Princess Elara grips the edge of the vanity, her knuckles white. She stares at her own eyes, searching for something—courage, perhaps, or a sign that the fire she feels inside is not a curse. Behind her, the palace is silent save for the distant clang of armor as guards switch posts.
"Tomorrow, I become a pawn. Tonight, I choose myself," she whispers, her breath fogging the cold glass.
The Masked Outlaw, his voice low and gravelly, points to the palace walls sketched in charcoal. Elara stands at his side, her royal gown replaced by dark leathers, a hood shadowing her face.
"If you run, they will hunt you. If you stay, you burn,"
"Then let them fear the fire," she replies, a dangerous glint in her eyes.
The outlaws exchange uneasy glances, the legend of fire magic still a horror whispered in the kingdom’s alleys.
Elara[/@ch_1] flees the palace grounds. Rain pelts her cloak as she slips through a garden gate shrouded in ivy. The city’s golden lights fade behind her, replaced by the looming shadow of the cursed forest.]
Her heart thunders as she plunges into the trees, branches clawing at her skin. Somewhere behind, hounds bay and armored boots crash through puddles. Magic stirs in her blood, wild and hungry, as if the forest itself is calling.
"Mother, guide me," she prays to the night, lightning illuminating her tear-streaked face.
Elara kneels before the altar, her breath fogging in the chill. The prophecy echoes in her mind: “The girl born of ash and starlight will either burn the world—or remake it.”
A vision seizes her—flames devouring the palace, dragons wheeling overhead, her hand outstretched and wreathed in fire. She gasps, clutching her chest as embers flicker from her fingertips.
"I am not my father’s weapon," she vows, voice trembling.
The Masked Outlaw confronts Elara near the fire, suspicion dark in his eyes.
"Someone betrayed us. The king’s men march at dawn. Tell me it wasn’t you,"
"I would burn before I betray my own," she snaps, fire flickering unconsciously around her fists.
Suddenly, a scream splits the night—a warning that the camp is under attack.
She draws upon the ancient magic, feeling it tear through her veins like molten gold. Her enemies recoil in terror, but so do her own allies. The prophecy’s shadow looms over her, every choice heavy with consequence.
"This ends tonight. I will not destroy the world—unless the world gives me no choice," she cries, flames wreathing her body as she faces the tyrant king’s forces.
The battle’s outcome remains uncertain, but as fire and starlight entwine in her hands, Princess Elara knows she holds the power to remake destiny—or shatter it forever.
