Training, endless and grueling, had defined the lives of Diane's children. For Ivy and her brothers, life revolved around their mother's obsession with the throne. Diane was determined that one of her children would ascend as heir, no matter the cost. Among them, Leon, Ivy's twin and their mother's undisputed favorite, bore the heaviest weight of expectation.
At just ten years old, Leon was already the talk of the castle. Whispers of his talents spread like wildfire through its stone corridors. His prowess with a blade was unparalleled, his movements sharp and precise, honed to a level beyond his years. Even his magic was prodigious, with a staggering mana capacity and mastery over all tangible elemental magics. A quad mage, they called him, a title that was exceedingly rare. Trainers lauded him as a once-in-a-century prodigy, and it wasn't hyperbole. His skills already rivaled those of the Queen's Royal Guard.
While her brothers trained in combat, Ivy's days were a stark contrast. She spent hers under the watchful gaze of tutors who drilled her in etiquette and social graces. Her mother insisted on these lessons, pressing her to cultivate "womanly charms" to attract a suitor of high standing. Diane's vision was narrow, her views archaic—girls, she believed, were too feeble for the throne. Ivy's role, in her mother's mind, was not to rule but to support. But Ivy refused to accept that fate.
Late at night, Ivy would sneak away, her curiosity drawing her to the training grounds where her brothers sparred. There, hidden in the shadows, she would watch the clash of swords, the sparks flying as steel met steel. The rhythmic movements, equal parts strength and elegance, captivated her. Swordsmanship was not unlike dancing, she thought—an art that demanded precision, balance, and passion.
It was during one such evening, two years ago, that Ivy first dared to pick up a sword. She had just left a grueling dance lesson and found Leon practicing alone. His movements were mesmerizing, fluid and deadly. Unable to resist, Ivy waited for him to leave before grabbing a discarded blade. The sword was heavier than she'd expected, the hilt rough against her soft palms. She mimicked Leon's earlier stances, her excitement bubbling over—until pain jolted her back to reality. The blade had nicked her arm.
Leon found her moments later, his face a mix of concern and exasperation. He healed her wound with a muttered spell before launching into a stern lecture. But when she confessed her passion for swordsmanship, he hesitated. In the end, Leon relented, handing her a practice sword and laying out strict conditions: she was to train only in secret and start from the basics. It was far from ideal, but for Ivy, it was a dream come true.
The training was grueling. Each morning began with a five-kilometer run— 1300 horse strides, as Leon called it. The first time nearly broke her. Her lungs burned, her legs buckled, and her body felt like it might collapse. By evening, she had to complete a thousand swings with her practice sword. It was nothing like the graceful movements she'd admired; it was exhausting, repetitive, and painfully slow. Yet she endured. Over weeks, then months, her stamina grew. What once felt insurmountable became routine.
From there, Leon taught her the foundational stances, drilling her until her form was flawless. Only then did he introduce techniques, encouraging her to discover a fighting style that suited her frame and personality. Ivy chose speed and precision, favoring a light blade that allowed her to move like the dancers she had studied. By the time Leon declared their lessons complete, she was proficient enough to spar with him. Though their sessions were less frequent now, Ivy continued her nightly practice, the sword becoming an extension of her will.
When the day came for Ivy and Leon to leave for the Royal Academy, their younger brother Jean and their parents stayed behind at the family estate. In Bermone, all children of nobility were required to attend the Academy before their coming-of-age. The institution was divided into two divisions: one for commoners and one for nobles. The noble division was further split into three categories: the Fair Nobility, which taught etiquette and diplomacy; the Chivalrous, which trained knights and court mages; and the Royals, reserved for those of royal blood competing in the Contest of Royals.
Diane had already planned Ivy's enrollment in the Fair Nobility. The idea of Ivy perfecting her "womanly charms" infuriated her. Ivy wanted more. She longed to join the Chivalrous, where she could hone her swordsmanship and magic. But entry required allegiance to a royal faction—a contestant vying for the throne. Joining Leon's faction seemed logical, but he refused, citing his twin sister's independence as his reason. Dejected, Ivy almost gave up until she learned of a royal with no faction members. Desperate, she sought her out.
The girl's beauty was striking, almost ethereal. Ruby-colored eyes shone with a sharp intelligence, her long, wavy crimson hair cascading like fire over her shoulders. Her lips, full and glossy, carried the rosy hue of fresh petals. She moved with a grace that was almost otherworldly, her presence commanding yet inviting. When Ivy introduced herself and made her plea, the girl smiled, her voice soft but resolute.
"Of course," she said. "I could use someone like you."
Her name was Rae. And in that moment, Ivy knew her path had just begun.