Chapter 1: Echoes of Conflict

Within the icy stronghold of the Northern Dominion, Princess Lysandra's disdain for her father, King Aric, was as bitter as the biting winds that swept through the mountainous peaks. Her eyes, the color of stormy skies, reflected the turbulent emotions that churned within her.

Her mother, a queen burdened by the shackles of royal expectation, had abandoned Lysandra when she was but a baby. The infant princess, born under the ominous shadow of a curse that had haunted the royal bloodline for generations, became a symbol of the queen's perceived failure. Left to grow amidst the cold corridors of the castle, Lysandra's resentment festered like a dormant storm.

In the grand hall, where the echoes of ancestral battles adorned the walls, King Aric declared the impending war with the Southern Sanctuary. Lysandra, standing by the throne adorned with the emblem of a defeated dragon, masked her disdain beneath her icy composure.

The truth that simmered beneath her stoic facade was known to few—a curse that had plagued her ancestors, a curse that now flowed in her veins. Every generation, one member of the royal family inherited the dark dragon's hunger for war, a thirst that could only be quenched by the clash of swords and the taste of battlefield triumph.

Lysandra, unlike her mother, embraced the curse with a twisted satisfaction. The battlefield was not merely a duty; it was an irresistible craving that crawling at her soul. The sound of war was the only melody that soothed the dark dragon within her, the beast that hungered for chaos.

Her younger brother, Aslan, bore a name that echoed strength, yet he remained oblivious to the shadows that lingered within the royal bloodline. His admiration for Lysandra, the elder sister he saw as a formidable warrior, mirrored the innocence of a lion cub unaware of the lurking dangers.

As the war drums resounded and the Northern soldiers gathered, Lysandra's armor clanked with a certain ferocity. Her father, blinded by ambitions and oblivious to the curse that coursed through their veins, watched as his reluctant princess stepped into the darkness of war.

Lysandra, driven by the irresistible bloodlust of the dark dragon, led her forces not just for the Northern Dominion but for the twisted satisfaction that only the battlefield could provide. Being War Maiden for Lysandra was not merely duty; it was the manifestation of a curse that demanded. It due to satisfy her bloodlust.

As the gates creaked open and the icy winds carried the scent of war, Lysandra embarked on a path that would lead her into the shadows of her lineage. The curse of the dark dragon, a legacy that bound and consumed, entwined her fate with the impending conflict.