The Jewel Of Veladore.

Ten years had passed, with countless sunrises and sunsets marking the passage of time.

Kingdoms had risen and fallen, warriors had been forged, rulers had been overthrown, and lands had been claimed. Yet, through it all, one name stood above all others—Kaelen Drakon. His name was spoken in every corner of the Avalon, his power undeniable, his reputation unchallenged. Once a discarded second prince, he had become a feared and merciless ruler, on the brink of claiming the throne of Virellian. 

Every kingdom he conquered, every victory he secured, only fueled the whispers of his cruelty and ruthlessness. With each triumph, his dominion expanded. His empire stretched further into northern Avalon, spreading fear across the western lands, leaving them in constant unease over what he might seize next.

But one kingdom remained untouched by his rule—Veladore. While others cowered before Kaelen, Veladore stood strong, shielded from his grasp.

It wasn't because of their military strength, as the kingdom was rather weak in that regard. Instead, it was the Ice Cliffs surrounding the kingdom that safeguarded its lands from the greed of evil rulers. These cliffs, towering and jagged, were home to ice-creatures immune to human weapons. The reason for this strange immunity remained unknown, but it was enough to protect the kingdom from any invasion. 

Clang! 

The sharp clash of steel on steel rang across the training grounds of Veladore Castle, drawing the attention of nobles on their way to court, commoners seeking justice, and squires immersed in their morning drills. The rising sun cast a gentle light on the land, turning the dew-covered grass a faint shade of gold. The cool air carried the fresh scent of damp earth and jasmine from the nearby gardens.

Lysandra Blackthorn stood at the center, her sword raised in a practiced, steady grip. A light smile played on her jaded face, her soft pink lips gently curved. Her sharp blue eyes were locked on her elder brother, her opponent. While her midnight-black curls, loosely tied back with a simple leather cord, danced in the breeze. 

Lysandra was no typical princess; she had trained her entire life, her body honed by relentless swordsmanship practice. Despite Veladore's rigid traditions, where women were expected to be ornamental rather than warriors, she had chosen the path of war and strategy from a young age, rejecting the customary rules imposed on her gender.

Due to that, nobles often sneered behind her back, deeming her unfit for a princess. But Lysandra could care less about their lousy excuses for opinions. She followed her heart, and if it led her to sword fighting, so be it. Though Elin, her etiquette teacher, would always tear her head apart with constant speeches about maintaining herself like the princess she was, it was okay—she'd sacrifice her ears for a few hours.

Today, her brother, Hunter Blackthorn, the crown prince, was her sparring partner, though their battles had long since turned into a rivalry.

Hunter swung his sword, narrowly missing Lysandra. His tall, broad frame moved with swift precision, the sun catching the glint of his sword as he grinned. "You call that a swing? I've seen baby rabbits hit harder." 

Lysandra effortlessly sidestepped his attack, her movements as fluid as water. Her loose ponytail bounced with each step, and a mischievous smirk played on her lips. "Oh, I'm sorry. Were you actually trying? I thought we were still warming up."

Hunter rolled his eyes, adjusting his grip. "You know, for someone who's supposed to be a princess, you sure lack the grace."

Lysandra twirled her sword lazily, her eyes sparkling with mockery. "And for someone who's supposed to be the crown prince, you sure lack... everything else."

He lunged forward with a grunt, aiming for her side. "Careful, Lys. Keep talking like that, and you'll hurt my feelings."

She dodged easily, laughing as she did. "What feelings? Last time I checked, you were as emotional as a rock."

Hunter feigned offense, stepping back with a dramatic sigh. "A rock, huh? At least rocks are dependable. You're more like a... squirrel—always darting around, making a mess."

Lysandra raised an eyebrow, tapping her chin with her sword. "A squirrel? How original. I'll take that as a compliment. At least squirrels are cute."

Hunter snorted, shaking his head. "Cute, sure. Annoying? Definitely."

Lysandra grinned, leaning in slightly. "Annoying is my specialty. Didn't you know?"

Hunter gave her a dry look. "Oh, trust me, I know. The whole castle knows."

Their blades clashed again, but this time, a soft cough broke through their duel, distracting them both. Lysandra's gaze flickered toward the source of the interruption—a young squire holding a letter sealed with the royal insignia of Cthona—silver serpent coiled around a crimson sword. Lysandra lowered her sword, her sharp blue eyes narrowing. "This better be good."

The squire, nervous under her piercing gaze, stepped forward and handed the letter to Hunter, who tore it open with practiced hands. His eyes skimmed the contents, and his expression darkened. He looked up at Lysandra, his face grim. "They need help against Virellian," he said, his voice tight with frustration.

Lysandra tilted her head, her playful demeanor shifting. "They should've known beforehand when we went to them for an alliance. Looks like they've encountered Drakon's soldiers for their decision to change so quickly."

Hunter folded the letter, lips pressed into a thin line. "Not sure, but it's strange how quickly they flipped. Something feels off." He sighed. "Either way, looks like we'll be busy soon enough."

Lysandra's smirk returned, albeit softer this time. "Good. I was getting bored of just sparring with you."

Hunter rolled his eyes, but a hint of a smile tugged at his lips. "You're impossible."

"And you love it," she shot back, already turning toward the castle.

"Unfortunately," he muttered, following her with a shake of his head.