The morning sun spilled softly across the palace walls, gilding the stone in a pale honey glow. High in one of its lonely towers stood a young woman, her forehead resting gently against the cool frame of the window. From there, Princess Lyra watched the courtyard far below—watched, as she always did, from a distance the world never allowed her to touch.
A royal carriage waited beneath her tower, lacquered in ivory and gold. One by one, her older sisters descended the steps, their golden hair shimmering like threads of sunlight. They moved with effortless grace, the kind taught since birth and refined through magic flowing through their veins.
Lyra's gaze lingered on the second sister—Rhena. Cold blue eyes flashed upward, meeting Lyra's for the briefest breath. A curl of disdain touched her lips before she slipped into the carriage.
"Pompous as ever," Lyra murmured, half a sigh, half a whisper carried away by the wind.
Her own green eyes—soft, bright, and endlessly curious—reflected the distant shimmer of freedom she could not reach.
The other sisters did not spare her even a glance.
The carriage bearing the three golden-haired princesses sped away in a streak of magic, leaving the faint scent of ozone drifting through the cold morning air.
A moment later, two figures of the Solaris bloodline stepped into view. The Emperor, robed in deep imperial gold, walked toward the second carriage with the unhurried gravity of a man born to command. The soldiers lining the path bowed low, their armor clinking softly in the stillness.
Behind him came the Crown Prince, youthful but solemn, his steps measured as he waited for his father to ascend first. Only when the Emperor had entered did the Crown Prince follow, closing the carriage door with a quiet finality.
A shimmer of speed-magic flared beneath the wheels, and the carriage vanished down the palace road — leaving the courtyard, and Lyra, behind.
Lyra's chest tightened. They had left her behind again.
It was not the first time, but some small, foolish part of her still wished that one morning, just one…they might turn and say, "Come with us."
But the wish remained only that… a wish.
She stood a little longer at the window, letting the sun warm her fair skin and the wind play with the pale golden strands of her hair. They lifted gently, like wilted petals yearning toward light.
"Princess Lyra," came a soft voice behind her.
Lyra closed her eyes. Talia's tone always carried worry, like a mother clutching a fragile porcelain cup.
"I'm not in tears," Lyra said before turning. "Not today."
She wasn't. But her heart still bled quietly—an old wound, layered with years of being overlooked, hidden, and gently forgotten. As a child, she never questioned why her siblings roamed the empire freely, invited everywhere, adored everywhere. While she remained cooped up inside. She thought it normal for a princess to live between walls, alone with her books and quiet thoughts.
But then etiquette classes began.
Then lessons about royal duties.
Then whispers behind lace fans.
And suddenly she learned the truth: freedom was a birthright given only to those born with magic.
When Lyra finally turned from the window, Talia stepped close and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"I am certain the game will be no different from the last," she whispered.
Lyra's head snapped toward her. Their faces were close—close enough for Lyra to smell the faint lavender clinging to Talia's dress.
"That's the problem," Lyra huffed. "It will be exciting. And I won't be there to see it." She paced deeper into her room, her long gown brushing across the polished floor.
Talia hurried after her. "Princess, your magic experiments are far more interesting than any game—"
"Magic stones?" Lyra let out a small, humorless laugh.
She approached her cluttered desk. Books lay open at odd angles, pages filled with careful notes. Scattered among them were stones…blue, red, silver, carved into delicate sigils and circles.
Magic stones.
Her only chance to grasp the world she had been denied.
Lyra picked up a small translucent blue stone, turning it between her fingers.
"They'll be watching a whole spectacle of magic," she murmured. "And the king's champion fights today. Rhena wouldn't stop bragging about it last night."
Rhena's voice, sharp as frost echoed in her memory:
A royal without magic has no place in a crowd meant for the gifted.
In Solaris Empire, even commoners carried some flicker of magic. To be born royal without a single spark was… shameful. Some called it a curse. Others, though not to her face, called it a disgrace.
If not for her golden hair, the sacred mark of the royal bloodline, she would have been labeled a bastard.
Talia's voice broke into her thoughts.
"Is there anything I can do to brighten your mood?"
Lyra's eyes lit up like dawn breaking. Before Talia could react, Lyra zipped forward with surprising speed and grabbed both of the maid's hands.
"If you'd simply agree to help me—"
"No, Princess! We agreed it would put you in trouble." Talia jerked her hands back, alarm prickling her voice. She already knew what Lyra was about to ask. They had argued about it late into the night.
"You concluded alone," Lyra said, crossing her arms with an exaggerated pout.
She looked heartbreakingly innocent when she pouted. soft face framed by gentle curls, lashes fluttering like pleading wings. In the past, such a look would have broken Talia's resolve in an instant.
But not today.
Today, the princess wanted to escape the palace, just to go see the arena game.
"Using illusion magic on someone without magic is dangerous," Talia insisted. "The spell will rebound."
Lyra only smiled, sly and triumphant. From beneath the folds of her undergarment, she produced two bright red grapes.
Talia blinked. "Princess…?"
"Healing grapes," Lyra announced. "I snuck into the kitchen last night."
Talia stared at her, torn between horror and reluctant admiration.
"Your Highness, my duty is to protect you, not create trouble.
"You are creating trouble for me," Lyra said dramatically, hands on her hips. "Do you know how difficult it was to sneak past the guards?"
Talia sighed a long, defeated sigh.
"If… if I were to cast an illusion, how would you even leave the palace?"
"Simple," Lyra chirped, bright as spring. "You fuse your magic into my stone, I open a small portal, and I step out somewhere near the arena."
Talia rubbed her forehead. Allowing Lyra access to so many magical books had indeed been a mistake. A brilliant mistake.
"Talia?"
Lyra waved a hand in front of her face.
Talia closed her eyes as if praying to every deity listening.
"If you are caught…" Her voice trembled. "I will be punished severely."
"I swear on my life—"
Talia immediately pressed a hand to Lyra's lips. "Don't speak such oaths."
They stared at each other for a moment, the room silent except for the fluttering curtains.
Finally, Talia smiled helplessly.
"Princess… you are a very clever criminal."
Lyra's eyes softened.
"I'll take that as a compliment. Since many say I am useless without magic."
Talia's heart tightened. She had witnessed the cruelty of nobles. The whispered insults, the forced smiles, the way Lyra would escape to her room with tears shimmering in her lashes. She had also seen the other side: the brilliant girl who studied tirelessly, who experimented even when magic rejected her, who dreamed of rewriting the fate carved for her at birth.
"Your Highness," Talia said gently, "you are talented, wise, and resilient. One day, you may succeed in using magic through your stones. And when that day comes, they will all remember you as the one who defied fate."
Lyra's pout slowly dissolved.
"Does that mean you'll help me?"
Talia straightened her dress. The soft white fabric embroidered with golden thread and walked to the door. Lyra's brows lowered in disappointment.
But then Talia opened the door a crack and told the guards outside,
"The princess will be taking her midday rest. No disturbances."
She shut the door again, turned… and smiled.
"So then, Princess," she said softly,
"what appearance would you like to wear today?"