Cithara Aeloira Elizell, the last princess of Everdaile, grappled with the relentless pursuit of her obscured past, stood at the crossroads between the forces of good and evil.
Yet, the abyss of her quest deepened unexpectedly, with the revelation t...
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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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UNDER the celestial spectacle, the northern lights gracefully draped the night sky, illuminating it in a dance of vibrant colors. Luna and Celestria, the twin moons, cast a serene glow, while stars glittered like diamonds against the crisp darkness. Nature itself joined the cosmic display as plants and animals revealed a breathtaking, luminous aura.
In the distance, the grandeur of Everdaile, the Elven Empire's majestic city in the Eastern Lands, emerged. Crystal buildings soared into the heavens, radiating opulence and might. Each architectural detail whispered of wealth, and every corner echoed with the magnificence and glory that surpassed imagination.
"Long live the new Avallon! Long live Livian of Everdaile!"
Amidst the cheers for Livian of Everdaile, a silent tale of anguish arose. Varelor, child of the master and teacher, harbored a shattered heart. His aspirations for becoming the keeper of the Wind Emerald, a potent artifact in Enchantria, were crushed.
As the new guardian ascended, Varelor's hopes crumbled with the revelation that the magical stone would not be his. The room, adorned with cobbled walls, echoed with the weight of his silent sorrow, the torchlight casting shadows that mirrored the fractures in his once hopeful heart.
"When I pass the fourth 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's words lingered in the air, carrying the weight of expectation and legacy after a quiet evening meal.
"I will, Vio (Father)," Varelor's confident response resonated with determination, spoken in the rhythmic cadence of the Enchantrian language.
In the room, the master's voice echoed with unwavering confidence, declaring, "I know that you will not bring me down..." The pregnant pause lingered as his penetrating gaze shifted towards the youngest student. Then, with a calm authority, he broke the silence, uttering a single name, "Livian."
Varelor's voice seemed to fade into the background, unnoticed, as all attention converged on the named warrior. In response, Livian's words became a reflection of kindness and gratitude. "Thank you, Master," he replied, embodying sincerity that resonated in every uttered syllable.
Caught in an impossible daydream, Varelor sought to jolt himself awake. With a surge of emotion, he forcefully rose from his chair, his fist meeting the dining table with a resounding thud. Eyes locked on his father, he sprinted forward, anger etched across his face, a turbulent sea of emotions reflected in his determined stride.
