25 years later
In the north-central part of the kingdom of Macabre, the Dragonseed Clan stood proud. Famed for its rich coal and gold mines, envied for its wealth, and feared for its pride.
Unlike the other five clans, the Dragonseed lived by rules as hard as the ore they mined. Nobles draped themselves in long silk gowns, embroidered with gold threads and set with black gemstones. They stood out wherever they went, their attire declaring wealth, rank, and lineage.
Among them was a young noblewoman named Fanaza, the only daughter of Elric Dragonseed. Her black hair fell in loose, glossy waves down her back, framing a face marked by bright blue eyes, soft cheekbones, a petite nose, and full, curved lips. Her porcelain-smooth skin and the subtle gleam of her silks marked her as highborn.
And yet, behind the grace and privilege, Fanaza felt suffocated.
Her heart yearned for more—freedom, love, and the thrill of creating beauty with her own hands. Dressmaking was her secret passion, a dangerous indulgence in a world where noblewomen were forbidden any pursuit beyond serving their husbands and bearing children.
Often, she would sneak past the mansion walls into the woods, chasing butterflies and gathering flowers to spark new dress designs she would sketch in private.
Today was no different.
She darted after a pale-winged butterfly, her laughter echoing through the trees. Her maid, Sally, followed close from behind, trying to keep up with her energetic pace.
"Lady Fanaza! "Please, wait!" Sally called, her voice a mix of panic and breathlessness. She lifted her skirts to avoid tripping.
Fanaza only laughed, her eyes locked on the butterfly. But then her foot caught on a tree root, and she stumbled down a small slope, hitting the ground with a thud.
Pain burnt through her knee, and when she looked, blood trickled bright against her skin.
A wave of fear engulfed her; nobles must never scar, she thought. Well… this one just made an exception.
"My lady!" Sally dropped to her knees beside her, face etched with worry.
"Owww… it hurts so badly," Fanaza groaned.
"That's what you get for disobeying the Lord," Sally scolded gently, though her lips curled into a little smile.
"I wasn't disobeying. I was just… living. I'm always locked up in the house like a maid. I have no friends, no one to talk to," Fanaza said with a crooked smile.
"I'm here, my lady," Sally assured her, extending a hand. "Let's tend to that knee before the Lord finds out."
Sally wasn't just a servant—she was Fanaza's partner in crime, a sister. Together they broke rules nobles dared not even bend.
By the time they returned, they had climbed over the rear fence and slipped in through a side hallway. Fanaza was just about to step inside when voices from her mother's room made her stop.
"I will not let you marry off my daughter?" Her mother, Elizabeth, argued.
"Elizabeth, it's already decided," her father snapped. "She will marry the Crown Prince of Macabre. It is her destiny."
Fanaza's stomach turned.
Marry… the Crown Prince?
She didn't know him. She didn't even like the idea of him.
"You cannot send her to a stranger's land," Elizabeth protested. "How will she survive so far from home?"
"She will," Elric replied coldly. "She is to marry Crown Prince Percival. In two days, she will leave for the palace."
Fanaza's chest tightened, and her thoughts spiralled in confusion.
She pushed the door open. "Are you trying to sell me off to a stranger?" Her voice trembled, though her eyes were bright with anger.
Her mother turned in surprise. "Fanaza, I didn't know you were—"
"Why would you decide such a thing behind my back? An arranged marriage to someone I've never met? Do you even know the rumours about him?" Fanaza's fingers tightened around her skirts, drawing them in as if to hold herself back.
"Ignore the rumours," Elric said sharply. "The marriage is final." And with that, he left, Elizabeth hurrying after him.
A horrifying truth flooded her mind as she watched her father fade away. He was as stubborn as a goat, and once he had his mind on something, there was no going back.
Fanaza sank into a chair, her mind spinning. She had dreamed of first love, of choosing the one who would hold her heart. Now, that dream lay shattered.
A whisper at the door pulled her back.
"My lady," Sally said softly. "You have an invitation."
Fanaza didn't give a response.
"It's from the best fashion designer in the kingdom—Tara Oculus. She saw your dresses at the store and wants to meet you… tonight. At the tavern."
Fanaza lifted her head sharply. "Are you serious?"
"Yes. Look." Sally handed her the parchment.
Hope flickered in Fanaza's eyes. "Dress me," she said, her voice firm now.
******
That night, after the mansion's lights went dark and the sleeping bell tolled, they dressed quietly and slipped to the fence.
"My lady, be quick," Sally urged, boosting her up. Fanaza landed lightly, then helped Sally over. They both headed to the place.
The tavern reeked of ale and sweat, its air thick with smoke. Men laughed too loudly, their eyes lingering too long on her silks; this made her skin crawl. She was sure those men had taken off her whole dress with just a stare.
Fanaza scanned the crowd, but there was no sign of Tara Oculus. Minutes turned to hours. Her hope drained in an instant. She turned to find Sally, but she was gone.
"Sally?" she called, pushing through the crowd. She received a tap on the shoulder from Sally, smiling like a child.
"My lady, I met a handsome man! He gave me a sip of the red wine."
Fanaza's lips tightened. "Let's just go home. She never came."
"I just need to pee first, then we'll talk about Tara." Sally smiled, making her way outside.
Fanaza waited in the bushes, standing still beside a tree, but a butterfly caught her eye, drifting further into the bushes. She followed—step by step and never noticed how far she'd gone—until she stumbled into a clearing where a group of ragged bandits sat around a fire.
"Well, look what wandered in," the leader grinned.
Fanaza took a step back. "I… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."
They stood, surrounding her.
"Look at the silk," one of the bandits sneered, reaching for her dress.
"Please, let me go," she begged. "I'm lost."
The leader stepped forward, his grin widening.
"She is a noble?" one of the bandits muttered.
"Please let me go; I must have taken a wrong direction." Fanaza blurted out and was about to walk away when she hit another bandit.
"Are you a noble? He whispered into her ears, sending a shiver down her spine. He touched her dress and ran his hands through her hair.
Fanaza became scared; fear rooted itself deep into her bones. She could tell the men were dangerous.
They had in mind to sleep with her and rob her of every piece of jewellery on her body.
"Please let me go!" she pleaded.
The men laughed hysterically and were about to force themselves on her when a low, thunderous voice pierced the night; they halted.
"Let her go!" he said, stepping from the shadows.
The men stopped in action. Fanaza was able to move to a safe side.
Turning to her right, she saw a man who stood tall, shrouded in a dark, hooded cloak that hid his face and entire body.
But his eyes gleamed like polished gold, shining brightly in the darkness. They seemed to radiate an inner light, glowing with an ethereal intensity that was both mesmerising and unsettling.
At first glance, he looked like those old cloaked travellers, but the air around him felt heavier now, hinting at something not entirely human.
A strange silence fell, and Fanaza could feel her heartbeat echo louder than the noise around her. Whoever he was, he wasn't ordinary.
Not at all. Those eyes, they are unreal, and only one man in the realm had golden eyes like that, but it couldn't be.
How did a mere mortal man get this gift when he is not a god? Fanaza was deep in thoughts.
His broad shoulders and powerful physique also hinted at supernatural strength. The cloak concealed any imperfections but an aura of quiet confidence and authority. He commanded attention.
The man in the dark cloak stepped forward, his golden eyes blazing with an inner fire.
The bandits charged, but he moved smoothly, his dagger flashing in the darkness. He was like a knight in shining armour.
With swift, merciless strikes, he took down the bandits one by one.
They screamed and clutched at their wounds, but he showed no mercy. When one bandit swung a stick at his head, he caught it on his forearm, the wood shattering against his flesh. Some of the bandits fled, while others lay scattered on the ground, their bodies broken, and blood dripped on their skin.
As Fanaza watched quietly from afar, the cloaked man turned to her. She could see his eyes shining so bright and clear; she fell in love and was lost in them.
With his defeat he had no reason to stay, but a soft voice made him stop halfway in motion.
"Who are you?" Fanaza asked, curious about the man in the hooded cloak, who the mysterious lifesaver was.
The man said nothing but ran out of the woods immediately. She saw something drop from his cloak—a silver necklace, glinting in the moonlight.
Fanaza picked it up.
She didn't know his name. But she would never forget his eyes.
And one day, she hoped their paths would cross and she would return what he left behind.