Queen of Eisengard

The Empire of Eisengard lay draped across the map like a silken ribbon, stretching from the frigid Western seas to the grey, jagged peaks of the North. It was known as the dominion of gods and iron. Here, every treaty was sealed in blood, and every dynasty was etched not only in parchment but in the very memories and marrow of the surrounding lesser states. Eisengard’s grandeur flourished not merely through the might of its kings, but through the hallowed grace of Irminsul—the divine tree that had endured upon this continent for tens of thousands of years. In the heart of the capital, soaring above obsidian eaves and watchtowers as round as the eyes of an owl, stood a monolith known to all, yet whispered of by few once night fell. The Tower of Irminsul. I had spent nearly my entire life within its walls. The tower was unlike any construct of mortal hands. Its outer ramparts were fashioned from seamless slabs of stone that shimmered by day and exhaled a cold, ethereal luminescence by night—the unmistakable signature of Irminsul’s magic. Inside, the architecture was woven from a material resembling the fossilized union of wood and stone, layered over itself, fractured into veins that mimicked the intricate crawl of roots. Legend told that the tower had surged from the earth during an eternal winter—when Irminsul plunged its roots deep into the world’s core to tether Eisengard, saving it from the crumbling curse of an ancient era. By the empire's most sacred tradition, no king was permitted to choose his own bride. No duke could offer his daughter through raw ambition; no count could barter with a dowry. Every will, every honor, every pride of bloodline… all had to kneel before a single verdict. The High Priest of Irminsul—Eberhardt. He alone held the divine right to select the Queen for the Sovereign. They said the High Priest could hear the tree’s voice. They said the children brought to the tower were "scions," culled from tens of thousands across the empire—from opulent cities to the bleakest border outposts. It was said the tower nurtured these girls with discipline, scripture, and ritual. And when a girl reached her twentieth year, the tower’s gates would open for the Selection. Only one out of a thousand. The world called it glory. The cherished dream of countless women. Most of the girls within the tower—those who had grown up in Irminsul’s shadow—believed it too. They spent their days dreaming of the crown, or at the very least, of becoming the consort to some distant duke or marquess. But not me. I seldom thought of who my destiny might be. Not for a lack of dreams, but because I did not believe I was a prize to be chosen. Who would seek a girl as gaunt, as silent, as devoid of charm as me? Tonight, I sat in a small chamber on the tower’s lower tier. I am Liora—Liora von Yusupova—the final descendant of a lineage that had withered long ago. Years ago, when the High Priest led me away from my village, the neighbors watched with envious eyes. I was too small then to understand where I was being taken. I only knew it was the most hallowed place in the empire, and that I would remain there forever—forbidden from stepping outside until my twentieth year. I exhaled a soft sigh, leaning back against the narrow window frame, watching the snow drift in thin, pale ribbons. Each flake touched the glass and vanished, leaving behind watery trails like the fleeting touch of a phantom’s hand. I was twenty now. My skin bore the hue of toasted honey; my face was rounded with a soft chin—as if I hadn’t quite finished growing into a world that favored sharp, icy features. My violet eyes, the very thing that made many in the tower regard me with wary distance, no longer looked outward. Instead, they stared quietly into the shadows of my room. Upon the wooden table sat a bowl of water, a thin book of scripture, and a few sprigs of dried herbs that the wardens forced us to chew before every ritual, to ensure "a pure heart, and a pure mouth." I had chewed them so often that the tip of my tongue had grown accustomed to the bitterness. I knew well enough that I did not stand out among the thousand girls here. Within this tower, there were those whose mere presence seemed to brighten the candlelight. Seraphine von Falkenrath—tall, poised, her pale blonde hair braided into a crown. She recited scripture without ever glancing at the page, her voice ringing through the Great Hall like a clarion call. It was rumored a duke from the Northeast had already set his sights on her when she was but sixteen. Alina von Rabenau—with hair as straight and dark as a blade’s edge and eyes of metallic grey. Alina was so masterful in ritual that the wardens rarely found a flaw. When she bowed, her knees met the floor without a sound, as if she were born to be a sovereign. Elowen von Voss—from a distant branch of the great House Voss. Her fiery crimson hair and razor-sharp intellect had once drawn praise from the High Priest himself. And then, there was me. I was often called eccentric. Or worse—merely "someone" among the thousand. I earned that name because sometimes, in the middle of a lesson, while my lips moved to the holy words, I would look up as if I had heard a voice call out to me. Because there were moments in the long corridors when I would stop, pressing my palm against the tower’s fossilized walls, whispering something barely audible—as if I were conversing with the divine tree. And everyone knew that only the High Priest possessed the gift to commune with Irminsul. The girls whispered that I saw ghosts. And so, they kept their distance. Only Katya did not. “‘Don’t’ what?” Katya asked. I startled. “I’m sorry?” Katya looked at me with concern. “You were whispering just now… something like ‘Don’t do it, don’t come here.’” I blinked. Had I said that? I couldn’t remember. It felt like a fragment of a dream. I couldn’t answer her. I only felt a faint tremor in my bones—like the contraction of a root—and a blurred whisper, like wind rushing through leaves, though the tower held no leaves. Katya sighed, pouring me a cup of tea. “You need to stay sharp and stop this aimless talk. The ceremony is almost upon us. Don’t give them more reasons to gossip. You don’t want to be reprimanded by the High Priest, do you?” I offered a faint smile. “Thank you for the reminder. I will be careful.”