Later that evening, Jasmine made her way to her private training hall. Few in the castle even knew of it; fewer still dared enter. It was a simple chamber compared to the grandeur of the palace, but simplicity suited her. The floor was polished stone, the walls bare, the only adornment a weapons rack that gleamed faintly in the torchlight.
Dressed in a sleek black bodysuit that clung lightly to her frame, Jasmine tied her midnight hair into a long ponytail.
She was a growing girl, but she was only twelve, and her figure, though modest, showed signs of her transition to womanhood already. Her chest was already perking up, and her curves were already showing signs of growth.
Her reflection in the polished steel of her blade looked back at her, a twelve-year-old girl with eyes far older than her years.
Without hesitation, she began.
The first strokes were deliberate: steady swings, clean arcs through the air, the hiss of steel carving invisible lines in the silence. Her movements were precise, drilled to perfection, her body turning fluidly with each strike. Yet she was never content with perfection. She pushed further. Faster. Harder.
Sweat gathered at her brow as she shifted from the basic forms into the advanced sequences Lilian had once shown her in passing. The spin of the wrist, the weight of the downward slash, the dance between control and momentum, she repeated them tirelessly. Every strike was less about hitting an enemy and more about shaping herself, carving away weakness stroke by stroke.
By the time she lowered her blade, her breathing had quickened, her slender frame damp with exertion. But there was satisfaction too, a quiet pride that no applause could match.
Lilian was waiting as always, silent and patient, with a bath prepared. Steam rose from the massive pool-like bath that belonged solely to Jasmine, fragrant oils and herbs infusing the water. Jasmine entered without ceremony, sinking until only her face remained above the surface, eyes closed as the warmth seeped into her sore muscles.
The water embraced her, washing away sweat and tension alike. Lilian moved about quietly, tending to the bath, adding lavender blossoms to deepen the soothing scent. For a time, there was only silence, the kind Jasmine loved most, broken only by the faint ripple of water when she stretched her arms lazily across the surface.
When at last she stepped out, Lilian wrapped her in soft towels and prepared her chamber. The great canopy bed awaited, curtains drawn, lavender incense trailing its calming aroma through the air.
Jasmine lay down, her body utterly relaxed, her mind already slipping into dreams. Outside, the castle buzzed endlessly with preparations for her coming day, but here, in her sanctuary, the world was quiet.
And so the day closed, with silence, with steel, with lavender, and with Jasmine adrift in sleep.
....
Jasmine was walking through a thick forest when her consciousness came to.
"Huh?" She looked around in alarm. "How did I get here?"She clearly remembered the last thing she did, sleeping in her bed.
She was supposed to be lying there still. Then how had she ended up here?
She looked down at herself."What…?" This dress, she didn't own it.
Jasmine was draped in a gown of midnight silk, the fabric flowing like liquid shadow with every movement. The dress clung to her slender form before cascading down in sheer, whispering layers that shimmered faintly in the dim light.
Translucent sleeves trailed from her arms like wisps of darkness, and a plunging neckline revealed a glimpse of porcelain skin that contrasted sharply with the abyssal black of her attire. It was like a dress woven from moonlight and secrets, both sacred and forbidden.
"This dress," she whispered. It was beautiful. More beautiful than any if the dresses she owned, or had ever seen. Even though she was not one to be moved by such things, she could not ignore its magnificence.
She began to walk, but soon noticed something strange. The world around her had no color. The trees, the grass, the sky, all were painted in shades of black and white.
"How odd…"
Still, she didn't stop. Something in her told her to keep moving, that the answers she sought waited ahead.
The earth began to tremble beneath her feet, faintly at first, then with growing intensity, as if thousands of feet were marching across it. Yet she pressed on. The shaking grew stronger as the forest thinned, until she emerged at the edge of a cliff overlooking a deep valley.
What she saw below made her blood run cold. Thousands of people clashed in the valley in a full-scale battle.
Two opposing armies surged from either side, their figures draped in the same monotone shades of black, grey, and white.
Jasmine's eyes widened. "What in the…"
How had she woken up in the middle of a war?
For a long moment, she could only stare in disbelief, then she focused her gaze on the soldiers below. To her surprise, her vision sharpened, as though she were looking through a pair of binoculars or a magnifying glass.
The first group she recognized immediately, silver-plated armor, the banner of the human empire. On their shields gleamed her family's crest.
Across the crest spread a raven, wings outstretched, in argent silver that caught the light like moonbeams on still water. Its beak was sharp, its eye a single ember-red gem, glowing watchfully against the field of black.
Beneath the raven's talons curved a crescent moon, cradling them like a silent witness. The shield's border was etched with tumbling feathers and tendrils of shadow curling like smoke. Above it sat a helmet crowned with black raven feathers, each tipped with frost-white, as if kissed by winter under the full moon. And below, carved into a scroll of dull pewter: "By Shade and Shadow."
'Those mages?' she thought. 'That's Father's army.'
Her gaze shifted to the opposite side, and her eyes narrowed. Recognition struck again, pointed ears, flawless features. The elvish army.
Jasmine knew relations between their races were strained, but how had things come to open war?
"Is this a dream?" she murmured. "It must be."The strange, colorless world made it likely. But why this dream, and why now?
Setting her thoughts aside, she watched the battle unfold. The ground ran red with the blood of mages on both sides. Spells flared like a storm of colors breaking through the greyscale world, bursting in light and flame. The fight grew more brutal by the minute, neither side giving ground.
Then Jasmine felt it, a chill.
Her eyes darted across the field and froze.
William.
Her eldest brother moved like a tempest among men. She knew him well: his strength, his discipline, his commanding presence. He wielded his sword with deadly grace, his mana precise and deliberate. Wherever he passed, blood followed. Elves fell like paper before a blade.
Soon, their formation collapsed entirely. They tried to swarm him, but William had saved his strength for this moment. A surge of power flared from him, a sweeping fire spell that consumed everything nearby. Screams echoed through the valley, but he pressed on, relentless.
The tide had turned. Humanity was winning.
And yet Jasmine felt colder still. Her instincts screamed. Something was coming.
The air thickened with dread. Sweat beaded her brow despite the chill. Then, a whistling sound, sharp and fleeting.
Boom!
The shockwave came from nowhere, striking William like a sledgehammer. He was thrown back violently, his body smashing through the mountainside. But he didn't stop. He tore straight through the rock, emerging on the far side.
And suddenly, Jasmine was there too, no longer on the cliff, but beside him. She didn't understand how. She had simply willed it.
"William!" she cried, reaching toward him in horror.
Her brother's body crashed through a line of trees before slamming into a massive trunk. A spear, long and dark, pulsing with malevolent mana, was buried in his chest.No, not buried. There was a hole where his heart should have been.
Blood poured freely. He coughed once, crimson splattering across his lips.
"W…Who?" he managed to whisper.
A blur flashed before him, a figure appearing so swiftly that the world seemed to bend to her speed. When she came into focus, William's eyes widened in disbelief.
"M…May? Is that…you?" he rasped.
Jasmine stared at the newcomer, an elven woman, young and beautiful, clad in green armor that glowed faintly even in this lifeless world. Jasmine now stood between them, unseen, unheard. Wherever she willed herself, she appeared.
"Hello, old friend," May said coolly. Her voice dripped with disdain. "I have to say, watching you grovel in the dirt is… satisfying. Who would have thought I'd be the one looking down on you someday?"
"Why?" William asked weakly.
May laughed, low and cruel. "Why? We're enemies now, remember? Or have you forgotten already?"She stepped forward, and the spear withdrew from his chest, floating back to her hand. The wound gaped open; it was a miracle that he was even alive.
May raised her weapon again. "You thought that what? That I loved you?"William said nothing. "Well, you thought wrong. You were just a convenient pawn. Now, let me end your suffering."
"Nooo!" Jasmine screamed, reaching out. Her hands passed straight through the spear, through May herself. She couldn't touch them.
The spear struck true. William twitched once, then went still.
He was dead.
Jasmine awoke with a startled cry, gasping for air as though she had been drowning. Her face was pale, drenched in sweat, her body trembling. A sharp pain split her skull.
She pressed a hand to her forehead, eyes squeezed shut, trying to steady her breathing. It took a long moment before she calmed enough to look around.
She was back in her bed.
"It was… just a dream?" she whispered in between light breaths, though even as she said it, she didn't believe it.
Very unlikely.