beat of silence.
Then the boy—Asteria—burst out laughing.
"A princess? Out here? Wearing... that?"
Mira smirked. "She's either mad or lying."
Tarn snorted. "I say spy."
"She's bluffing," Valron added. "Royalty don't walk into streams without an army."
Serenya stiffened. "You dare lay hands on me—"
Before she could finish, Mira stepped forward to restrain her, but Serenya flared into motion. Fire danced from her palm as she kicked back with surprising strength, sending Mira stumbling. Tarn lunged—and received a burst of wind and flame to the face, knocking him into the dirt.
Valron moved next, swift and cautious, only for Serenya to draw her twin blades in a flash and force him back with wide, precise slashes.
Her training showed.
But fatigue slowed her. Asteria finally engaged—his movements fluid, unpredictable.
"You've got fire, I'll give you that," he said between dodges. "But you're still outnumbered."
She spun to strike again—but Asteria knocked her blade aside with a twist of his wrist and pinned her down.
She struggled—snarled—but her limbs gave way.
"Enough," Asteria said. "No one's hurting you. Yet."
They bound her—not cruelly, but firmly—and led her toward their camp.
Just as Darius returned, he saw the last glimpse of Serenya disappearing between trees. His keen eyes spotted scorch marks on the grass, broken branches, and scattered footprints.
He dropped to one knee, examined the soil, then stood up with fire already crackling along his arms.
"They took her."
He raised his blade.
And followed with fury burning in every step.
---