Chapter 0.2 – Elara, Daughter of No One

Long before the crown.

Before the rebellion.

Before the betrayal that shattered kingdoms—

There was a girl.

Not a queen.

Not a threat.

Just a girl with winter in her hair and no name to call her own.

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She was found on the shore of Virell's Isle, wrapped in fire-soaked silk.

The midwives whispered it was prophecy.

The high priest declared it an omen.

But the nobles saw only one thing: leverage.

"A child not born, but delivered by fate itself," they called her.

"Let the Isles and Valenhart bind through her blood."

And so they did.

She was adopted by House Vael—the minor coastal nobility closest to the throne.

Groomed. Paraded. Promised.

Elara was taught to smile before she could speak.

Taught to bow before she could cry.

"You are unity," they said.

"Your spine is the spine of empires."

"Break, and the realm breaks with you."

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But a girl raised as a bridge is never given feet of her own.

And Elara?

She watched. She learned.

She waited.

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Whispers of Blood

Some say she bears the bloodline of the lost Queen Ysmera—

The last mage to walk Valenhart before the magic purge.

Others say her veins carry the curse of the Burning Isles:

That no flame can touch her,

Because she was born of it.

But Elara never believed any of that.

Not until Auren looked her in the eye one night and said:

"You smell like ash and secrets. I think you were born to ruin kings."

She smiled.

"Then let me start with you."

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And then came the war.

The peace that was supposed to last broke.

The nobles turned. The crown twisted.

And Elara?

She became the most dangerous thing in the realm.

A girl who remembered.