It was the night of the Annual Duel.
The air above Aetheria shimmered with anticipation, thick with magic and moonlight. No one in the kingdom had slept—not the watchful priestesses in the Cloud Temples, not the thunder-smiths in the Storm Foundries, not even the youngest skyborn children pressed against their windows, watching the clouds swirl over the arena.
This was tradition. Ritual. Spectacle.
And every year, it lit the heavens on fire.
The Duel brought together the mightiest of Aetheria's gifted—the Aeromancers, the Voltborn, the Strengthbound, the Galeforged, and all other wielders of the sacred arts. They came not just to fight, but to prove, to shine, to etch their names into the wind.
But this year… this year was different.
This year, two royals stood among them.
The Crown Heir, Kael, already famed across the skies for his command over cyclones and his storm-forged strength.
And the Infante-The Princess, Serenya.
The crowd had gasped when her name was called. No Infante had ever taken the field. She was meant to be ceremonial—a symbol of divinity and grace, not a warrior of wind and lightning.
But the moment she stepped onto the arena, the sky seemed to shift.
And when she moved, she didn't just fight.
She commanded.
Even before the final duel began, the people could feel it: something extraordinary was about to unfold. Aetheria itself seemed to hold its breath.
And it proved to be true—on the last and final day of the Duel.
The storm in the sky was nothing compared to the one building inside Serenya.
That night, beneath the vast celestial dome of the palace observatory, she stood alone with her mother. The stars above them pulsed faintly through the glasslike roof, as if listening. The Queen's robe shimmered with woven threads of aether, and her presence—immense, unshakable—filled the space like wind fills lungs.
The Supreme Mother of the Heavens.Ruler of Aetheria.Goddess to some.Mother to two.
Her voice, when it came, was soft—but it echoed in Serenya's bones like prophecy.
"Are you sure, Serenya? This is not a duel you may ever be able to take back. What happens tomorrow… it may shape our future. Or unravel it. For better—or for worse."
There was no fire in her tone. Only calm. Too calm. Serenya's fingers curled around the edge of her silk sash. She could feel it—something was off. Something about her mother had shifted, subtly.
But Serenya lifted her chin.
"Mother, I don't understand why you're saying this," she said, carefully. "But I know what's in my heart. I've always done what I believe is right. What's best for Aetheria—and its people."
Her voice grew stronger.
"And I believe that this duel is exactly that. It's not about winning. Or losing. Competing against Brother at all—that is my victory. That's how I change the tradition."
The Queen watched her in silence for a moment. Her gaze searched Serenya's face as though seeing something—or someone—she wasn't ready to name. Then, finally, the Supreme Mother gave a single nod.
A faint smile touched her lips, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"Very well then," she said. "I have nothing more to say."
And with that, Serenya and Kael stepped onto the battlefield.
The Skyward Arena—vast and sacred—stretched before them like the open heavens. It was the largest space in all of Aetheria, forged from cloudstone and celestial ore, hovering high above the capital spires. Beneath them, the very air pulsed with energy.
And above?
Millions of voices rose in thunder.
The kingdom had come alive.
Every corner of Aetheria had gathered here—rivers of light weaving through the crowd, faces glowing, banners rippling in the charged wind. The chants echoed across the clouds, some for the Crown Heir, others—surprisingly many—for the Infante. For her.
But not all.
Some eyes sparkled with hope. Others glinted with doubt.
But two faces anchored her.
Riven stood near the eastern overlook, expression carved in stone. His dark-blue eyes followed her like a tether, his arms folded across his chest—stern, unreadable to most. But Serenya knew better. That was fear. Not of her, but for her. Always watching. Always steady. He gave her the slightest nod. The kind that meant Don't flinch. Don't fall.
Right beside him, Lyara was a heartbeat of movement—shifting on her toes, wringing her hands, her face an open book of emotion. Worry, pride, awe—all flickering across her features like sunlight through clouds. Her lips moved soundlessly:
You've got this.
Serenya breathed in slowly. Their faces steadied her.
Just for a moment, she wasn't standing before all of Aetheria.
She was standing before them.
And she wasn't going to let them down.
And then her gaze flickered toward the royal gallery.
There sat the Supreme Mother.
Still. Silent. Watching.
Serenya swallowed hard. She had acted like her mother's words hadn't touched her—but they had. There was a quiet dread churning low in her stomach now, steady and sickening.
Her fingers twitched.
"This is all I've ever wanted."
"This is all I've ever worked for."
"Focus, Sere. Focus."
She centered herself. Slowed her breath. She could now feel the metal of her armour.
Across the ring, Kael rolled his shoulders back, wind curling lazily around his arms like snakes waiting to strike. His stance was solid. His eyes—fierce. But not cruel.
He looked… proud.
And for a moment, Serenya felt the warmth of that. The brother who had trained her. Who had carried her on his back as a child. Who had taught her not to fear her storms.
But now?
Now he was her opponent.
A tremor ran through the clouds. Somewhere, a ceremonial horn sounded—a deep, vibrating tone that seemed to come from the bones of the sky itself.
The Duel had begun.
Queen Elira, the Supreme Mother of the Heavens, watched from her throne in the sky.
She did not speak. She did not blink. Her gaze—cold and commanding—remained fixed on the two children she had raised… and the future they were about to rewrite.
Below her, the clouds swirled into chaos.
Serenya gripped the hilt of her lightning-forged blade, the static humming beneath her skin like a second heartbeat. Wind gathered at her heels. With a sharp breath, she rose—air folding beneath her feet like invisible wings.
Kael stood still, bare-handed.
He didn't need weapons.
Around him, the sky rumbled, and with a flick of his wrist, he summoned the storm. Rain sheeted across the arena. Thunder cracked like bone. Then, twisting from the clouds behind him, came the tornado—a monstrous spiral of wind and fury, spinning like a god's wrath given form.
The crowd roared.
Serenya moved first.
She launched a spear of lightning, sharp and bright, straight at Kael. He caught it—not with his hands, but by dragging the wind sideways, diverting the bolt into the clouds. Then he laughed—not mockingly, but with genuine thrill.
He was holding back.
He still thought this would be easy.
With a whirl of motion, Kael ascended—using his own tornado to lift himself into the sky. His silhouette blurred in the stormlight, his power swelling with the rhythm of the elements. The air howled. The rain thickened.
Serenya struggled to hold position. Her blade flickered, her arms trembling.
Minutes passed. Or was it seconds?
She couldn't keep up. Kael's strength was monstrous, and his control—flawless. Her own body ached from dodging winds she could barely see. Her lungs burned. The air beneath her feet felt thinner by the moment.
She was losing.
She knew she was losing.
And then—A blast of wind caught her midair and threw her like a broken comet across the arena. She smashed into the upper balcony—right near her mother's viewing platform. The impact stole her breath.
Dazed, bruised, Serenya opened her eyes.
And she saw her mother watching.
Expression unreadable. Lips tight.
But her eyes—
Her eyes were not surprised.
They were a warning.
A silent command.
Give up. Before it's too late.
Something inside Serenya cracked.
Not in surrender—but in spark.
She could feel it—rising like a scream through her veins. Her fingers trembled, and lightning gathered there, hungrier than ever before. It raced up her arms, her spine, her chest.
The storm answered her.
Her blade glowed white-blue, searing, radiant.
And then—
She let go.
The heavens had never seen such light.
The bolt tore through the sky like a scream—pure, raw, blinding. It struck Kael mid-flight, cutting through his tornado and slamming him into the storm-wracked clouds above.
The crowd gasped.
The wind died.
The rain halted mid-drop, suspended in eerie silence.
Serenya lowered her blade, her arms trembling, breath shallow in her throat. The glowing threads of lightning on her skin dimmed. Her heart raced—not from the duel, but from the silence that followed it.
The entire kingdom stared.
The Voltborns were stunned. The Aeromancers wide-eyed. Even the Galeforged leaned forward in their seats.
They hadn't expected this.
No one had.
Not from the Infante.
Not from her.
They had come to witness a symbolic match. A graceful display. A princess with power—but not too much. Not this much.
The air was thick with a single, unspoken question:
What is she?
And yet, from the royal balcony—still no applause.
No rise from the Queen.No nod from the King.
Only silence.
Serenya touched the hilt of her sword with numb fingers.
"I didn't mean to—"
But her voice was lost beneath the thunder still echoing in her ears.
Then she looked up.
The smoke parted slowly.
Kael lay on the ground, his body still.
Unmoving.
And the storm inside her... stopped.