The clang of metal on metal rings through the haze—sharp, constant—nearly drowning the cries of pain and shouted commands. Dust hangs thick in the air, dimming the sun to a dull smear above the battlefield. Flags whip in the wind, some torn, some still proud, marking the chaos below. I recognize several sigils among the elven ranks—ancient houses with long histories, including my own.
Across the field, a smaller force of humans holds their ground, pressed inward by the elven advance. Their banners are fewer, but I recognize a couple. The smell of blood hits me—thick, metallic, overwhelming. I try not to look directly at the fallen; they blur at the edges of my vision, mercifully out of focus.
Then the air shifts.
A figure crests the hill behind the human lines. I can't see him clearly at first, just the silhouette—tall, unmistakably male. He raises one hand, and light blooms from his palm, casting his face into sudden clarity: tired eyes, blue like mine, but different. If mine are the sky on a clear day, his are the sea in a storm. His jaw is set in quiet resolve, short black hair whipping as the magic stirs to life around him.
The ground trembles.
Pillars of fire erupt among the elven forces, spinning like tornados. The wind howls as flames twist upward, lifting corpses into the air and hurling them like broken dolls. Screams rise. Elves scatter—some fleeing, some falling, weapons clattering behind them. What had been an assured victory fractures into panic.
The vortex of fire grows brighter, merging into a single blinding sphere. Great arcs of flame burst outward, turning dusk into day. The heat sears my skin. I smell burning flesh. I throw my arms up as the light descends on me—
Bright white fills my vision.
Then breath.
I gasp, lungs aching, eyes wide as I regain my bearings.
Sunlight filters through the canopy above, dappling the interior of our carriage. The wheels creak softly over the dirt road. Mother and father sit across from me, their expressions calm but watchful. I blink, trying to make sense of the shift. The battlefield is gone. The heat. The screams. All of it—gone. The woods outside are lush, green, impossibly peaceful.
"You saw him in your dream, didn't you?" Mother asks gently.
I nod, my heart still racing, the world just beginning to settle.
"Wait—saw who? How could you tell it was a man?" I ask, confused.
"It's the amulet," Mother explains, pointing at the amulet now resting against my chest. "It's bound to the seal. That's why we sometimes see fragments of his memories."
"His?" My eyes widen at the implication. "You mean... that was Vaeroth?" I ask, wondering why I'd never heard of this connection before. "He was so young." I hadn't expected that — not from the stories. It felt wrong, almost, like he shouldn't look like someone I'd sit and drink tea with.
"You only need to wear it until after the ceremony," Father assures me. "We should reach the Baron's estate before sunset."
I frown slightly, trying to suppress a sigh. Baron Elenvar is kind enough, but I've already grown tired of his son's 'subtle' advances.
"Father," I say, pausing for a moment. "Please don't leave me alone with Kaelen again. I can't take another moment of his hopeful eyes."
Father chuckles in response—sympathetic, but in a manner I recognize as bereft of aid. "He means well enough," he says gently. "You must understand, they have little connection to the capital. If not for the seal, his territory would be entirely unremarkable. Who can blame him for dreaming of marrying a pretty daughter from a famous family?"
"You can't pacify me with such blatant flattery." I grumble, but when he chuckles I can't keep the smile off my face either.
"Sweetie, it's only a few days. Besides, just treat it like practice for when suitors start coming after you for real. Once Laurien's betrothal is set, it will be your turn," Mother says, the unwelcome reality quickly wiping away my grin.
My eyes drift back outside the window, hoping the view might distract me. The glass catches my reflection before the view beyond it does. I pause, just briefly, letting the light trace the edges of my braid where a few strands have already slipped loose. My eyes look steady in the pane—blue, clear, the same as my father's, though softer around the edges. I straighten, the way I've been taught. The girl in the glass looks ready—composed, practiced. Then the reflection fades, overtaken by the fields beyond, where the farmers work alongside their children.
"It's such a shame. Humans have such short lives—they can't even enjoy their childhood," I comment, more to myself than anything.
The next few hours pass in quiet rhythm until Father signals one of the knights. The carriage slows, wheels crunching over gravel, and he turns to me.
"We'll stop for lunch," he says. "I'll speak with Captain Thalen—remind him how to phrase the request." He steps out as the carriage comes to a halt.
I watch him approach Thalen, their voices low and practiced. But Mother's voice draws my attention.
"Liriel…" she says softly, almost hesitant. Her golden eyes flicker with something unreadable. "You must never speak of the memories you see. They're dangerous."
"Dangerous? How?" I ask. The memory replays in my mind—Vaeroth, radiant and terrible. But everyone already knows how powerful he was.
"You'll see in time, dear." She reaches out, brushing a stray hair from my face. "This is your first time wearing the amulet, but you'll wear it until your own daughter comes of age. The dreams… they'll only grow more frequent."
She stops abruptly, her gaze shifting past me. I follow it—Father is returning, his expression light, and behind him, Captain Thalen is striding toward the farmer's hovel. I hadn't even noticed it before, tucked low beneath the trees.
"Come, let's get set up for lunch," he says, offering his hand to help Mother and me down from the carriage.
We head toward the blanket being laid out for us, with a guard already unpacking the food. I sit beside Mother, picking up the pot and heating the tea with magic.
"Mother, hold out your cup," I say, pouring tea for her and Father, then myself.
"Are you nervous about the ceremony?" Father asks gently, and I nod.
"Yes. It's different from watching. I never felt nervous when Mother was performing the magic—it almost felt routine," I admit.
"Everyone is nervous their first time, sweetie. It's only natural," she assures me. "Just remember, the intent is what matters—more than the words or the spell. You need to picture it clearly: the seal growing stronger, thicker."
"I know," I say with a determined nod. "I've seen you do it enough times to visualize it clearly." My fingers tighten around the cup. No one in our line has ever failed—not since the day our ancestor sealed Vaeroth. I can't be the first.
"You'll do fine," Father affirms, as if he can sense my nervousness. "You were nervous about your coming-of-age ceremony too, but you performed that beautifully. You always make us proud—and you'll do the same now."
Lunch passes quietly, but without strain. My gaze drifts over the farmers' fields — the trees are sparse, crowded too close together, left untended. Even so, the breeze is pleasant, the crops shifting gently in the sun. When the guards finish packing, we climb back into the carriage and continue on. The amulet feels heavier in the silence, but I keep my focus on the fields outside. As the sky begins to dim, the farmland gives way to wilderness, and then, in a clearing, the Baron's estate comes into view.