01 | Chapter

Chapter 1: The Crimson Prophecy

The night Princess Elara was born, the sky bled crimson.

For generations, the people of Valtheria had lived beneath peaceful stars. The kingdom stood strong behind its towering walls, protected by brave knights and ruled by the noble House of Aldric. Harvests were plentiful, trade flourished, and the people believed their kingdom would endure forever.

Then came the night that changed everything.

A violent storm gathered over the royal capital without warning.

Thunder shook the heavens.

Lightning split the clouds.

And a strange crimson glow spread across the sky like spilled blood.

People abandoned their homes and flooded into the streets, staring upward in terror.

"It is an omen," an old merchant whispered.

"The gods are angry," another replied.

No one knew the truth.

Not yet.

High above the city, within the walls of the royal palace, Queen Vivienne struggled through the final hours of labor.

Servants hurried through candlelit corridors carrying hot water and fresh linens. Guards stood watch outside the royal chambers, their expressions tense.

Inside, King Aldric paced restlessly.

The king was known throughout the realm as a fearless warrior, a man who had faced armies without flinching.

Yet tonight, he was afraid.

Not for himself.

For his wife.

For his child.

Another cry of pain echoed through the chamber.

A healer approached him.

"Your Majesty, please wait outside."

King Aldric shook his head.

"No."

The healer lowered her eyes.

"As you wish."

A bolt of lightning illuminated the room.

The storm seemed to rage harder with every passing moment.

Then suddenly—

A newborn's cry pierced the air.

The room fell silent.

The queen collapsed against her pillows, exhausted but smiling.

The healer carefully lifted the child.

"A daughter."

Relief washed over the king.

A daughter.

His child.

His heir.

The healer wrapped the infant in soft crimson cloth and placed her into Queen Vivienne's arms.

The queen gazed down at the tiny face and smiled.

"Elara."

The king stepped closer.

"Elara," he repeated softly.

The name felt right.

Strong.

Beautiful.

Destined.

Little Elara opened her eyes.

The healer gasped.

The queen froze.

Even the king stared in silence.

Her eyes were silver.

Not gray.

Not blue.

Silver.

Like moonlight trapped within crystal.

A chill swept through the room.

For silver eyes belonged only to the oldest legends.

Legends that no one dared speak aloud.

The storm outside suddenly stopped.

Not gradually.

Instantly.

As though the world itself had paused.

Then came a knock at the chamber door.

Three slow knocks.

The captain of the royal guard entered.

His face had turned pale.

"Your Majesty."

King Aldric frowned.

"What is it?"

The captain hesitated.

"There is a visitor."

"At this hour?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Who?"

The captain swallowed.

"The Oracle."

The room went cold.

Queen Vivienne tightened her hold on baby Elara.

The Oracle had not left her sacred temple in nearly thirty years.

She only appeared when fate demanded it.

And fate rarely brought good news.

---

The Oracle arrived before midnight.

She entered the palace without escort.

Without announcement.

Without fear.

Though she was old and blind, every step she took seemed guided by an unseen force.

Her crimson robes swept across the stone floor as servants quickly moved aside.

No one dared stand in her path.

The Oracle stopped before the royal family.

Her sightless eyes turned toward the newborn child.

For several moments she said nothing.

The silence grew unbearable.

Finally, King Aldric spoke.

"Oracle."

She did not answer.

Instead, she slowly approached Queen Vivienne.

Her trembling hand reached toward the infant.

The queen hesitated.

Then reluctantly allowed it.

The Oracle placed her fingertips against Elara's forehead.

The moment she touched the child—

She screamed.

The sound echoed through the chamber like a death cry.

Several servants fell to their knees.

One dropped a candle.

The Oracle staggered backward.

Blood dripped from her nose.

Her hands shook violently.

"No..." she whispered.

The king stepped forward.

"What did you see?"

The Oracle's breathing grew heavy.

"The Crown."

A terrible silence followed.

Every person in the room recognized those words.

The Crimson Crown.

The greatest legend in Valtherian history.

An ancient relic said to have been forged before the kingdom itself existed.

Some claimed it was a gift from the gods.

Others believed it was a curse.

Most thought it was merely a myth.

The Oracle slowly raised her head.

"The child will wear it."

Queen Vivienne's face drained of color.

"No."

The Oracle ignored her.

"The Crown has chosen."

King Aldric clenched his fists.

"What does this mean?"

The Oracle's expression darkened.

"I see two futures."

Lightning flashed beyond the windows.

The storm had returned.

Stronger than before.

"In one future, Princess Elara becomes the greatest ruler this world has ever known."

The king listened carefully.

The Oracle continued.

"She unites the divided kingdoms."

Images seemed to dance behind the old woman's clouded eyes.

"The wars end."

"The people prosper."

"The realm enters an age of peace."

Hope flickered across the king's face.

But then the Oracle's voice changed.

A tremor entered her words.

Fear.

Real fear.

"In the other future..."

The candles throughout the chamber flickered violently.

The Oracle took a shaky breath.

"The kingdom burns."

Thunder exploded overhead.

"Cities become ash."

Another flash of lightning.

"Kings fall."

The queen held Elara closer.

The baby remained strangely calm.

As though she already understood.

"As rivers run red with blood," the Oracle whispered, "the world shall remember her name in terror."

The room fell silent.

No one dared speak.

No one dared move.

Finally, King Aldric found his voice.

"Can the future be changed?"

The Oracle closed her eyes.

"For most people, fate is a road."

She looked toward the infant.

"But for this child..."

The old woman trembled.

"Fate is a battlefield."

A cold wind swept through the chamber.

The Oracle slowly knelt before the newborn princess.

Then she spoke the prophecy that would haunt the kingdom for years to come.

«"When the Crimson Crown awakens,

A daughter of kings shall rise.

Upon her brow rests the fate of nations.

Through her hand shall kingdoms unite...

Or perish in fire and ruin.

The choice shall be hers.

The cost shall be everything."»

The final words echoed through the chamber.

Then the Oracle collapsed.

---

By dawn, the prophecy had already begun to spread.

Servants whispered about it in the palace kitchens.

Guards repeated it along the castle walls.

Merchants carried the story through the city.

Within days, all of Valtheria knew.

A child had been born beneath a crimson sky.

A princess marked by destiny.

A princess who would either save the kingdom—

Or destroy it.

King Aldric ordered the prophecy suppressed.

No records were to be copied.

No songs were to be written.

No public mention was allowed.

But prophecies were like fire.

The harder one tried to contain them, the farther they spread.

Years passed.

The kingdom prospered.

The people laughed.

The markets thrived.

And Princess Elara grew.

Yet somewhere beyond the borders of Valtheria, hidden in forgotten lands and ancient ruins, old powers began to stir.

Secrets long buried started to awaken.

And in the deepest shadows of the world, unseen eyes turned toward the kingdom.

Toward the child.

Toward the future Queen.

Toward the girl destined to wear the Crimson Crown.

The prophecy had been spoken.

The wheel of fate had begun to turn.

And there was no force in the world powerful enough to stop it.

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