The Heart Of The Realm

Alishia’s chest heaved as the weight of the truth settled over her. The world around her—vibrant and alive, yet threaded with danger—felt suddenly heavier, sharper, wrong. Each heartbeat thundered in her ears, too loud, too real.

“This… all of this,” she whispered. “It’s the reason I’m here? My purpose?”

Kain was beside her, steady as stone. His eyes—flecked with grey and orange—caught the dim light, reflecting a certainty Alishia did not yet possess.

“You weren’t brought here by chance,” he said quietly. “You were born chosen. Not only for your strength… but for who your mother was. And what she left behind.”

His hand rested on her shoulder—firm, grounding.

“But listen to me,” he added, his voice lowering. “Your choice still matters. More than anything. This isn’t something you have to accept today. First, you need to understand where you come from.”

Her thoughts unraveled.

“I-I don’t know if I can do this,” she said. “I’m not a warrior like you''

Kain’s grip tightened slightly.

“You already are,” he said. “You just don’t know it yet.”

Then, after a breath, he added—quiet, unflinching:
“And when you realize that… you’ll survive things that would break everyone else.”

Her throat tightened.

How could someone trained, powerful—someone who belonged here—believe that? She could barely stand up to her bullies. How was she meant to face a demon?

Golden fields. Still water. Darkness spreading like a living wound.

The images returned uninvited. The weight of her mother’s legacy pressed against her chest—not crushing, but demanding.

“Alishia,” Kain said, cutting through the spiral. “Don’t fight what you’re feeling. Fear isn’t weakness. It’s awareness. Let it guide you.”

Time lost its shape.

For a moment, Alishia wondered if she was dead—or dreaming—or suspended somewhere between worlds. Nothing felt solid anymore.

She stood before a vast green forest. The air smelled damp and ancient, of rain-soaked earth and moss. Something about it made her skin prickle with unease.

And yet—she knew.

Answers were waiting inside.

“We need to go,” a girl said—older than Alishia, calm in a way that felt rehearsed—as she held out her hand.

Before Alishia could respond, the girl clasped her wrist and pulled her forward. Together, they crossed the threshold.

Cold brushed her skin—then vanished.

Warmth wrapped around her, deep and steady, like an unseen embrace. The forest hushed, sounds muting as if the world itself were listening.

Her heart raced. Sweat gathered along her spine. She shivered—not from fear, but from recognition.

She could hear it now—not with her ears, but inside her chest. A slow, immense rhythm.

A heartbeat.

The forest was alive.

It smelled like the woods near the orphanage—but older, deeper. Moss, rain, and green grass layered together, strong yet calming. The air was still damp, the way it feels on a summer morning after rainfall.

A hand settled on her shoulder.

Kain.

Strong. Certain. Real.

She didn’t understand him. She shouldn’t trust him. And yet something inside her leaned toward him instinctively—like muscle memory she couldn’t explain.

Fragments surfaced. Warmth. Safety. A presence at the edge of childhood.

A memory without images.

The weight finally hit her all at once.

She felt small—smaller than she ever had before. Smaller than during the endless days of bullying, the humiliation, the way she’d been made to feel stupid and invisible.

Now people expected something from her. So much. To save this place. A world she hadn’t even known existed a few hours ago.

Her breath hitched.

Kain lowered himself in front of her, gentle, deliberate.

“You don’t remember me,” he said softly, holding her gaze.

The sadness in his eyes wasn’t new. It was old. Carried.

“But I’ve known you,” he continued.

“Since before you were even born.”

After a while, the forest grew lighter. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, painting golden patterns on the mossy ground. Kain had been telling her stories about her mother.

Alishia still couldn’t believe it. According to Kain, her mother had been the “creator” of this realm—a kind and quiet woman who cared for nothing more than the life and balance of nature. Gentle, selfless, and wise.

“She was born of the soul of this forest,” Kain said softly. “And a part of her… is still here.”

Alishia’s chest tightened. “Where is she?” she asked, her curiosity sharper than her doubt. But deep inside, she already knew the answer.

Kain’s expression darkened. “She sacrificed herself,” he said, pausing. The words seemed too heavy to speak all at once. “She died in the battle against the Demon King and his most powerful warriors. After her death… the realm was never the same. The danger was gone, yes—but the heart, the very essence, had vanished. Everyone had assumed she was untouchable, immortal… and losing her was a blow no one expected.”

Alishia’s hands clenched at her sides. Her vision blurred with unshed tears. She had always imagined her mother as present, always here somehow. And now… she was gone.

A shiver ran down her spine as the weight of the loss pressed against her chest. She had been chosen to carry a legacy she barely understood, in a world she barely knew. She had never even met her mother, yet it felt as if someone had torn a piece of her own flesh away.

“I…” she whispered, but no words came.

A slow tear ran down her cheek, but she refused to cry. Not now.

She tried to hold it back, biting her lip until it ached, but the sob she didn’t want to release slipped through anyway.

Kain didn’t say anything. He just stepped closer and wrapped his arms around her, holding her firmly.

Alishia broke down crying uncontrollably. Not just because of her mother, but because this new and enormous responsibility—it was too much.

“You are not on your own,” Kain whispered in her ear. “I will help you, and you will find your way. Everyone here will help you. And I promise you, I will always be by your side.”

After a while, the fear was still there—it would never leave completely—but it was no longer paralyzing.

But the path ahead would not be easy. Allies would test her, rivals would challenge her, and the shadow of war stretched endlessly before her. Every lesson learned, every power mastered, every battle fought—it all mattered.

And in that moment, something shifted. A resolve that had been buried deep inside her heart rose to the surface, bright and unyielding.

Alishia’s journey had only just begun—but now, she knew the truth. She knew her purpose. And she was ready to step into it.

She stopped crying and said, “I… will protect them. No matter what happens.”

Kain looked surprised and laughed a little.

“See, I knew you were a fighter.”

Alishia smirked too. She didn’t view Kain as a stranger anymore—more like a fellow by her side.

,,We are here'' the girl said, she seemed cold but she was just carefull.

Then they stepped out of the wagon. Alishia’s heart was beating fast, but she still found her courage.

She, the girl, and Kain stepped down, and the view before her stunned her.

For a moment, all she could feel was pure wonder—like a child seeing something unbelievable, impossibly magical.

Her eyes widened as she took it all in. The Gate—the same one Kain had shown her in his memories—towered above her like a sentinel from another world. It looked like forged metal, dark and gleaming, yet carried no metallic scent. Instead, it smelled of aged wood, ancient and alive, as if it had grown from the heart of the earth itself.

And beyond the Gate… her breath caught.

The training grounds stretched endlessly, alive with motion. Four clans moved across the field, each unmistakable in their color, style, and power.

The first of the remaining clans radiated danger—just one word could describe them: lethal.

Their armor was heavy, unlike knights’ shiny plate, but made of thick leather and chainmail layered in dark, poison-purple hues. Each piece looked built to endure, and their weapons seemed impossibly large, cumbersome, yet perfectly balanced in the hands of their wielders.

A muscular girl stood with a shield in one hand, a massive axe in the other. She wasn’t unusually tall, nor monstrously built, but her strength was terrifying. Every swing of her axe carried the weight of a battering ram, yet she moved with terrifying ease, her strikes deliberate and devastating.

She seemed to be with a boy; every attack he launched was met with crushing resistance. Her blows landed like small earthquakes, each one rattling his armor and knocking him off balance. Sparks flew as metal met metal, but she never lost her rhythm.

The boy’s frustration grew with every failed strike. His chains whipped the air wildly, but she adjusted with ease, redirecting, parrying, countering. She didn’t even break a sweat.

Finally, with a single, crushing downward swing, her axe slammed against his chains, snapping them aside and forcing him to his knees. His chest heaved with anger and humiliation. He looked up at her, eyes blazing—but she only stood, calm, unshaken, a predator surveying prey.

Alishia’s heart pounded. She could feel the weight of the blows, the sheer power in every swing, and the discipline behind each movement. This wasn’t just strength—it was overwhelming mastery. The boy had lost, and the anger in his eyes could not mask the truth: he had no hope against her.

The second clan moved like living shadows.

At first glance, they didn’t look particularly strong—lean frames, light armor, almost delicate—but every movement radiated lethal efficiency. Their bows were long, elegant, carved from dark wood and strung with glowing threads of magic.

Alishia’s eyes widened. One archer crouched behind a broken pillar, drawing back a bowstring that seemed impossibly tight. In the same motion, she pivoted, released, and rolled sideways—her arrow struck a dummy perfectly in the center, then bounced to the next target, and another archer mirrored the motion as if reading her mind.

The warriors moved in perfect synchrony, like a single entity with a thousand limbs. Magic swirled around them, but unlike the brute force of the first clan, this was precision and cunning—threads of energy guiding every arrow, every strike, every step.

Even the shadows seemed to bend around them, thickening where they moved, then dissipating as they passed, making it nearly impossible to predict their path.

Alishia felt a chill. The first clan had shown her overwhelming strength. This one—this clan—showed deadly grace. One misstep in their line of fire, and even the strongest warrior would fall.

They were quiet hunters, moving fast, thinking faster, and every arrow, every strike, carried the promise of silent, unstoppable death.

Another clan shimmered like sunlight on gold. Their armor gleamed, intricate like the monuments of ancient Egypt, adorned with jewels and etched symbols. They wielded spears and cursed blades, the metal glowing faintly under the sun, each weapon moving like an extension of its wielder’s body. Their strikes were fluid, precise, spinning in wide arcs that could slice through stone. One warrior leapt, flipped, and landed with a quiet thud, the blade tracing a glowing trail that lingered in the air before vanishing.

They looked like gods, Alishia thought. She remembered seeing a book once, filled with images of Egyptian deities—and the smaller, dark-skinned girl leading this clan looked just like one of them. Her eyes were warm brown, and the way she moved radiated authority. Alishia knew instantly: she was the leader.

The clan beside them seemed to hate the golden warriors at first sight. Alishia could feel the disgust and fury radiating from them.

This clan looked terrifying—mighty, spiritual, and dangerous. Their armor was black and red, forged from leather and bones, with jagged edges that made every movement seem like a threat. Some wielded katanas, others double swords.

One warrior stood out among them. She wore the skull of a massive bird as a helm, towering over everyone else. Her muscles rippled beneath her armor, every movement precise and powerful. Compared to the smaller, slender golden leader, she looked like a mountain of strength.

With a flick of her wrist, the red-armored girl ignited her katana in flames. The warriors around her let out war screams that echoed across the training grounds. The golden girl simply watched, her expression one of calm disdain, as if these fiery, wild animals weren’t even worth her true effort.

Amid the chaos and awe, a single figure emerged, each step deliberate and heavy with presence, radiating a mighty, undeniable power that made Alishia’s heart race as it drew closer...