“Camille, please, just one more story,” Celeste begged.

It was the same routine every night.

Tonight was calm. The past week had been filled with heavy downpours, but now, only the crackling hearth in Celeste’s room and the occasional howl of wind could be heard. Celeste lay tucked under her favourite mustard yellow blanket, her green eyes wide with delight as she looked up at Camille. Her sister sat beside her, the golden glow of the firelight dancing across her face. Camille held an old, worn book in her hands, the pages filled with remarkable stories of magic and legends passed down through generations.

“It’s time for you to go to sleep, little star.” Camille’s voice was soft, comforting, with a tenderness that always made Celeste feel safe. But she remained seated like she did every night. It was her telltale sign that she would give in to Celeste’s pleas yet again.

“Please.”

“Fine.” She exhaled.

Celeste nodded eagerly, wrapping her blanket tighter. “Tell me the one about Gaia’s Prism again, please.”

Camille smiled, and her green eyes sparkled with the vibrancy of an enchanted forest. “You really love that one, don’t you?” She opened the old brown book, flipping through the pages until she found what she was looking for. The drawing of Gaia, the goddess of creation, graced the page—her figure surrounded by the six elemental forces that represented the Sovereignty’s power.

“It’s the best one,” Celeste grinned. “The root of creation is a curious thing. As is the soul of the living. I’ve often wondered about this or that. Of the elements and creation. It all starts with Wridel, long, long ago.”

“Are you telling the story, or am I?” Camille quipped, making Celeste laugh.

“Sorry. You tell it.”

“Once upon a time,” Camille began, her voice taking on the lilting cadence of a storyteller, “Gaia, the goddess of creation, blessed this land with her gifts. She created six races, each with a peculiar power that was meant to bring balance and harmony to the Sovereignty of Wridel. The Elves, the Fangs, the Lycans, the Faes, the Witches, and the Mundane, who held no magic but were dependable and resourceful.”

Celeste listened, enraptured, with her little hand clutching the edge of her blanket as if she had never heard this story she knew by heart. “But why doesn’t Gaia give magic to the Mundane?” she asked, her brow furrowing.

Camille paused, her smile softening because Celeste always had a new question every night. “Because, little one, magic isn’t the only gift that matters. Mundanes have the power of ingenuity. They build, they create, they adapt. Their strength is in their hearts and minds.”

Celeste frowned slightly. “But it must be hard without magic.”

Camille nodded. “It is, but Gaia’s way is balance. Every race has something to offer, something that contributes to Wridel’s harmony. That’s why there are the Great Houses—to ensure that all gifts are used for the greater good. The House of Jojyre leads with wisdom, the Perseus protect with their strength, and the Irving watch over the wild lands.”

Celeste’s eyes widened. “And you’ll be the Kingmaker one day, won’t you, Camille?”

Camille’s smile waned for just a moment, and then she nodded, her fingers brushing a strand of hair from Celeste’s forehead. “Yes, one day. But you, Celeste, have something special too. You may not know it yet, but Gaia has plans for you as well.”

Celeste’s lips curled into a small smile, though she still didn’t quite understand. “What kind of plans?”

Camille laughed softly, shaking her head. “That’s something only Gaia knows. But whatever it is, I know you’ll be wonderful.”

She closed the book, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to Celeste’s forehead, because like always, they never seemed to get to the end of this story. “Now, it’s time for you to sleep, little star. The Calling is in two days, and you need your rest.”

Celeste yawned, her eyelids growing heavy. “Will you make a wish with me?”

Camille smiled, tucking the blanket closer around her. “Of course. We’ll wish upon the brightest star, and who knows? Maybe Gaia will listen.”

Celeste’s eyes fluttered closed, her sister’s presence warming her more than the fire, and her last thought before sleep took her was of Gaia’s Prism. She would have to finish that story eventually.

But wishes are fragile things, and the brightness of a star can fade far too soon.

Camille watched as Celeste’s breathing grew steady, her small form curled beneath that blanket she loved so much. She took a moment to soak in the warmth of the room, the quiet peace that came with watching her sister drift into sleep.

In a way, Celeste was her peace. Growing up with her mother’s stringent expectations to be the next Kingmaker wasn’t easy. Her whole life had been preparing her for this, learning magic, politics, and the inner workings of the Great Houses. There were times when she wished she wasn’t a Le Torneau. Hiding her feelings behind a mask of confidence and pride was tedious. Unlike her brothers, who were inflexible, she was gentle and affectionate.

She glanced back at Celeste and smiled. She’d face whatever came her way for Celeste’s sake. Her little sister deserved to grow up in a world that was kind and filled with laughter and possibilities.

Camille turned her gaze toward the window, her eyes narrowing slightly as she caught a glimpse of a shadow moving across the yard, barely discernible against the moonlight. Her brow furrowed, and she slowly rose from the chair, careful not to wake Celeste.

Silently, she crossed the room, her footsteps light as she approached the window. The shadow flickered again, moving toward the treeline. It was like a gust of wind taking form, black shadows.

Without hesitation, she slipped out of the room and made her way downstairs, out of the house. The chill of the night air hit her as she stepped outside. Though it wasn’t raining, the cold was biting. She should have grabbed a coat, but she ignored it, her eyes locked on the treeline far out in the valley where the shadow had vanished.

Their house sat atop Morinpar Hill, surrounded by towering mountains that protected them from the outside world. The seclusion had been their mother’s idea—an isolated place where they could freely practice their Fire Magic without fear of incident. The hills gave them privacy, but it also had a sense of being apart from the rest of the Sovereignty. She liked that they somewhat lived on the edge of a forgotten world.

It would appear that something else had intruded into their secluded corner of Wridel tonight. Camille moved with care, her senses magnified as she awakened her magic, ready to engage whatever she might find.

But chasing shadows in the dark was a dangerous thing. The night belonged to them, after all, and Camille had just stepped into their domain.