Chapter 2 - Draven Princess

House Draven’s shadow loomed over the realm. Their castle, a jagged abyss of obsidian, stretched across the horizon like a scar. It was a place where whispers echoed with power, and silence was deadlier than any blade.
In the grand hall, King Vaeroth watched the world through stained glass windows, eyes cold as the moon. His black cloak pooled behind him like ink, its embroidery shifting subtly almost as if alive. He sipped from a cup of wine, red as fresh blood.
“The girl grows too fast,” he murmured, voice smooth and sharp like velvet over steel. “She needs proper... stimulation.”
Beside him, Queen Laziryn tilted her head, her expression unreadable. Her gown was pure white, a cruel contrast to Vaeroth’s darkness. Diamonds glittered like frost in her long platinum hair, catching the light with icy elegance.
“She is not a pawn,” she said, tone even. “She is our daughter.”
Vaeroth chuckled low, brittle, like glass splintering under pressure.“And what are daughters, if not the most valuable pieces on the board?”
In the shadows, Prince Amon stood motionless. He said nothing, but his ruby eyes flicked between his parents with quiet precision. He didn’t need to speak. His presence alone was sharp enough to draw blood.House Draven was not born. It was forged.
From the ashes of fallen kingdoms and the blood of forgotten heroes, they rose not with screams, but with a whisper. A dark, hungry whisper that never stopped echoing.
They were not the first. They would not be the last. But they were the fiercest. The most cunning. Shadows that stretched like a disease across borders, infecting lands with fear.
King Vaeroth Draven, the dark heart of the family, sat in his war chamber, tracing lines of conquest across old, scorched maps. His emerald eyes glowed faintly in the dim torchlight, each flicker reflecting some unseen calculation.
Queen Laziryn stood near, her hands folded, her gaze never blinking. The blood-red in her eyes seemed to pulse with thought. No movement was wasted. No glance unintentional.
Amon lingered at the edge of the chamber, a silent observer. His black uniform cast deep shadows across his pale skin, but it was his eyes that commanded the room watchful, precise, cold. Like a blade sheathed in patience.
They were a perfect machine. Three parts bound by blood, ambition, and unrelenting control.And then there was Riku.
The child born with her eyes already open. The girl who read infernal texts like they were bedtime stories. The princess who moved like a dancer and struck like a warrior.
She was theirs.
And yet... she wasn’t.
“She is too gentle,” Vaeroth said, swirling his glass.
“We must harden her.”
Laziryn didn’t deny it. She only lowered her gaze in thought.“Perhaps. But there is power in her softness too. It could be sharpened. Used.”
Amon still said nothing. His gaze, however, drifted to the door just for a moment.Outside the chamber, far beyond their reach, Riku sat alone in her room.
The darkness clung to her like a friend. The cold stone walls, the silence they made her feel safe in a way nothing else did.
They called her prodigy. Miracle. Perfect.
But she knew better.
Inside, she felt like an echo of someone else. A shadow wearing a child’s skin. Her thoughts were too old. Her eyes too knowing.
They wanted to mold her into a weapon.
But Riku already was one.
She just didn’t know which side she was on yet.