The grand hall pulsed with enchantment, its vaulted ceilings shimmering with floating lanterns that danced to the rhythm of celebration. Music filled the air — a melody woven with magic — as nobles and common folk alike clapped and laughed in harmony.
As I stood at the edge of the grand ballroom, watching nobles and courtiers twirl beneath chandeliers of floating crystal, five noblemen clad in embroidered cloaks approached me. One of them, with a smirk on his lips and arrogance in his eyes, said, "So, you are the twin with fire in her hair — the one who speaks freely with the common folk and treats humans as equals. I daresay you've lost your mind."
I let out a soft, amused laugh. "Perhaps," I said, "you think me mad. But in truth, I believe it is the rest of you who have gone mad — for scorning the common folk and treating human beings as lesser."
The nobleman raised an eyebrow, clearly unamused. "Careful, Lady Luna. Words like that can turn friends into enemies — or worse."
I was about to answer, the heat of magic flickering at my fingertips, when a familiar presence brushed against my aura. My twin sister, Tina, stepped forward from the crowd, her silver gown trailing behind her like mist through moonlight. Her eyes met mine — calm, steady, reminding me to breathe.
"Luna," she said gently, placing a hand on my arm, "calm yourself. I can see the fire in your eyes — you're letting your anger show before the guests."
I inhaled deeply, the arcane energy retreating beneath my skin. "They speak poison," I muttered under my breath, "and they wear it like perfume."
Tina's voice was low and firm. "And yet we must dance through it, not burn the halls down."
From across the ballroom, the High Oracle's gaze found mine. Her expression was unreadable, but I felt the weight of it settle like a stone in my chest. Tonight was more than a celebration. It was a test.
I straightened my shoulders, brushing a strand of red hair behind my ear. "Very well. I'll play their game — for now."
But in my heart, the storm had already begun to rise. The time of silent smiles and shallow courtesies was ending. The world was changing, and soon, even the nobles who mocked me would feel the tremble of fate beneath their feet.
Then the music stopped, and a hush fell over the grand hall. The chandeliers dimmed slightly, their enchanted crystals glowing with a soft golden light. All eyes turned toward the front of the room, where Mother stood at the base of the marble staircase, her presence commanding silence. She wore a deep violet gown woven with threads of starlight, her silver crown glinting under the magic-lit canopy.
She raised her voice, calm yet powerful, and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, I thank you for attending the celebration of my daughters' eighteenth birthday — Luna and Tina. Tonight, they come of age, and with that, the time has come for them to begin the Trials of Succession. Only one shall rise to claim the throne."
A quiet murmur rippled through the hall, nobles exchanging glances, whispers of speculation and alliance already forming in the corners of the room.
Mother continued, "As is tradition, the daughters of the Loveheart Line must prove not only their strength, but their wisdom, compassion, and connection to the realm. The Trials will test their minds, their magic, and their hearts."
I felt Tina tense beside me. She masked it well, her face the picture of calm elegance, but I knew her too well — the tightening of her jaw, the subtle shift of her posture. We had trained for this our entire lives, but now that the moment was real, the weight of destiny pressed heavy on both our shoulders.
"Let it be known," Mother declared, her voice ringing clear as a bell through the silent hall, "that from this night forth, Luna and Tina shall no longer walk as mere daughters of the crown. They walk as heirs — rivals — and only one shall wear the crown when the moon turns red."
The room erupted in ceremonial applause, but the energy had changed. The air now buzzed with magic, ambition, and tension. This was no longer a celebration. It was the beginning of something ancient, dangerous, and inevitable.
I looked at Tina, and she looked at me.
For the first time in our lives… we were no longer just sisters.
We were competitors.
Tina walked away from me, her footsteps echoing softly against the polished marble floor. I stood frozen, the applause of the crowd fading into a distant hum as Mother's words replayed in my mind — competing for the throne. My sister… my other half… now my rival.
It wasn't always like this, I thought, as the hall blurred around me. My mind drifted backward, pulled into a memory bathed in golden light.
We were thirteen, running barefoot through the palace gardens, our laughter ringing like bells in the summer air. Tina had tucked wildflowers into her braids, and I wore a crown of dandelions like it was forged gold. The sun was setting, casting fire across the sky, and we had climbed to our secret spot — the old stone gazebo overlooking the cliffs.
"I wish we could rule together," Tina had said, lying on her back and watching the stars appear one by one. "You and me. Not one or the other. Both."
I had nodded, lying beside her. "We'd be unstoppable."
She turned her head to look at me, her expression soft. "Promise me, no matter what happens… we don't let anyone come between us. Not Mother. Not the Court. Not the crown."
"I promise," I had said without hesitation. And we sealed it, as only children could, with matching moonstone rings we'd stolen from the treasury and hidden beneath our pillows.
The memory faded like mist in the morning light.
Now, I stood alone, the cold weight of reality pressing against my chest. I reached for the moonstone ring still tied around a leather cord at my neck, hidden beneath my gown. I still wore it.
Do you? I wondered. Do you remember what we promised, Tina? Or has the crown already come between us?
Mother continued, her voice echoing through the hall, "Now, the first Trial of Succession shall be Combat. They will face noble challengers from across our queendom and the allied kingdoms. But more importantly, they will battle themselves — their doubts, their fears, their limits. Let us hope they come to understand that truth sooner rather than later."
As she spoke the final words, she turned her gaze toward me and smiled — not a warm smile, but one that held warning… and expectation.
A low murmur spread through the ballroom at Mother's words. "Combat." The word itself seemed to ripple through the air like a cold wind. Courtiers leaned in, whispering behind jeweled fans and golden goblets. The music did not return. The celebration had ended, and the game had begun.
Guards in obsidian armor stepped forward, their cloaks bearing the royal crest — a silver crescent moon split down the middle. With practiced formality, they began clearing the floor and guiding guests toward the viewing balconies that circled the upper level of the great hall.
Tina had already disappeared behind one of the side arches, likely escorted to her preparation chamber. I stood rooted in place until a voice broke through my haze.
"Lady Luna," a young steward said gently, bowing. "If you'll come with me."
I followed him down a corridor lit with glowing orbs of moonlight suspended in the air. The walls here were different — older, carved from blackstone etched with runes from the First Age. The air was cooler. He led me into a chamber where my armor awaited: sleek, silver-white with crimson accents, designed for both agility and precision. My twin blades, Dawnfang and Ash whisper, lay crossed on a velvet-lined table.
As the steward left me to prepare, I stared into the mirror, tying back my flame-streaked hair and securing the moonstone ring beneath my armor. My hands trembled slightly — not from fear of the fight, but from the weight of what it meant.
This wasn't just combat. This was proof. Proof to the court. To Mother. To Tina.
And maybe… to myself.
I have always been driven by passion and compassion, not so much by diplomacy. I tend to speak from the heart, often without thinking through the consequences, and that can sometimes lead to conflict or misunderstanding. My emotions guide me—I feel deeply, and I care intensely. But I think my mother has been trying to teach me something different. She's trying to show me that not everything is what it seems—that even the people closest to us can hold back truths, and even the warmest relationships can become strained when emotions run unchecked.
She's been trying to help me see that life isn't just about reacting from the gut; it's also about learning when to be still, when to observe, and when silence can speak louder than any words. Maybe she wants me to understand that strength doesn't only lie in expressing myself, but also in knowing when to listen, when to wait, and when to let things unfold on their own.
I think this is her way of preparing me—for the complexities of adulthood, for the quiet shifts in family dynamics, for the hard truths that love alone doesn't always solve. It's not easy to accept, but maybe she sees in me both potential and vulnerability. And through her quiet warnings, she's trying to help me grow—not away from who I am, but into someone more balanced, more aware, and more prepared for what life brings.
As the Princess of the Butterflies, I am expected to act according to the High Council's idea of how a princess should behave—graceful, composed, and diplomatic at all times. But my mother, with a wisdom all her own, was kind enough to let me train with the guards when I was younger. She understood that ruling wasn't just about wearing a crown or following strict rules; it was about strength, courage, and readiness for whatever challenges might come. Those training sessions taught me more than swordsmanship—they taught me discipline, resilience, and the value of protecting those I love, even when it meant stepping beyond the traditional role of a princess.
I remember when I was twelve years old, I struggled with studying ladyship and fulfilling the expected duties of a princess. I was a rebel from a young age and didn't care much for the traditional expectations of how a lady should behave in our Queendom. The lessons on etiquette and grace felt confining, like chains holding back the part of me that longed for adventure and strength. While other girls practiced poise and politeness, I dreamed of training with the guards—learning to wield a sword, stand firm in battle, and protect our realm with honor.
I wanted to become the first female guard-princess in the history of the Butterfly Realm, breaking the old rules and proving that courage and leadership aren't defined by gender, but by heart and will. It wasn't an easy path. Many doubted me, whispering that a princess should never bear arms or fight alongside soldiers. Some even warned me that chasing such dreams could bring disgrace to my family. But my resolve only grew stronger. I knew that if I could blend the grace expected of me with the strength I longed for, I could become a leader who inspires change and protects those I love—no matter what traditions say.
That's when a loud alarm sounded, snapping me back from my memories to the present. The young steward who had guided me to this room for the first Trial of Succession—the combat trial—stood nearby, his face a mixture of calm and anticipation. My mind immediately went to Tina. I couldn't help but wonder what she was thinking right now. She's never been the strongest fighter, and I feared the weight of this trial might overwhelm her. Yet beneath that fear, I hoped there was a flicker of determination, a spark of courage she didn't know she had.
The room around us felt charged with tension; the heavy air seemed to press against my skin as the distant echoes of footsteps and murmurs filled the halls. This wasn't just a test of strength or skill—it was a test of heart, resolve, and spirit. Every candidate here carried the hopes of their families, their legacies, and the future of the Butterfly Realm. I clenched my fists, feeling the weight of my own expectations settle on my shoulders. Whatever happened next, there was no turning back. The Trial of Succession would change everything.