Cithara Aeloira Elizell Aberra was the rightful heiress of the crown of Everdaile. She grew up without anyone knowing anything about her bloodline except for her mother and a wizard that saved her from a certain death. Cursed and unwanted, she was...
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"It's the questions we can't answer that teach us the most. They teach us how to think. If you give a man an answer, all he gains is a little fact. But give him a question and he'll look for his own answers."
Patrick Rothfuss
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The northern lights appeared in the sky, encircling the world to give light for the night together with the two moons, Luna and Celestria. The stars sparkled at the crisp, and the plants and animals began to show their astonishing, luminous glow.
From a distance, the majestic city of the Elven Empire, Everdaile, could be seen. Located at the Eastern Lands, it has several crystal buildings soaring high up in the sky, showing their wonder and might towards the creatures it surrounds.
Every detail shone with wealth and splendor. Every corner conveyed the magnificence and glory one could ever imagine.
However, despite its beauty lies a different story - a story of pain, misery, dissatisfaction, and loneliness. "Long live the new Avallon! Long live Livian of Everdaile!" the people of Everdaile cheered as they watched their new guardian march up towards the others.
Little did they know that seeing that scene had broken the heart of one of them. It was not just because the young warrior didn't want the new guardian, but it was also because he wanted the magical magical stone to himself.
Being the child of their master and teacher, Varelor was confident that he would be the next keeper of the Wind Emerald, one of the most powerful artifacts in Enchantria that can grant extraordinary powers to the one keeping it.
However, when the day of choosing the new Avallon came, he heard a different and painful thing that broke his heart into several pieces.
The sound of silence can be heard all around. The light of the torches spread toward the corners of a room made of cobbled walls.
"When I pass the fifth ring to the next rightful keeper, I want him to be a kind and brave one. I want him to be a responsible guardian for our beloved land," his father spoke one evening after dinner.
"I will, Vio," Varelor replied confidently as he referred to his father through the Enchantrian language.
"I know that you will not bring me down," their master spoke, then turned into his youngest student, "Livian!" It almost seemed like he didn't hear Varelor's voice. "Thank you, Master," replied the kind warrior.
Varelor tried to wake himself up from his impossible daydream, and with all his might, he furiously stood up from his chair with a clenched fist punching the dining table. He turned to his father and ran as he aimed his fist toward him. "I am your son. Why did you choose Livian over me?! Why?!" Varelor shouted.
