Chapter 3 - 003 ※ Beware the Destiny You Didn't Ask For

I'm not like my brothers, Zachariah and Mordecai, the precious twins of Brayanlynn. They, of course, are two of the ten Chosen Immortals—a select and unparalleled group of beings who hold a position of immense significance in the world. There are only five pairs of Chosen Immortals, and their power is unrivaled by anyone. These immortals are gifted with abilities far beyond what ordinary Immortals like myself could ever hope to possess. They are not just powerful, they are revered and envied by everyone around them, and their destinies are bound together in ways that others, even the most esteemed among us, can barely comprehend. Their lives are not dictated by their own choices but by the will of forces far greater than any of us could understand. Their fates are sealed, and they hold the balance of the world in their hands.

So, when I was born, my mother, Arabella, was crushed. She had high hopes for me, imagining I could one day rival my brothers in importance and power. She believed I would be like them—one of the Chosen Immortals, destined for greatness. But when I arrived, beside me appeared not the mark of a Chosen Immortal, but a book of destiny, bound in red and gold, that was all my own. My mother's dreams for me were shattered in that instant. She had wanted a daughter who could stand proudly by her sons' side, a daughter who would share in their renown and significance. Instead, she received a child whose destiny was already mapped out—just not in the way she had hoped.

My father, Brayanlynn, had always wanted to have a daughter with my mother, so when I came into the world, he wasn't as devastated as my mother was. But that doesn't mean he was happy about my fate either. I could see the disappointment in his eyes, though he tried to hide it. He loved me, of course, but there was always a sense of something unspoken, something that lingered between us, an unacknowledged sadness over what I was not. I wasn't what they had dreamed of for me. I wasn't like my brothers, Zachariah and Mordecai, whose futures had been written in the stars.

Even though my father wasn't as distraught as my mother, he didn't give up on me. He did everything in his power to help me find my own way, though it was clear he was fighting a losing battle. He tried to show my mother that I was worth something, even though I wasn't one of the Chosen. There were countless arguments between them, with my father insisting that I deserved a fair chance, that I should be given the opportunity to prove myself. But my mother, proud and stubborn as she was, refused to see me as anything more than a failure, something less than my brothers, something that could never be as great as they were. My father, for all his efforts, could never change how she saw me, and neither could I.

To make up for what I lacked in natural potential, my father pushed me harder than any other child in the Evermore. He wanted me to be the best, even if I wasn't born with the same gifts as my brothers. I trained twice as hard as anyone else, studied twice as long, all in an attempt to prove my worth. It was his way of showing me he cared, but it was also his way of coping with the reality that I wasn't like the others. I was different, and he couldn't change that. My mother never saw the effort I put in. She never recognized the sacrifices, and neither did my brothers. The other Evermore, too, made sure to remind me of my place. I was an afterthought to them, the child who didn't belong, the child who would never be enough.

I realized early on that my life wasn't going to be as easy as it was for others. I learned it from the little jabs, the small remarks made by my brothers about my abilities, the way my mother's gaze would always glide over me as if I were invisible. For them, I wasn't a person—I was just a reminder of what I could never be. My existence served as a constant comparison to what I should have been, a cruel reflection of my own inadequacies.

Growing up, I wasn't raised by my mother as most children were. Instead, I was raised by my father's daughter from his cousin's family—my older half-sister, Ellie. Ellie was not kind to me, though she wasn't outright cruel. She didn't love me, but at least she took the time to care for me in a way my mother never did. She followed my father's strict rules about raising me, making sure I stayed on track and adhered to his expectations. Despite her indifferent attitude, I could tell that Ellie was doing what she believed was best for me. But there was one person who made my childhood a little less miserable—Ellie's husband, Zayd.

Zayd was not only a king in his own right, but also a skilled warrior with the power of fire magic. He was intimidating by title and appearance, yet to me, he was a beacon of warmth. He treated me with kindness and gentleness that I had never experienced from anyone else. Zayd was more of a father to me than my own father had the chance to be. He gave me small moments of respite from the endless training and studying, moments when I could just be a child. But even Zayd's kindness had limits. Ellie would often scold him, telling him that my father would be furious if he found out he was being too gentle with me. "She needs to train," she would say. "She doesn't need to be spoiled." And so, even the rare kindness I received came with a heavy weight, a reminder that I could never be allowed to forget who I was—or rather, who I was not.

My book of destiny is a striking thing—an artifact that holds the key to my fate, my future, and my place in the world. Its cover is a deep, blood-red leather, decorated with intricate golden details. The pages inside are black, with letters written in brilliant white ink. Like every other book of destiny, its title is simply my name: Evie. But unlike the books of destiny belonging to other Immortals, mine holds a story unlike any other. It tells of two people, both as different from one another as night and day—a cold-hearted crown prince named Davey Hadassah, who was shaped by a dark and painful past, and a sweet-hearted Grand Duke's daughter named Lexie White, who had a loving family and a childhood filled with joy. Their lives are intertwined in a way that echoes my own existence, a reminder of what could have been if I had been different.

One of the most puzzling features of my book of destiny is the time-skip. At the ages of twelve or thirteen, the story of Davey and Lexie leaps forward by thirteen years, jumping to when they are twenty-five. This leap, this missing time, has haunted me for as long as I can remember. I've spent hours, days even, wondering what role I am supposed to play during those lost years. What am I supposed to do in that time? What happens in those thirteen years that the book refuses to show? Despite all my pondering, I've never come up with an answer. The mystery has stayed with me, a constant presence, always just out of reach.

And then, the day came. My twentieth birthday. The day I had both feared and anticipated for as long as I could remember. It was the day that would mark the beginning of my true journey, the day I would leave the Evermore behind and step into the reality of Davey and Lexie's world. The day my destiny would finally begin, and everything I had been preparing for would finally come to pass. The question of what I was supposed to do in those missing years would soon be answered, for better or for worse.