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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A state that is great carries the seeds of its demise, just as a giant tree singles itself out for the blow of the axe. Weakness brings life, strength brings death.
– Lao Zi, Spring and Autumn Period
•☽────✧˖°˖☆˖°˖✧────☾•
THE evil that plagued the land had finally been vanquished, and the Immortal Realm was once again bathed in peace and tranquility.
Varelor’s army surrendered, while some fled to the mountains, and others were captured by the Everdaileans to face justice for their actions.
In the midst of it all, as her beloved vanished without a trace, Alfira was consumed by sorrow, her heart burdened with apprehension and dread. Returning to their dwelling in Sepphora alongside her year-old daughter, Cithara, she was greeted with unforeseen tidings.
Stepping onto the castle grounds, they were welcomed by spectral apparitions of the four Avallons and the fallen Enchantrians, emanating from the dwindling remnants of magic within the sacred Avallon Tree. These projections were accompanied by a cascade of flowers and jewels, bestowed by the creatures who grieved their departure.
The feeling of being confused and overwhelmed consumed Alfira as she struggled to make her way through the mourning crowd with her child, seeking answers. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she reached out to touch the projection of her love. Yet, her grief was interrupted by bitter words hurled at the figure.
“Stand back, my Empress!” one of the men interjected sharply. “He is the reason my son perished! He is a harbinger of evil!”
“Aye,” replied another, “May he find eternal misery in the Land of Misery!”
The cruel insults and continuous disparagement of Varelor pierced Alfira’s heart like thousands of sharp knives. With a final gaze upon the portrait of her beloved, she hastily turned away and fled, leaving behind cherished memories and a bittersweet longing.
Overwhelmed by despair, she sprinted towards the Forest of Everdaile, tormented by thoughts of bringing an end to her own life, as weariness consumed her mind.
“You betrayed me, Alfira! How could you do this to me?! You all betrayed me! You destroyed everything!” Varelor’s voice echoed in her ears as she ran towards the riverside.
Abruptly, she was startled awake from her nightmares by the sound of Cithara’s weeping. Coming to a halt, she became acutely aware of the gravity of her own actions.
“I deeply apologize, Cithara. I am truly sorry,” she whispered, her tears continuing to cascade down her cheeks.
After a brief moment, her vision blurred, and the world around her seemed to spin. Alongside this peculiar sensation, she could hear the eerie sounds of wild beasts lurking within the depths of the woodland.
Summoning her remaining strength, she clutched Cithara tightly in her arms as she collapsed to the ground, feeling utterly helpless.
Just as everything was about to fade into darkness, a figure appeared before her, driving away the menacing creatures.
Following a moment of stillness, Alfira regained consciousness in an unfamiliar location, finding herself lying on a cozy wooden bed. As she stretched her arms, she anxiously searched for her child, only to discover an empty space beside her.
All of a sudden, the figure of the man materialized once again, this time with greater clarity. He appeared to be older than her by approximately forty years, yet as an immortal being, he retained a perpetually youthful visage.
The man was accompanied by two younger individuals, one carrying an herb and the other holding a pitcher and cup.
“Where... Where am I?” Alfira asked, bewildered.
“Do not worry, Empress,” the man said. “You and your daughter will be safe here.”
“Alvier? The White Wizard?” she inquired.
“It is I, my lady,” he replied.
“You’re the one who saved us? Thank you very much!” Alfira exclaimed with gratitude.
The two other men approached her and gently began applying oil to her head. As the soothing sensation enveloped her, Alfira’s eyes gradually closed, succumbing to a state of tranquility.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, little Cithara slumbered peacefully in her crib. Alvier approached her, his expression etched with concern.
"Soon enough," he whispered with a determined tone mixed with rage. "Soon enough."
Days went by, and Alfira's fever gradually subsided. The Derillans, renowned healers from the Western Lands, provided them with exceptional care, aiding in their recovery.
As they settled down to rest on their mattresses, Alfira sensed the presence of something in the cabin. She approached Cithara's crib, ensuring her daughter's safety. There, she found her little one gazing up at her with a beaming smile.
"Goodnight, my little lorielle (snowflake)," she whispered, gently pressing her lips to the infant's forehead.
She cradled the precious princess in her arms and began to sing a lullaby. After a few moments, Cithara drifted into a peaceful slumber, and Alfira gently placed her back in the crib. Using her Liberian magic, she transformed her happy memories into a dream, ensuring her daughter’s restful sleep.
Unbeknownst to Alfira, the enemies drew closer with each passing moment.
Just as she was about to leave the room and make her way to her own bed, Alfira's body suddenly betrayed her. She felt herself collapsing to the ground, utterly immobilized and unable to move.
From the shadows of the room emerged the Farisae, the elite warriors entrusted with safeguarding the Emperor, who had been alerted to the prophecy by the Four Wizards. Utilizing a mystical powder, they rendered everyone who inhaled it completely paralyzed, including Alfira.
In the dimly lit chamber, a hushed whisper pierced the air, “The princess must make the ultimate sacrifice to safeguard the Empress and our beloved land.” The figures, devoid of mercy, closed in on the innocent slumbering form of Cithara.
Alfira, her voice trembling with desperation, called out to her dear child, “Ci-Cithara!” Her feeble attempts to intervene were met with futile resistance.
With a solemn purpose, the assailants unveiled their crystalline blades, forged with precision to resemble dazzling stars, their deadly aim directed at the heart of Cithara.
As the lethal blades hovered agonizingly close to ending the young princess’s life, a dense smoke materialized, shrouding the room in an ethereal haze.
When the mist dissipated, a profound emptiness filled the air. Both the infant princess and Alfira had vanished as if spirited away by unseen forces.
“Leave no stone unturned in your pursuit of that nefarious child! Spread the word to every ruler of the tribes, imploring their unbreaking cooperation in our grand design!” Livian’s advisor declared with unwavering determination.
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