Two hundred years ago…
In a realm carved from starfire and salt wind, nestled between obsidian cliffs and the whispering sea, the Kingdom of Devana thrived like a well-kept secret.
Ruled by King Louis, a wise and fair monarch whose strength was matched only by the mystery that seemed to breathe through his bloodline, Devana had known peace for nearly three generations. Its people worshipped the heavens, tended to the earth, and celebrated the stars. Magic pulsed quietly beneath its soil, passed from blood to blood, hidden behind layers of myth.
But even paradise has a price.
And the heavens—never forget.
Princess Rosaline was his only child.
Born during a red moon eclipse and wrapped in silk woven from moonbeams, Rosaline was a contradiction from the moment she cried her first breath—graceful, curious, and uncannily calm. Even as a child, her eyes mirrored the silver in the sky rather than her father's darker hues. The palace astrologers had whispered about signs in the stars. A celestial knot. A soul forged from something ancient.
But King Louis, too practical for prophecy, dismissed such talk. She was his daughter. His joy. His future.
Until the day the Saint arrived.
⸻
It began like any other royal morning—sunlight spilling through stained-glass windows, the scent of honeyed bread in the halls, soldiers training in the eastern court. Rosaline, now in her early teens, had spent the morning sparring with her governess in the gardens, her laughter echoing through the vines.
Then the sky changed.
Not a storm. Not a cloud.
A silence.
So heavy, the birds stopped mid-flight.
So vast, even the guards froze.
At the palace gates stood a figure draped in white, untouched by dust, eyes veiled behind translucent linen. The air around him shimmered faintly, as though reality bent in reverence.
The guards parted before him, weapons lowered against instinct.
King Louis stood tall in his throne room as the Saint was announced. Though the monarch had seen many holy men in his life, this one was different. His presence was not one of warmth or awe.
It was warning.
"Greetings, my king," the Saint said, bowing low, his voice carrying like wind in a cathedral.
The King studied him carefully. "You wear the markings of the Sanctified Order. From the southern isles, are you not?"
"I am."
"And what brings a Saint of the Flame to Devana?"
The Saint raised his gaze. "I have come to rescue you from your downfall."
Murmurs rippled through the court.
Louis narrowed his eyes. "Speak clearly, holy one. Or you will be escorted from my halls."
The Saint didn't flinch. "There has been a prophecy. When the moon burns its brightest past midnight—two nights from now—Devana will know the wrath of the heavens. The kingdom shall be silenced. Lives will be claimed. None shall remain."
The King's voice dropped to a snarl. "We have done no harm. What madness is this?"
"Your bloodline is blameless," the Saint replied calmly. "But your ancestors are not. The heavens remember."
The Queen gasped, clutching Rosaline's hand.
The King took a step forward. "Then tell me—how do we appease such divine cruelty?"
The Saint hesitated for the first time. His voice, once thunder, now became ice.
"A sacrifice," he said. "You must give up what you hold most dear."
The King's breath hitched.
"No," he whispered.
The Saint's gaze turned toward Rosaline. "Your daughter."
Gasps erupted across the room. The Queen covered Rosaline's ears. The girl, confused but unafraid, stared at the Saint with wide, silver eyes.
"You ask for a child?" Louis roared. "For marriage? For exile?"
The Saint's voice hardened. "For both. She must wed the heavens. Through me. And vanish from this realm. Only then will Devana be spared."
The King's voice broke with fury. "You dare ask this of me?"
"I do not ask. I tell you what must be done."
Louis drew his sword. The air in the court grew tight.
"Leave," he said. "Return to your Order. If I see you again, it will be the last time."
But the Saint did not bow this time. "When the moon burns, do not say you weren't warned."
He turned and vanished—leaving the scent of ash and the weight of fate behind.
⸻
The days passed in unnatural stillness.
Rosaline, too young to understand it all, felt the tension crawling through the stone walls. Her father stopped smiling. Her mother wept when she thought no one was watching. Servants moved with eyes averted. The birds outside the palace stopped singing.
And then came the night.
The moon rose like fire.
Red at first. Then blinding silver. Brighter than anything she'd ever seen. The city slept, unaware. But in the throne room, King Louis stood alone, a crown in one hand and a glowing pendant in the other.
He could not sacrifice her.
Not his daughter. Not his Rose.
So he chose another path.
⸻
Beneath the castle, there existed a room no one spoke of. A war chamber built in secret, carved by the kingdom's greatest engineer. It was meant to withstand siege, invasion, apocalypse. Food stores, water, spell scrolls—everything a survivor might need for years.
He led Rosaline there in silence, her small hand clutched in his.
"Why are we going down here?" she asked.
"For a game," he lied. "A secret one. A royal test."
She giggled. "Will there be puzzles?"
He smiled faintly. "Yes. And stories. And time to grow stronger."
Inside the room, he knelt and placed the soul pendant around her neck.
"This," he whispered, "is all of me. Half of my magic. Half of my soul. If anything happens… it will protect you."
"I don't understand."
"You will. One day."
She clutched the pendant. "Will you come back in the morning?"
"Yes," he lied again. "Sleep. Don't be afraid."
Then he left.
And sealed the door behind him.
⸻
At exactly midnight, the sea screamed.
Waves rose like walls of judgment.
The sky cracked open, spilling light that looked more like flame than moonshine. A soundless quake rocked the kingdom. Windows shattered. Towers folded. The screams began—and ended—within minutes.
Every bloodline tied to the betrayal—every descendant of those who once defied the heavens—was claimed.
And then… silence.
Only one heartbeat remained.
Far beneath the earth, a little girl slept soundly, wrapped in a father's final lie.
⸻
When Rosaline awoke, the world was still.
Her first thought was that the game had ended. She called for her father.
No answer.
She waited for hours. Days. She ate the rations. Read the scrolls. Lit the lamps. And when days turned into weeks, she stopped calling.
Something had gone wrong.
And the truth came slowly.
A kingdom silenced.
A father who never returned.
A prophecy fulfilled.
But instead of breaking… she learned.
She devoured the books on royal law, warfare, diplomacy, and magic. She trained her body to move with purpose. She studied every diagram, every Devani symbol. She traced her lineage and wept at the histories.
Years passed.
And then, one day, she found the hidden switch—a small bronze button near the far wall. Her hand hesitated only once.
The door groaned open, heavy with time.
Sunlight stabbed her eyes.
She stepped into a world turned to dust.
Devana was gone.
Nothing remained but desert and ruins. The castle had crumbled. The trees had turned to bone. Her home was now a graveyard.
And still—she stood.
With her father's soul pendant clutched in her hand, Rosaline turned her back to the vault and walked toward the wind.
Her kingdom had paid the price for sins it never committed.
She would find the heavens and exact the revenge.
And make them pay.