Helen watched the sunlight dance through the green landscape, her heart heavy with the weight of her task. She had been many things in her long life-a mage, a teacher, a protector-but being the caretaker of Princess Violet Sylphyie was a journey fraught with trials she had never anticipated.
The day of the princess's birth had been a moment of unparalleled joy in the Kingdom. Violet Sylphyie, firstborn daughter of King Lucas and Queen Evelina, was hailed as a symbol of hope and continuity. Her pale, snow-like complexion and delicate features rivaled even her mother's legendary beauty. Her birth was celebrated with music that echoed through the Great Forest of Elves, a place that thrived under the towering presence of Yggdrasil, the Great Elf Tree.
Yggdrasil, the world tree, was more than a landmark-it was a sacred monument of life and mana, the lifeblood of the world itself. Its roots stretched deep, weaving through the veins of the earth, while its boughs touched the skies, cradling the mana of the world. Legend claimed it had sprouted from the resting place of the first Elven king, and its dryad, an ethereal spirit, embodied its boundless mana. The tree's blessings shaped the destiny of every elf, binding them to its will.
Elves, a people of long lives but low fertility, cherished every child born among them, and the arrival of Violet was no exception. Her early years were filled with joy. At five, the people anticipated her Naming Ceremony, the moment she would be presented to Yggdrasil, where her mana attribute and magic power would be revealed. It was a rite of passage, one that marked an elf's place within their society.
That day, the capital buzzed with an air of celebration. Beneath the sprawling shade of Yggdrasil, the ancient tree that loomed as both guardian and symbol of elven unity, a sea of faces gathered-nobles and commoners, Ancient and Newborn Elves alike. Their eyes, bright with expectation, were all turned toward the platform draped in silken banners, awaiting the ceremonial unveiling of Princess Violet's gifts.
When the dryad emerged, her form shimmering with an ethereal, almost liquid light, the crowd fell silent, their collective breaths held in reverence. The ritual began with the measuring of the princess's magic. A soft, golden spirit light flickered into being above her, growing brighter and steadier until it illuminated the space beneath Yggdrasil's branches. Gasps rippled through the onlookers as the glow endured, each passing second building awe and tension. Thirty minutes passed before the light finally dimmed.
"An immense reservoir of magic," an elder murmured, his voice thick with wonder. Even the most seasoned among them had rarely seen such a display. Pride and admiration swept through the crowd, their gazes alight with newfound reverence for the young princess.
Then came the announcement of her attribute. The dryad's voice, clear and resonant, rang out like a bell. "Fire."
At first, the crowd stood frozen, the word hanging in the air like a thunderclap. Fire. The murmurs began softly, spreading like a restless wind through the gathering. The dryad's next words, naming Violet as a Spirit Elf, barely registered. It didn't matter. Fire was all they heard.
The awe turned quickly to unease. Whispers of dread crept through the crowd, spreading faster than the dryad's light. Fire. Among elves, it was not just an element-it was a harbinger of destruction. Where water healed and earth nurtured, fire consumed. It burned not only forests but the very harmony elves held sacred. Fire elves were rare, their power vast and unpredictable. To many, they were a curse disguised as a gift.
Violet stood on the dais, her small hands clenched tightly around her ceremonial robes as the realization dawned on her. Moments ago, their gazes had been filled with admiration and love. Now they were heavy with judgment.
"She's dangerous," someone hissed, the words slicing through the murmurs.
"An omen," another whispered.
"She's a Spirit Elf!" Evelina, the queen, called out, her voice steady despite the growing hostility. But even the rare honor of being named a Spirit Elf couldn't overshadow the stigma of fire.
The king, who only moments earlier had stood tall with pride for his daughter's brilliance, now faltered. His shoulders sagged under the weight of the crowd's fear. Their reverence, so recently his comfort, had curdled into something sharper-something dangerous. He could feel their expectations, their demands.
Bound by tradition and paralyzed by the judgment of his people, the king made the unthinkable decision. He raised his hand, his voice quiet but resolute.
"Princess Violet," he said, his words like a death knell, "is hereby exiled."
The murmurs ceased, replaced by stunned silence. A ripple of shock passed through the crowd, followed swiftly by a grim sense of satisfaction. The fire would be snuffed out before it could spread.
Above them all, Yggdrasil's branches swayed gently in the breeze, as if mourning the loss of a child to fear and tradition. Beneath its shade, a young girl stood alone, her flame burning quietly, unseen, and unacknowledged by the kingdom she had once called home.
The queen, Evelina, refused to let her child face the cruelty of the unknown alone. Her heart, splintered by the decree, hardened into resolve. In the secrecy of the moonlit hours, she summoned Helen, a loyal retainer with a warrior's spirit and a mother's compassion. Evelina's instructions were clear. Helen was to accompany Violet, shield her from harm, and guide her to the human lands-a fragile hope that Violet might find safety away from the looming storm of war between elves and dark elves.
"I'll send what aid I can," Evelina vowed, her voice trembling but firm as she clasped Helen's hands. "Food, coin, word of my love-anything to keep her alive. One day, this kingdom may come to its senses. Until then, protect her as I would."
The journey from the capital to the borders of the human lands was as treacherous as Evelina had feared. The great road, an ancient artery through the continent, had weathered centuries but could not tame the Forest of Monsters. Though they traveled through the forest's less dangerous outskirts, it was still a place where shadows moved with malice, and the air bristled with unseen threats.
For six grueling months, they pressed on. Helen's vigilance never faltered; her sharp eyes swept the horizon while her hands stayed ready at the hilt of her blade. Violet, once cocooned in the palace's abundance, struggled to adjust to the harsh realities of the road. The nights were bitterly cold, each one a test of endurance as she shivered beneath threadbare blankets. The air was heavy with the chorus of nocturnal predators, their howls and rustlings gnawing at her fragile sense of security.
The days were no easier. Violet's small hands blistered from holding the reins of their worn cart, and her legs ached from walking when the terrain became too rough for the wheels. Her once-pristine gowns were replaced with plain, sturdy fabrics that chafed her skin, a constant reminder of her fall from grace. Her silver hair, once adorned with jewels, now hung loose and tangled, a reflection of the child's weary spirit.
And yet, she adapted, as children often do. The endless miles hardened her resolve, her tears fewer as the days stretched into weeks. Helen taught her to forage and recognize edible plants, to listen for the subtle warning calls of birds, and to light a fire with flint and steel. Violet learned to endure, but her laughter-once bright and unrestrained-became a distant memory, replaced by a quiet resilience etched into her every movement.
As they approached the borders of the human lands, the journey had forged a new person from the once-sheltered princess. The innocence that had defined her childhood was now laced with the quiet resolve of someone who had faced rejection and endured. The scars etched onto her young heart were deep, but alongside them, Helen's unwavering care had sown the seeds of resilience and survival.
Violet's greatest challenge, however, remained her spirit magic. Her flames were wild and unpredictable, surging forth without warning like an unrestrained tempest. Entire swathes of forest had been reduced to ash in her wake, leaving nothing but charred remnants of life. Each eruption weighed heavily on her small shoulders, the guilt of destruction pooling in her tear-filled eyes.
Helen would always be there, kneeling beside her, arms wrapped around the trembling girl. "Your flames are not a curse," she would whisper, her voice a soothing balm against Violet's despair. "They are a gift, waiting to be honed. When you learn to master them, they will become your strength."
Under Helen's reassurance, Violet began to see glimmers of hope in her inferno. Though her control wavered, though each day brought new challenges, those words stayed with her. The flames that had once only consumed began to flicker with a new possibility: a means of forging her future or so she thought.