The morning of Elara's fifteenth birthday dawned with a sky of impossible blue.
She stood on the cliffs above the harbor, watching the sun rise over Cinderhall. The city was beautiful. Prosperous. The streets were filled with people. The markets were crowded. The children were laughing. The realm was at peace.
The sword hung at her hip. The blade had been silent for years. But now it stirred. A faint pulse. A whisper of something long dormant.
She had carried the legacy for fifteen years. She had trained. She had studied. She had prepared. But she had never faced the darkness. Not truly. Not like her ancestors.
The darkness had been quiet. Too quiet.
Her mother Solara appeared beside her. Her hand found hers. Her eyes were warm.
"Fifteen years. It feels like yesterday."
"Fifteen yea
