The days grew colder as the threat of war loomed closer. Celestia stood by the window of her chambers, looking out over the sprawling gardens of Rochefort Manor. The skies were heavy with clouds, and the wind whispered ominously through the trees. It was as if nature itself reflected the turmoil in her heart. She had taken her first steps as the heir to House Rochefort, but the weight of the responsibility was starting to settle on her like a stone in her chest.
The war was inevitable. The kingdom was divided, and though her father's advisors insisted that the situation could still be salvaged, Celestia knew better. The borders had been breached by rebel forces, and the unrest in the eastern territories had already claimed lives. It was no longer a matter of if they would go to war—it was a matter of when.
