AUREVIA

HELA - KEEPER OF FIRE

The halls of the Cloud Citadel shimmered like a molten crystal, the brilliance of the Core. On this day, the kingdom of Bagat celebrated the birth of Queen Yrva’s first child, a daughter whose presence promised both hope and destiny. Courtiers lined the crystalline walkways, their eyes alight with curiosity and joy, murmuring blessings for the newborn.

Queen Yrva’s held the child carefully, her silver hair glinting in the sunlight that spilled through the high windows. Hela, wrapped in robes woven with threads of fire-red and silver, blinked at the light that mirrored the intensity of flame itself. Her tiny fingers curled instinctively around the Queen’s, as if already sensing the weight of the world she had entered. Kaelion stood beside them, his expression a mixture of pride, awe, and subtle restraint, for he knew the child before him was more than mere lineage.

The Core pulsed gently, as if in recognition of Hela’s arrival, bathing the hall in shifting hues of red and gray.

Hiluara’s Arrival

Without warning, the air shimmered with violet light, and a ripple of energy swept through the hall. Hiluara appeared in a graceful instant, her violet silk trailing like liquid starlight. As always, she arrived through teleportation—the ancient art reserved for Deiangs and the royal blooded Bambinos, marked by elemental sigils. The crowd instinctively fell silent. Even the youngest attendant, who had never seen her in person, bowed deeply. The Core itself seemed to pulse more brightly, as if acknowledging the Keeper’s presence.

Hiluara approached Queen Yrva and the newborn. Her biolet eyes, deep and ancient, studied the infant with a mixture of reverence and calculation. “Jayo Lahei, keiwe’jan hakdu un tu bari, un padi diye hak jin janei’r hak hireina.”

(Great Lahei, I honor you and your child, and I come here to bring guidance.”)

She knelt before Hela, extending her hand towards the infant’s forehead. The Core’s light reflected in Hela’s eyes, mingling with the violet glow emanating from Hiluara. The Regent’s expression darkened ever so slightly as a vision unfolded behind her eyes. Flames of war, smoke, and chaos flickered across distant lands, yet the instigator of the conflict remained hidden.

“Yl feiva jimon.”

(“A shadow stirs.”)

Opening her eyes, Hiluara spoke softly, her voice carrying weight beyond her years. “Lahei Yrva, inda ei bari nakid mit kamfa ti Eda. Jei nan jigo tavug—ne hakkan jei bongei yl gotha vulan mashagi. Irei jaw kuman.”

(Queen Yrva, keep the child away from the influence of Eda. She may be used to win a war—or perhaps she will become a warrior who starts it. Guide her well.”)

Yrva’s lips pressed in determination. “I understand, Hiluara. I will shield her, as I would shield all of Aurevia. No one will manipulate my daughter for power.”

“Nabu korga ilras ogash, intei.”

(“Some truths must remain hidden, for now.”)

With that, Hiluara withdrew her hand. The Core’s light reflecting pulsed once, warmly, acknowledging both mother and child, and then the regent vanished, leaving a lingering aura of caution and mystique.

The Celebration

Despite the subtle unease left by Hiluara’s warning, the celebration continued. Music swelled through the citadel, lanterns danced along corridors, and food from every kingdom—molten flamefruit, chilled snow-berries, spiced earth-root—was offered in honor of the newborn. Yet even the mist of joy, Queen Yrva remained vigilant. She watched her daughter with protective eyes, mindful of the unseen currents that Hiluara had hinted.

Kaelion knelt before the Queen, placing a hand over hers. “She is… remarkable,” he whispered, voice low enough only Yrva could hear. “Do you fear the burden she carries?”

Yrva shook her head gently, “I fear the world, not her. She is a child of Aurevia. The weight of prophecy and power is not hers to bear alone; it is ours to guide.”

Hela’s Growth

Years passed swiftly, and Hela grew into a spirited child with hairs like embers and eyes that shone with the intensity of fire. From her earliest days, Yrva instilled in her the lessons of duty, balance, and the importance of the Core.

“You are not just my daughter,” Yrva would tell her, “but a thread in the tapestry of Aurevia. Each choice you make, each action, may ripple across kingdoms. One day, the Core may choose you, or it may not. The future is not promised—but your role in it is alreadg important.”

Hela listened with eyes wide, absorbing every lesson. She learned to respect the weight of power while tempering ambition with wisdom. She trained her might and body in the quiet courtyard of Bagat, learning the subtleties of diplomacy, elemental mastery, and the history of each realm.

Training as a Deiang of Eda

Despite being the daughter of Bagat, Hela had inherited the fire-blood of Eda from Kaelion. Daily, she met with High Elder of Chion, who instructed her in the arts of the Deiang—discipline, elemental control, and the philosophy of leadership. The courtyard crackled with controlled flames as Hela practiced, sweat beading on her brows, her determination fierce.

Hiluara visited sporadically, her lessons cryptic yet vital. Through her, Hela learned foresight, patience, and the necessity of guarding both heart and mind. Every touch from Hiluara, every whisper in Thanei, left impressions on the child that shaped not only her skill but her character.

“Idu ke yl gatah, ing kashman ke tu val.”

(“Power is a gift, but restraint is your shield.”)

The Hidden Influence

Yet not all influences in Hela’s life were benign. Unseen by Yrva, Hiluara or Chion, a personal servant attended to the child. Calm, devoted, and ever-present, the servant offered a gentle guidance during private moments. But this servant was no ordinary aide; she was an Edan, sent by Lord Serad of Eda.

Her whispers were subtle, crafted to plant ideas in Hela’s mind without seeming manipulative.

“Child,” she would murmur during practice, “the fire within you is greater than any other. You are the only child of your mother. The Core may guide, but your destiny is clear. One day, you will lead Aurevia as Queen.”

Hela, impressionable yet sharp, often wondered if the servant’s words were true. She loved her mother, she revered Hiluara, and she respected Chion, yet these whispers left sparks in her mind — small, persistent, and impossible to ignore.

Hiluara, though aware of the subtle manipulations, chose to withhold the full truth. The vision of war remained unclear, and revealing the Edan’s role prematurely might disrupt the careful balance she sought to maintain.

“Tekei jaw, Lahei, kuin ei i’feiva han nagad un nei idkar,” Hiluara had warned Yrva.

(“Protect her, Lahei, for the shadows are many and unclear.”)

Lessons and Responsibility

Yrva continued to teach Hela the delicate balance of power. “Your role is not to rule yet,” she said, guiding her daughter through the gardens of Bagat, where fire-lilies glowed under the Core’s reflection. “You are a bridge between worlds. The Core will one day decide who shall lead, not me. Your strength must come from wisdom, your courage from duty, and your heart from love for Aurevia — not from desire or ambition alone.”

Hela nodded, eyes bright with understanding, yet occasionally lingering on the servant’s whispers. A tension grew in her, subtle and quiet, between the teachings of her mother and the seeds planted by Eda.

Even as she learned the art of fire, the philosophy of leadership, and the weight of legacy, the child could feel the stirrings of power beyond her years. Every lesson, every whisper, every glance from Hiluara, Yrva and Chion reinforced the idea that Aurevia’s future — and perhaps its very survival — might rest in her tiny but determined hands.