Five years had passed since the day Sol’mere bathed in lantern light and laughter. The kingdom remembered it as a moment of pure joy—the day the royal twins, Prince Alarion and Princess Mariel, were born beneath a sky of fire and stardust.
Both children had grown under the warm eyes of their people, loved not just for their titles, but for the wonder they inspired.
Prince Alarion, with his hazel-gold eyes and tousled auburn hair, was already showing signs of his royal lineage. Sparks of flame danced at his fingertips when he grew excited, and his mana—a golden shimmer that encircled his hands—was steady and strong. At just five, he had begun elemental focus lessons with the palace mages. He was energetic, confident, and proud to walk in his father’s footsteps.
Princess Mariel, on the other hand, was something else entirely.
She looked like a piece of sky carved into a child. Her hair shimmered like starlight—silver-white, threaded with soft iridescence that caught the sun like woven moonlight. No one in the royal line shared such a color. She was a mystery even in appearance, often compared in whispers to a little goddess. Her emerald eyes, inherited from Queen Elyra, sparkled with quiet wonder.
Unlike her brother, she had never cast a spell. Never lit a candle. Never moved a leaf. But her presence held something far more extraordinary: mana.
Mana was not magic itself, but its source—the invisible current that lived within every mage. It could be seen in the gifted: a shimmer in the air, a hum in the soul. The stronger the mana, the more powerful the magic it could awaken.
And Mariel’s mana was far stronger than her brother’s.
It radiated from her like the warmth of morning sun through stained glass—gentle, calming, serene. The air around her always felt sweeter, lighter, as if the world itself slowed to listen. She didn’t command attention. She simply held it.
Still, she could not use magic.
---
“She still hasn’t shown any signs of awakening,” King Durandall said one evening, his voice tight as he stared out through the solar’s high windows.
Bishop Caelthorn stood nearby, hands calmly folded. “No, Your Majesty. But her mana continues to grow—stronger than most teenagers, in truth. That kind of raw power cannot stay dormant forever.”
“Then why is it?”
“Because magic cannot exist without control. And sometimes, the soul must grow before the spell.”
Queen Elyra, seated beside the hearth with her embroidery in hand, looked up with a faint smile. “She is only five, my love. Alarion was born of fire, yes—but Mariel... she is something different. Let her grow into it.”
The king didn’t respond, but the firelight flickering across his cloak’s gold trim revealed the tight set of his jaw.
---
Despite the quiet concern behind palace walls, the day of their fifth birthday arrived in brilliant celebration.
Sol’mere bloomed with festivity. Banners of scarlet and silver rippled from the ivory towers. Street musicians played lively songs as enchanted glass birds flitted through the air. Mages conjured glowing phoenixes overhead, trailing sparks in the shapes of twin stars.
Inside the palace, the twins stood on the balcony above the courtyard, overlooking the crowd that had gathered in their honor.
Alarion grinned, sparks of flame spinning in tight circles between his palms. With practiced ease, he shaped them into a flickering red fox that danced across the stone railing—drawing cheers from the citizens below.
Beside him, Mariel stood quietly, her hands folded in front of her. Her soft gown of blush and pearl shimmered like moonlight. A faint golden-pink aura pulsed gently around her—visible only to those attuned to mana. She hadn’t cast a spell, but her very presence whispered of power.
The crowd stilled, not in disappointment, but in reverence.
They could feel it.
That warm, tranquil energy that came from her like the promise of spring after a long winter.
---
And beside her, Alarion smiled.
Unlike the king, the young prince felt no unease in her presence. He adored his sister—openly and fiercely. He often said she reminded him of “the feeling just before sunrise,” and he never allowed anyone, servant or noble, to question her worth.
“She doesn’t need to do anything,” he once said with all the conviction a five-year-old could muster. “She’s already stronger than me. Can’t you feel it?”
When not in his lessons, he was usually at her side—dragging her to explore the palace gardens, sneaking extra pastries for her during feasts, or declaring himself her personal protector.
Their bond was natural, whole. Where the world might one day divide them, the children knew only closeness.
And as their people chanted their names from below, the twins raised their hands—one crowned in flame, the other in light.
One cast magic.
The other radiated it.
And though neither knew it yet, fate was already watching…
…and waiting.
---
