Zaria was only eight when her powers first awakened—untamed bursts of radiant energy that responded to her emotions. She could summon light with a flicker of fear, command the wind when anger flared in her chest, and once shattered a marble floor simply because she cried. Her parents knew that power like hers needed guidance, not confinement.
So with heavy hearts and trembling hands, they sent her away to her mother's homeland—Osborne, a kingdom hidden high amongst luminous silver mountains. There, magic was a part of life, and Queen Elowen, Zaria's powerful mother, was respected not for her royal blood but for her mysterious origins. Only the king and queen knew the truth: Zaria wasn't a girl to be protected—she was a prophecy waiting to unfold.
For eleven long years, Osborne became her world. She trained under spellcasters, swordsmen, and wise scholars. She learned grace, discipline, and above all—control. The once-fearful girl became a beacon of kindness and strength. Her people back home admired her from afar; stories of her compassion traveled faster than messengers.
And now… she was coming home.
The forests of Miravale welcomed her first. Sunlight filtered through towering emerald trees as her carriage rolled along the familiar path. Butterflies gathered like petals carried by the wind—drawn to her magic's quiet hum.
Zaria peeked outside, her heart beating faster with every turn of the wheels.
After all these years… will they still remember me?
Suddenly, the horses halted.
Her guard leaned closer. "Your Highness… someone stands ahead. A tall man with long black hair and—"
He hesitated, confused. "—blue eyes."
Zaria's lips curved into a knowing smile.
Only one person has eyes like the ocean and mischief in his veins.
Before she could warn them, the carriage door swung open with explosive excitement. A familiar laugh echoed—wild, joyful. She squealed as she was lifted effortlessly and swung over a shoulder.
"Put me down!" she protested, though laughter slipped through her voice.
The guard panicked, weapons raised—only to freeze when the man turned, revealing those unmistakable sapphire eyes.
"Mathius."
Zaria thumped his back. "Is this how the future Duke greets his twin sister?"
He set her down, trying—and failing—to hide his grin.
"I'm older, remember? And I ran nearly half the kingdom to be here first. You should be grateful!"
She flicked his forehead. "Mother told me I was older."
"Oh please, she says that only because you throw tantrums when you lose!"
Their guards exchanged helpless glances—was this truly the prince and princess?
Mathius whistled to his horse and offered his hand.
"Come. From here on, we arrive as siblings—not as royalty."
Zaria took his hand and climbed onto the horse behind him.
"I'll race you," she challenged.
His brows rose. "You'll lose."
"We'll see."
The wind roared as they sprinted off—two streaks of laughter racing beneath the green canopy. Birds scattered above. Leaves spiraled in their wake.
---
The carriage arrived at the palace gates first—empty. The Duchess stepped out, face blanched, tears threatening.
"The carriage… without Zaria…" she whispered, fury igniting. "Mathius. This is his doing. I'll—"
Before she could finish, hoofbeats thundered.
Mathius and Zaria burst through the gates like shooting stars—victorious, breathless, cheeks flushed with joy.
They dismounted, and Zaria ran into her mother's arms. The Duchess clung to her tightly, half-scolding, half-sobbing.
"You reckless girl… you've grown so much."
Her father stood tall, yet his voice broke as he whispered,
"Welcome home, my Princess."
Zaria looked around—the banners fluttering, the palace walls gleaming as if smiling, the people cheering from balconies.
For the first time in eleven years… she finally felt home.
The embrace with her mother felt like a dream she had replayed a hundred times in her lonely nights at Osborne. When the Duchess finally loosened her hold, she took Zaria's hand and led her forward—to greet the kingdom she would one day rule.
As the gates fully opened, a roar of celebration rose through the courtyard.
Citizens bowed deeply, some with tears streaming down their faces.
Children waved little wands and shouted her name.
One small girl in a homemade cape held a glowing stone high and whispered:
"Welcome home, Princess… we missed you."
Zaria knelt and gently touched the child's cheek, her voice soft as moonlight.
"I missed you too."
Magic sparkled briefly at her fingertips—tiny motes of light dancing in the air—making the girl gasp and laugh.
Nobles stepped forward, placing hands over their hearts in respect.
Knights struck their armored fists to their chests, shields flashing like silver fire.
Everywhere she looked, she saw hope.
They… still remember me. They still believe in me.
Then through the crowd, a figure approached slowly but proudly—her father.
The Duke of Miravale, usually stern as a winter storm, had eyes shining warmer than summer sun. His cape billowed behind him like a silver banner.
He stopped before her. For a heartbeat, formality stood between them.
Then he pulled her into a firm embrace.
"My daughter," he breathed, his voice thick,
"My brilliant little star… you've returned."
Zaria closed her eyes, her heart overflowing.
"I'm home, Father."
He stepped back just enough to look at her properly—studying how tall she'd grown, how confident she stood.
"You've become stronger," he said, pride and awe tangled in his tone.
"A true heir of Miravale."
Zaria smiled softly.
"I will do everything I can… for our people."
Cheers rose again—full of trust, love, and celebration.
Mathius slung an arm over her shoulders, grinning like a wild prince reborn.
"Enough talking—let the feast begin!" he declared.
The kingdom laughed and applauded.
And as Zaria walked with her family through the palace gates, she realized:
This was not just a homecoming.
It was the beginning of a destiny
that no amount of training could have prepared her for.