AILON
Decem millennium prior
In the grand hall of the Palace of Pandora, where the air hummed with the clang of steel and the echoes of determination, Queen Merika stood like a beacon of ethereal grace. Her armour, as white and radiant as the moon itself, shimmered under the flickering torchlight, casting a celestial glow upon her lothric features. Her luminescent eyes, mirrors of her ancient lineage, surveyed the sand pit below where her son, Prince Xalandra, sparred with one of the palace guards.
"Good!" she exclaimed, her voice carrying with it the weight of authority and pride. With each move, Prince Xalandra danced with the elegance of his heritage, his slender frame a whirlwind of skill and determination against his burlier opponent. Despite the odds, he held his ground, his resolve unyielding as he matched blow for blow.
Beside Queen Merika stood her daughter, Alara, a vision of youth and innocence amidst the martial fervour. Her eyes, reflecting the same luminosity as her mother's, were fixed upon her brother with a mixture of admiration and concern. She understood the significance of this moment, the trial that awaited her brother as he sought to claim his rightful place among the high elders of their people.
The hall resonated with the clash of weapons, a symphony of combat that spoke of the legacy and heritage of the lothric race. Around them, warriors trained tirelessly, their movements fluid and precise.
As Prince Xalandra continued to press forward, his determination unyielding, Queen Merika's heart swelled with pride. In his every strike, she saw the strength of their lineage, the resilience of their people. And beside her, Alara watched with a silent vow, edging her brother on and wishing she could fight as he did.
The tension in the grand hall of the Palace of Pandora thickened as Queen Merika, her demeanour as cold as the winter winds, halted the clash between her son and the palace guard with a single commanding gesture. Her voice cut through the air, devoid of warmth as she called for Prince Xalandra to exit the pit. "It's your turn," she stated bluntly, her hand gently but firmly guiding her daughter, Alara, into the sandy arena. Alara's apprehensive gaze met her brother's reassuring smile as he passed her his wooden sword, a silent exchange of sibling understanding. With a wink, he took his place by their mother's side, leaving Alara alone in the centre of the pit, surrounded by soldiers.
Alara's heart raced as she squared off against the imposing figure before her, her fingers tightening around the wooden sword her brother had passed to her. With a nod from her mother, the guard advanced, his silver and golden armour glinting in the ethereal light.
As the first strike came, Alara's reflexes kicked in, her blade meeting her opponent's with a resounding clang. But the guard pressed on relentlessly, his strength and experience evident in every move. Alara danced back, her footwork clumsy compared to his fluid grace, but determination blazed in her eyes.
With a swift feint, the guard caught Alara off balance, knocking her wooden sword from her grasp. She stumbled backward, sand spraying beneath her feet, but before she could recover, the guard closed the distance between them. His sword descended in a swift arc, but Alara managed to deflect the blow with her forearm, the impact sending shockwaves of pain up her arm. Gritting her teeth against the pain, Alara ducked and weaved, desperately trying to evade her opponent's relentless assault. But the guard was relentless, his strikes coming fast and furious, each blow driving her further back until her back collided with the edge of the pit.
With nowhere left to retreat, Alara braced herself for the inevitable onslaught. The guard's sword descended with lethal precision, but at the last moment, Alara rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the blow. As she scrambled to her knees, her eyes met her mother's, the silent command to stand echoing in their depths.
Summoning every ounce of strength she possessed, Alara rose to her feet, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she faced her opponent once more. With a defiant shout, she launched herself back into the fray, her movements fuelled by determination and a fierce determination to prove herself worthy of her mother's expectations. Though bruises blossomed across her skin and her muscles screamed with exhaustion, she refused to falter, her every movement a declaration of her resilience and strength.
"Stop taking it easy on her," Queen Merika's command cut through the air like a whip crack, her voice tinged with a stern edge. The guard's demeanour shifted, his movements becoming more aggressive, his strikes raining down upon Alara with brutal force.
Alara's world spun as each blow landed, pain blossoming across her body with each impact. She fought to remain standing, but the onslaught was relentless, driving her to her knees, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
Through blurred vision, she saw her mother's disappointed gaze, a weighty burden that settled heavily upon her heart. The ache of failure gnawed at her soul, threatening to overwhelm her.
But as she lay there, battered and bruised, a fire ignited within her, why was her mother content on seeing her treated so cruelly? She was not as good a fighter as most but she was good at energy transmogrification. Saulste had told her enough and she hoped her mother would think the same but somehow that was not good enough for Merika. The ache of disappointment transformed into a searing heat that burned away her doubts and fears.
With a primal roar, Alara surged to her feet, her eyes blazing with righteous fury as she faced her assailant. She was not fragile yet it felt as though everyone but her mother refused to see that.
With a forceful hurl, she unleashed a torrent of explosive energy, a blinding wave of light that tore through the air with unstoppable force. The shockwave sent everyone around them tumbling to the ground, the sheer power of her fury reverberating through the hall like a thunderclap.
As the dust settled, Alara stood amidst the wreckage, her chest heaving with exertion, her eyes still ablaze. And as she met her mother's gaze once more, she saw something shift within those luminescent eyes. It was not disappointment that lingered there, but a spark that Alara wished was of pride, or a recognition of the warrior spirit that burned bright within her daughter's soul.