Chapter 1: The Academy
In the heart of the Amazon Kingdom's capital, stood The Academy. An imposing and beautiful city, built to be seen and remembered. Its white towers, wide avenues, and elevated gardens spoke of a firm, proud, and ancient power. Located there was the Academy of the Amazons, one of the most respected and oldest institutions in all of Yetris.
One thousand eight hundred young ladies attended. Within its walls lived scholarship commoners, low-ranking nobles, those of high lineage, and many princesses. They came from every kingdom in the known world, even from the distant Dragon Empire. For centuries, almost all current queens had passed through those very same classrooms.
It was no coincidence. The Amazon Kingdom was ruled by women. There, political, military, and social power belonged almost entirely to females. Marriage between women was common, everyday, accepted, and celebrated. Men were few, scarce, and their role was clearly defined.
In that kingdom, men did not rule. They were servants, companions, instruments for offspring; in many cases, sexual slaves. Not in an open or brutal way, but structurally, assumed as natural. It was common to see married female couples walking through the city, followed by one, two, or even three men performing domestic, reproductive, or simple companion functions.
Marriage, in essence, was between women. The Amazon Queen was married to another woman: the commanding general of the entire army, the supreme strategist, and the armed hand of the kingdom. There was also an Amazon King, but his role was merely symbolic. He accompanied the Queen as a high-ranking servant, keeping the title… and nothing more.
The Amazon army was composed almost entirely of women. Therefore, the Academy was the ideal place to house the most important daughters in the world. There, the princesses of Yetris were more protected than anywhere else on the planet. However, the true conflict was not within the walls… but outside of them.
Ten years had passed since the "Sun to Sun" war. The kingdoms had taken out colossal loans from the banks, and the deadline to repay them was clear: ten years. That deadline was now being met, and most countries did not have the money.
Interest had grown like a silent disease. Those loans had served to create impeccable armies, forge top-tier weapons and armor, train elite soldiers, and establish an unprecedented military network. For the first time in its history, Jetris seemed to have a single army.
Communication between kingdoms was constant; captains, generals, and soldiers of different banners trained together. The alliances sealed after the war remained firm, but the price was brutal.
To pay the debts, kings and emperors had given clear orders to the nobility: evict the lands. Entire villages were expelled; fields cultivated for generations were snatched away. Even inhospitable regions—deserts and lifeless mountains—were reclaimed as payment for the creditor banks.
It did not matter if people lived there. The figure escalated until it became obscene: five million displaced people across the planet. Refugees without a home, without a kingdom, and without protection.
The White Mage King, one of the most honorable men in the world, made a desperate decision. He donated, for a term of one year, the border lands between the peninsula and the ancient region of the White Warlocks. These were almost uninhabited areas, infested with monsters. There, the five million were relocated.
The army of the White Mages protected them, while the army of the Church Kingdom sent food. They had one year to find a definitive solution. One year.
Meanwhile, something began to break inside the Academy. Princesses and nobles raised their voices; they demonstrated against the evictions, against the responsible nobles, and even against their own parents. The marches lasted for two full months inside the Academy. Some said that a group of students could not cause real trouble.
They were wrong. Because they were no mere students; they were daughters of kings, of emperors, of dukes and archdukes. Every word they spoke was heard in the halls of power; every protest echoed through the nobility of every country.
And that… was intolerable.
The kings and emperors did not look kindly upon being defied by their own daughters, and the nobles, even less so. The pressure grew, patience ran out, and then, power responded. An exemplary punishment was decided upon; a punishment that would fall on the one hundred and eleven. Every single one of them.
Life at the Academy was, in appearance, a fairy tale.
The gardens were always green and the fountains sang day and night. The classrooms were spacious, bright, and the teachers—all veterans of past wars or former strategists—taught with patience and firmness. For most of the eighteen hundred students, the Academy was a refuge from the outside world.
But for them, it was something else.
The princesses and nobles who had raised their voices had formed a group of their own: one hundred and eleven in total. Officially, they did not exist as a political organization, but in practice, they were a club, a brotherhood that had known each other for years, even before entering the Academy. They were not gathered at random.
The world of Jetris was composed of thirty-seven races, thirty-seven great powers. From each of them, there were three representatives within the group: three from the Kingdom of the Fang, three from the Amazon Kingdom, three from the Demon Lord's territory, three from the human kingdom, and three from the Fire Empire. And so, one by one, until the one hundred and eleven were complete.
In most cases, it was one princess accompanied by two close nobles; in others, two princesses and one noble. They were daughters of power… but not blind to suffering.
Among themselves, they competed, studied, and trained; and yet, they remained united. They were not alone in the Academy. Among the other seventeen hundred students, there were also princesses—many of them sisters to the group's own members—and nobles who openly despised them. They called them rebels. Insolent. Naive.
They did not stay silent. They gave speeches within the Academy and, when permitted, in front of their own parents. Uncomfortable speeches. Dangerous speeches.
The princess of the Kingdom of the Genies was one of those most feared by the powers that be. Small, no more than five feet three inches tall, with a serene and sharp beauty, she spoke without trembling. She accused her own father, the Genie King, of having borrowed obscene amounts of gold and of having evicted his own people to pay for it.
"All for what?" she would say. "To finish experiments with golems while entire families lose their homes?"
He was not the only king singled out. Emperors. Dukes. Warlords. In every corner of the world, the same had occurred.
That was why the five million displaced remained trapped. They were not free and had no kingdom; they lived crowded in makeshift camps on the lands donated by the White Mage King, on the borders before the peninsula, in what was once the ancient land of the White Warlocks.
Guarded, watched, and fed, but captives nonetheless.
As the protests grew within the Academy, the powers that be convened. Thirty-six kings participated in the meeting; not thirty-seven, for the race of the White Warlocks no longer existed. The meeting was not physical; it was held through link gems, artifacts that projected the presence and voice of each monarch.
It was a cold, brief, and decisive meeting. The resolution was unanimous: they would move up the engagements. Not only that—they would move up the weddings of the princesses and nobles in the group. All one hundred and eleven. In less than three months, they would be married, surrendered to political alliances, and tied to lineages that would silence them forever.
The orders were sent in writing. The letters arrived at the Academy sealed with royal emblems. The headmistress received them with trembling hands; she had already received warnings and direct orders from kings, emperors… even from the Amazon Queen.
"Fall them in line," they had told her.
But the headmistress knew the truth: punishing a king's daughter could cost her her head. Literally. She did not shout, she did not argue, and she did not try to protect them. She simply… delivered the letters. One by one.
When the one hundred and eleven read the seals, when they recognized the names and understood the content… something broke. Their faces transformed and the air grew heavy. The world they knew collapsed around them.
And the fairy tale ended.
Chapter 2: The Escape
The letters were read in silence. There were no screams at first, no immediate weeping; only the dry sound of paper unfolding and the unbearable weight of royal words, falling one by one upon their hearts. That was the worst possible disillusionment.
They did not want to marry. They did not want to be separated. They did not want to obey.
The one hundred and eleven were too close. There were rumors—there always were—that among them existed a communal love, a relationship closed in on itself, as if they all loved each other. But the truth was more complex… and purer.
Most did not feel romantic or sexual attraction toward women; although in the Academy that was common, accepted, and even encouraged, it was not their case. Theirs was something else: a platonic, deep love. They loved each other as sisters, as family, as something that needed no definitions. They had arrived as children.
Some had arrived at thirteen years old, others at fourteen; many at fifteen or sixteen. They had been uprooted from their homes and left there together, growing up among marble hallways, training sessions, studies, and shared nights. They protected each other, cared for each other, and defended each other. And now… they were going to be separated forever.
The second princess of the Amazon Kingdom was one of the first to break. Her engagement was to a woman; in her kingdom, that was the most normal thing in the world, but for her, it was a sentence. She did not like women. She couldn't even stand the thought of a kiss, and if she had ever thought of sharing her life with someone, it would have been with one of her sisters in the group. Not out of desire, but out of true love.
Repulsion pierced her like a dagger.
"How could she do this to me...?" she whispered, devastated. "How could my mother?"
The first Amazon princess did not cry. She grit her teeth—proud, beautiful, and seemingly unbreakable. Her letter engaged her to a prince of the Ice Empire: a stranger, a political agreement, an elegant cage. She did not intend to marry, much less someone she had not chosen.
The champion of the Academy—the strongest, most athletic, feared, and respected Amazon—received her letter with a crooked smile. She too was engaged to a woman. She was not the queen's daughter, only a noble… but the message was the same.
"Do they think because I have muscles, I am a man?" she spat with contained rage.
She didn't like women either. No one said anything, because saying it would have been a scandal; but there were worse punishments.
The only legitimate daughter of the Ice Emperor was sitting in her wheelchair when she read hers. She had been born sick and her body had not endured; they amputated her right arm and left leg to save her life. Her father had many more daughters, but she was the only one born of the first queen. And yet… he punished her. He engaged her to a seventy-year-old man: an internal political alliance, a cold and cruel sacrifice. She did not scream, she did not cry; she only lowered her gaze.
Sara, daughter of the Hero King, was trembling. Her engagement was to the second-in-command of the army—a noble, respected, and strong paladin. But Sara was not thinking of men or marriages; she was thinking of the refugees, of helping, of finishing the Academy, of being useful, and above all, of being free. That was the final straw.
The daughter of the Demon Lord pressed the letter against her chest. They had engaged her to a noble champion of her land: perfect, strong, and admired. But she only had eyes for one. The Black Knight.
The warrior who had saved her kingdom; that impossible love burned within her like an open wound.
The three candidates for the Church Oracle received a different punishment. They could not be married off, but they could be destroyed in another way: they were expelled from the Academy and sent to orphanages as warrior nuns, stripped of their right to become the Oracle. The Oracle… the virgin who spoke with the angel Siris, the female who walked among mortals.
That dream was shattered. Aurora fell to her knees.
And so, one by one, all were punished. They gathered.
Even those who held rivalries united. Gretel and Sara, born in enemy kingdoms, embraced and wept together. The three from the Dragon Empire were there as well; they too had been engaged. Their empire had no debts, but even so, they had obeyed the other kings to uphold the alliances. Their own parents had betrayed them.
Silence lasted for hours. Then, the decision came. If they stayed… in three months, they would be married. If they obeyed… they would cease to be themselves.
There were two weeks left until Easter. The festivities. The chaos. The perfect distraction.
The plan was born without words. During the celebrations, the one hundred and eleven young ladies would disappear… and the world would change once again.
The weeks passed with cruel speed. The kings were not naive; the fear that their daughters might escape made them meticulous and ruthless. They cut off all resources. Money stopped arriving. Shipments of clothing were canceled; dresses, cloaks, jewelry, and even common garments sent from the kingdoms were confiscated before they could cross the Academy's gates.
They left nothing. Gold, coins, ornaments, rings, necklaces… everything was taken away. Even the expensive dresses they already owned were seized to prevent them from selling them to buy their freedom.
The one hundred and eleven were reduced to the bare minimum, but not all had been defeated. The princess of the Lizard Kingdom—shrewd and silent—along with two nobles from a kingdom famous for its love of gold, had foreseen this. For years, they had hidden a private treasure: personal jewelry, heirloom pieces, and objects without any official record.
They had buried them in the Academy gardens. When the soldiers of the Amazon army searched rooms, chests, and wardrobes, they found nothing; those jewels did not appear in royal inventories. They did not exist to the powers that be. That would be their capital.
Before Easter, the preparations were finished. They unearthed the treasure on moonless nights. For the lizard princess, it was a profound sacrifice to part with ancestral symbols of her lineage; for the nobles, it was the same.
None of them were willing to allow themselves—or their sisters—to be subjugated. They sold the jewels and, with the money, paid livestock smugglers: pig and cattle traders who crossed borders without asking questions. They didn't know who the girls were; they only knew how much they were being paid. They obtained commoners' clothes—rough fabrics in muted colors, nameless garments that were carefully hidden.
The map they had drawn pointed to only one possible destination: the Peninsula. The place where human law did not reach; the most dangerous land on the planet, infested with monsters and guarded by the Crowned Beasts, who killed anyone who approached. It was a practically uninhabitable territory, but also the only place where no one would look for them. Nearby was the refugee camp. It was their only option.
The day arrived. On Easter morning, the entire Academy celebrated with competitions, banquets, and laughter. The one hundred and eleven participated as always: they laughed, ate, and embraced their classmates, but none of them planned to stay past that night.
When the sun went down, most students were given permission to go into the city and join the festivities. They were not. That was the mistake of the powers that be. The Academy was left almost empty, guarded only by a few sentries. Then, they acted. The Black Witch princess and her sister Luna—the last White Witch—stepped forward. Together they conjured a sleep-mist spell; a thick, silent haze that slithered through the corridors.
The soldiers fell one by one. The girls covered their noses and mouths with rags; their hearts hammered in their chests as they ran, all one hundred and eleven together, without looking back. They exited through the back gate: there was no one.
They merged with the crowd. Millions were celebrating Easter. They split into small groups of five or eight, crossing the city amidst shouts, music, and fireworks exploding in the sky. The wagons were waiting outside. Twelve wagons loaded with pigs, cows, and chickens. The smugglers received their pay and asked no questions.
The noblewomen climbed in among the animals. The smell was unbearable: feces, mud, and sweat. Their legs and hands became stained; their dresses were ruined. No one complained. When they looked back, the lights of the great Amazon capital were fading into the distance.
The wagons headed to the town of Skol, in the territory of the White Mages. That night, one hundred and eleven nobles from the world's most important lineages disappeared. In Skol, they disembarked in silence. With their few remaining coins, they took remote, discreet inns. They bathed, changed, and rested for barely a few hours. They could not stay; Sccoll was the last town before the forbidden border.
At dawn, clean and dressed as commoners—without titles or escorts—they set out together toward the ancient land of the White Warlocks… and toward the shadow of the Peninsula. They had left their lives behind, and the world did not yet know.
The next morning, the Academy was a disaster. The news fell like a silent bomb. The headmistress paced back and forth, her face pale and her hands cold, knowing she had lost something irretrievable. She didn't know how to say it. When she finally spoke to the Amazon Queen, her voice trembled. But the Queen did not shout or punish. She only thought one thing: "Rebellious daughters." And she gave the order.
The Amazon army set out. Messengers departed for every kingdom to inform kings and emperors: their daughters had disappeared. But they were nowhere to be found.
For three months, the one hundred and eleven evaded White Mage patrols in the border forests. They were sought in refugee camps; roads, villages, and rivers were searched, but they were never found. They lived hidden among the trees, far from everything. They hunted when they could, fished in frozen rivers, and slept in makeshift shelters, barely protected from the wind and rain. Fatigue became part of their bodies: their hands grew calloused and their feet bled, but they kept moving forward.
After three months of flight, they reached the edge of the known world: the border of the Peninsula, the most dangerous land on the planet.
For an entire month, they saw no living soul. This disconcerted them more than the danger; there were no monsters, no tracks, no signs. The reputation of the Crowned Beasts was terrifying: adventurers, heroes, and armies avoided the place. They said the beasts killed anyone without warning.
And then, they saw it. A wall. Fifteen meters high and three thousand eight hundred kilometers long, stretching from the ocean until it vanished over the horizon. An impeccable, ancient, and imposing wall. It had only four gates in its entire length, and one stood right before them.
The one hundred and eleven knew a patrol was following them, but the soldiers had stopped in the distance, paralyzed by fear. No one crossed that limit. They could not turn back. They had to cross… or die there. They sat on the ground, drained, wounded, and exhausted.
Their feet burned. The hunger was constant. The princess of the Empire of the Sand, a beautiful blonde girl, crawled to the door. She pressed her forehead against the ancient wood, closed her eyes, and whispered:
—Lord… I beg of you. We are tired. We have been fleeing for months. Do not abandon us. Help us.
In that instant, the door glowed. A soft, warm radiance. And it opened. On the other side… there was another world. One by one, the one hundred and eleven entered. When the last one crossed, the door closed on its own.
Freya, the princess of Ice, moved forward in her wheelchair. For months she had felt like a burden. Every push, every detour from the path, every sacrifice they made for her drove a silent guilt into her. One of the princesses of the Kingdom of the Fang had lost an arm. She also felt like a hindrance.
Sara, daughter of the hero king, walked with her face covered by a mask. A beast had attacked her in her adolescence. Her eye had been lost. A scar deformed her face. The first princess of the vampire kingdom carried a genetic deformity from birth. All of them… felt defective. Burdens. Errors.
When the door closed, a deep relief swept through the group. They cried. Some fell to their knees. Others embraced. And then they looked up. What they saw… was impossible. There were no monsters. There were cows grazing. Chickens pecking at the ground. Dogs running. Cats sleeping in the sun. The grass stretched as far as the eye could see. Wild horses galloped in the distance.
A unicorn drank water. A pegasus took flight. There were stone paths. Soft lights. A perfect order. It was fantastic. It was unreal. They stood paralyzed.
Near the door there was a small wooden construction. A simple sign said: REGISTER When one of them approached, the door opened on its own. A floating book unfolded in the air. A quill was writing by itself. The magic was ancient. Elegant. Then, a voice resonated, clear and serene:
—Hello. Welcome, visitor.
My name is Liris.
Welcome to the lands of the White Burgos.
What is the reason for your visit? The one hundred and eleven remained motionless. They had crossed the threshold. And nothing would ever be the same again.