Morning sunlight filtered through the crystal windows of Ardenwel Palace, painting soft gold over the marble floors. Birds sang in the gardens below, their melodies drifting upward like a blessing meant only for her.
Rhea Ardenwel sat quietly at her window seat, long dark hair falling over her shoulders as she wrapped fresh bandages around her palm. A thin scratch marked her skin — a reminder from last night's secret visit to the forest.
"Another wound," came a soft sigh.
Mira, her lady-in-waiting, hurried in with a tray of warm herbs. She was the only one who knew Rhea slipped out of the palace to heal commoners and soldiers. The court would scold her if they knew the princess was wandering into dangerous woods alone.
Rhea smiled, gentle and apologetic.
"It was just a frightened deer."
"And you're the one who ended up bleeding," Mira muttered.
Rhea laughed softly, but the sound held a quiet sadness — one she never voiced aloud. Healing magic came naturally to her, as easily as breathing. Plants listened to her. Animals trusted her. Even the earth hummed beneath her bare feet, like an old friend welcoming her home.
But no matter how much she tried…
She could never save enough.
Not when the empire was slowly falling apart.
Not when villages brought her dying children and wounded soldiers who whispered of monsters rising from the far borders.
Not when her magic — warm, soft, golden-green — flickered weaker every day.
She whispered a spell, and the scratch on her hand closed gently, flowers blooming faintly around her fingertips before fading back into her skin.
Mira watched in awe.
"You're gifted, my Lady… more than any healer I've ever seen."
Rhea didn't respond.
Because she didn't feel gifted.
She felt… incomplete.
As if a part of her magic was missing, like a song she could almost remember but never fully hear.
A sudden breeze swept through the open window, cool and strangely sweet. The curtains rose as if caught in invisible hands.
Rhea froze.
It wasn't normal wind.
It carried warmth like a breath against her neck.
Mira felt nothing.
Only Rhea did.
That sensation again.
The same one from her dreams.
Mine.
A whisper.
A voice that didn't sound human.
Warm, deep, echoing through her bones.
She pressed a hand to her chest, steadying her heartbeat.
"What's wrong?" Mira asked.
"Nothing," Rhea lied. "Just… dizziness."
But it wasn't dizziness.
It was the same feeling she'd been getting for weeks — when the moon was high, when she healed the dying, when she stood near water or fire or shadows.
Something was calling her.
Something ancient.
Something waiting.
---
Later, she walked through the palace garden, trailing her fingers through the soft petals of blooming violets. Vines crawled behind her feet, lifting their leaves, reaching for her — as if nature itself adored her.
Children from the palace staff ran up to her, one holding a bird with a broken wing.
"Princess Rhea! Can you help him? Please?"
Of course she could.
She always could.
She knelt on the grass, her gown pooling around her like rippling silk. The little bird trembled in her hands.
"It's alright," she whispered, voice warm as summer.
Golden-green light flowed from her palms. The bird's wing straightened, feathers smoothing out as magic stitched its bones together.
The children gasped in delight.
"You're amazing!"
Rhea smiled softly but didn't answer. Because deep inside, a quiet ache grew stronger each day.
If she was so amazing…
why couldn't she heal the empire?
Why did her magic feel too small to save anything that truly mattered?
Why did she wake each night with her body burning, her chest glowing faintly beneath her skin?
---
That evening, she returned to her chamber, exhausted. She leaned against the balcony railing, looking out at the empire she loved.
Distant fires glowed on the horizon — another border village lost.
"Why can't I do more…?"
The wind rose again, curling around her like a warm embrace.
This time, she didn't pull away.
She closed her eyes.
And in the darkness behind her eyelids, she saw four silhouettes:
One surrounded by stormlight.
One burning with crimson-fire.
One flowing like water.
One standing like stone.
Their gazes fixed on her.
Her breath hitched.
Not human.
Not mortal.
Found you.
The whisper echoed through her mind — four voices overlapping as one.
Rhea staggered back, clutching her chest. Heat pulsed beneath her collarbone. A faint golden shape flickered under her skin.
A mark—
one she had never seen before.
Her heart pounded.
Her breath shook.
The air itself trembled around her.
Far beyond the palace walls, deep in the forgotten corners of the sky, something ancient stirred.
Something waking.
Something coming.
Rhea didn't know it yet, but the peaceful life she knew was ending.
The dragons had opened their eyes.
And they were coming for their bride.