As the fire dimmed into embers and the silence between rival bloodlines thickened, Queen Vantessa stepped forward.
Her violet robes shimmered like midnight waves under torchlight, her golden eyes glowing with a wisdom that came from centuries of burden.
"There is something you all must understand," she said softly, her voice floating through the heavy air like a curse forgotten but never erased. "The Carello name… the blood that runs faint in Maika, and stronger in Caveen—it is no ordinary legacy. It is the bloodline that once brought kingdoms to their knees."
Gasps rippled through the room.
Lady Merrine straightened in her seat. Merca tensed beside Carl. Even Lord Valus turned his head, expression unreadable.
"You speak of dark magic," Jacob said hoarsely.
Vantessa nodded. "Yes. But not the twisted kind born of hatred or ambition. The Carellos were born of something older. Something raw. Untamed. Magic that danced with chaos."
She raised her hand—and in the silence that followed, a whisper of wind swirled, carrying with it memories long sealed in dust.
And then, the torches flickered… and the room seemed to vanish.
---
Flashback
In an age before wars, before kingdoms rose and fell, there stood a manor nestled in the cradle of the Whispering Hills. It was known simply as Carello Keep—a sanctuary of power, hidden from mortal eyes.
There, Lady Agnes of the golden veil and Lord Gustav, a noble of unmatched charm and intellect, stood hand in hand, eyes glistening as their newborn twins were placed in their arms.
The air around the keep surged with light, vines blooming in winter, the sky casting twin moons for a single night.
Lady Brienne and Lady Corrine—their names whispered by the wind itself.
They were born with eyes like polished amethyst and hair kissed by starlight. Identical in face, equal in soul.
No envy grew between them. No darkness stirred in their hearts. Only laughter, shared secrets, and the occasional mischief that turned the manor upside down.
Years passed, and the girls bloomed like enchanted roses. Scholars from the Elven courts came to study their gifts. Even the dwarves sent enchanted trinkets to mark their milestones.
But on their 18th year, destiny knocked.
As tradition dictated, daughters of noble houses were entered into the bride pool of the reigning royal line of witches—then ruled by the Moonwell Clan.
And at the heart of the Moonwell realm, Prince Calix—the silver-haired, sapphire-eyed heir—was to choose a bride.
The grand ball was announced, and the Carello twins, adorned in moonlight gowns, arrived like starlight personified.
They danced. They dazzled. They charmed nobles and commoners alike. Yet only one captured the prince's gaze.
Lady Corrine.
Brienne saw it. But she did not falter. She smiled, held her sister's hand, and stepped aside—offering silent blessings.
Corrine and Calix's courtship flourished.
The lake shimmered with their reflections, and the wind itself danced with delight when Corrine and Calix walked hand in hand.
The prince had been invited to stay for a season, a rare gesture extended only to those the Carellos trusted.
And trust him, they did.
Prince Calix of the Moonwell line—composed, kind, and graceful—was every inch a noble soul. Yet it was Corrine who drew out the boy beneath the crown, the man beyond the heir.
She made him laugh. She made him question the stars. She made him believe that maybe love wasn't a contract between bloodlines but something real.
They would walk barefoot through wildflower fields.
They would sneak into the library late at night, arguing over spell theory and kissing between forgotten scrolls.
Corrine glowed like the moon's first rise.
And from the manor's high tower, Brienne watched.
At first, it was joy.
Then… it wasn't.
A whisper curled in her chest. Cold. Uninvited. Unexplained.
The smile she wore for Corrine became harder to keep.
She laughed when Corrine shared her joy—but her fists clenched behind her silken skirts.
Brienne began to look into mirrors longer. To compare every note of her laughter, every flick of her hair. And always, no matter how flawless she was—Corrine shone brighter.
Corrine had him.
And Brienne… had nothing.
---
One evening, Lord Gustav entered her chambers, his tone warm, his expression hopeful.
"Daughter, House Elenforth has sent word. Their heir, Lord Lysian, is enchanted by your beauty. He will visit next moon."
Brienne blinked once. "I will not meet him."
Lord Gustav's brows rose. "He is noble, strong, and—"
"I don't care," she said calmly. "I want no man. I want the future of our house."
He hesitated. "You speak of… the Matriarchal Seat?"
Brienne nodded. "Let Corrine wed. Let her become a Moonwell bride. Let her walk among roses and riddles. I will carry the Carello name."
"You are both Carellos," Gustav said gently. "You always were."
But Brienne's lips curled ever so slightly.
"Not for long."
---
She began her studies in secret.
Forbidden tomes. Ancient rituals hidden beneath the manor.
Magic not meant to be touched without guidance.
She found them.
The wells—veins of raw energy, sealed by her ancestors after they learned the truth of what Carello blood could become when corrupted.
And one night, the seal opened.
Her fingers trembled.
Her heart roared.
A voice met her in the dark, honeyed and low, offering knowledge… and power.
"You do not envy her love. You envy her light."
"You were born first, Brienne. You were born stronger. The stars should have bent to you."
And in the stillness, Brienne whispered, "Then let them kneel."