The dim torchlight flickered against the ancient stone walls of Noravia's Great Hall, casting dancing shadows over the figures inside. It was the year 489 BCE, and the Kingdom of Noravia was an enigma—a realm as shrouded in mystery as the forbidden Aether it wielded. Tonight, the hall lay steeped in an air thick with age-old lore, the spirits of ancestors lingering like whispers in the wind. At the tall window, Belshazzar, King of Noravia and wielder of Aether magic, gazed out into the endless darkness of his kingdom. His golden mask, lying on a nearby table, gleamed in the torchlight, waiting to be worn.
Beside him, a girl with violet eyes stood, her gaze steady and filled with curiosity and doubt. She was young, barely more than sixteen, yet a power radiated from her—a subtle force not easily ignored. Davina, the king's sister, had grown up surrounded by the tales of her lineage and the prophecy-bound destiny awaiting her.
"Do you really think I'm ready?" she asked, her voice a mere whisper as if speaking too loudly might disrupt the ancient magic surrounding them. In her eyes, a glint of both fear and wonder lingered, emotions she hadn't shared with anyone other than her brother.
Belshazzar turned to her, a faint smile curving his lips. His gaze was intense, piercing, yet softened by a rare warmth he showed only to her. "Your training began much earlier than mine, Davina," he reminded her. "When I was your age, I was still clumsy with Aether, still fumbling with spells our mother could not teach me. You were gifted with tutors, with guides who knew how to mold you. You've had the advantage of those who came before."
Davina frowned, biting her lip. "But Belly, what if the people reject me? I'm meant to carry the Aether's blessing forward, but I don't feel ready. How can they see me as worthy when they still have you?"
A soft laugh escaped Belshazzar. "The Noravian people do not reject those who wield the Aether. They respect it—fear it, even. Besides," he added, securing his golden mask over his face, "I am still king. You will only oversee the day-to-day priestly matters. You will ease my burdens, not replace them."
Davina's gaze softened, but an old pain flickered across her face. "These were supposed to be her duties, not mine," she murmured, her voice barely audible.
Belshazzar's jaw tightened, and for a moment, his composed mask faltered. "They will never be hers," he said firmly. "I cannot entrust a Renarian witch with the same duties I would give a Noravian princess. The kingdom needs someone of our blood to maintain the rites."
Davina's eyes shone with curiosity and apprehension. "When do you meet the next candidate?" she asked, her tone gentle yet wary.
He sighed, casting a look towards the shadows beyond the window. "It's not something I eagerly anticipate. The witches, hiding among humans, have scattered themselves across the lands, from island to continent. They are clever, cloaking their bloodlines and blending into mortal families. Their lineage is broken, tangled. It could take years to trace them."
A cold breeze stirred in the room, rustling Davina's dark hair. She took a step closer, her voice trembling. "What if you can't find her, Belly? What if she dies, a human witch, never knowing who she was meant to be? What happens to you?"
Belshazzar's gaze softened as he looked at her. "Do you know why they are called Destined Mates? It is destiny that brings us together, no matter the obstacles. I could search a thousand lands, but she will find her way to me, as I to her. You will understand, Davina, when you find your own."
Davina crossed her arms, frowning in thought. "If fate is so certain, why all this struggle? Why spend years searching and chasing after signs? Why subject yourself to these trials?" Her brow furrowed as she met his gaze, searching for answers.
"Arrogance," he answered quietly. "Noravians, Renarian witches, even the High Council—they all believe they can twist fate, even though they know better. We weave illusions that we're in control, when we're only pawns on a greater board." He exhaled, watching as the torchlight danced over his sister's uncertain face. "At best, we can hasten what is meant to come. But make no mistake, we can never escape what's been written in the stars."
"If you truly believe this," Davina persisted, "then why go through with it? Why suffer and cause others pain? What is the point, Belly?"
His answer was simple, spoken like an incantation. "Obligation. Though I am a king, I am also a son, a brother. I have responsibilities to those who worry for me. To the elders, to our family line, to those who guard Noravia's magic and people. If I can ease their fears by enduring these trials, then so be it." He gave her a sad smile. "Besides, perhaps this is fate too. Sometimes the Fates use our weaknesses as much as our strengths."
Davina fell silent, watching her brother as he moved to leave for the anointing ceremony. Yet the ancient stories and prophecies lingered in her mind, filling the room with echoes of an era far older than them both.
She remembered the tales she'd grown up hearing, whispered by fireside or murmured in candlelit halls. They told of the Noravian kings who had bargained with the primordial forces, securing power over the elements and weaving Aether magic into their bloodlines. And the Renarian witches—their rivals, their mates, their other half. The witches were marked by the same power but bound by different rules, hiding among mortals and wielding magic in secrecy.
Destiny was a fickle thing, the old tales warned. The union of Noravian and Renarian was fated, an ancient contract sealed long before their time. Yet it was also fraught with peril, for their bond could bring ruin as easily as strength. In every generation, a Noravian king sought his Renarian queen, drawn together by a power neither could control, only surrender to. And for each, the meeting was as much trial as blessing.
Davina shivered, the enormity of it weighing on her. Her brother had spoken often of fate and duty, yet she sensed a quiet fear buried in his words. His duty was to find his Destined Mate, but at what cost? The journey often claimed lives, drove kings to madness, and witches to ruin. The ancient stories were filled with blood and sacrifice, of those who defied fate and met tragic ends. And yet, for all their resistance, destiny found them in the end.
As Belshazzar moved to leave, she called out, her voice tinged with both wonder and fear. "Brother, do you think I'll find my destiny here in Noravia, in this kingdom of shadow and secrets?"
He paused, the flickering torchlight casting a shadow over his masked face. "You are Noravia's princess, Davina. The Aether weaves a path for you, whether you walk it willingly or not. But remember, little sister," he said, his voice low and steady, "our ancestors bargained with forces greater than us. The blood that binds us to these ancient contracts cannot be unraveled. You will find your fate, or it will find you."
And with that, Belshazzar disappeared down the torchlit hallway, his golden mask glinting in the dim light, leaving Davina alone with the weight of her own destiny pressing down upon her.