The heavy gray silk felt passing strange against my skin, far different from the scratchy, sun-faded homespun shifts I was wont to wear back in Roanoke.
Standing right still inside the magnificent, wood-grown chamber, I held my arms straight out to the sides, my wide eyes tracking Mistress Melawin’s fingers as she carefully ordered the tiny fabric layers. The ash-toned royal kirtle was wondrous fine, its thick sleeves and long skirt lines mirroring the grand red gown my new mother wore across the room. There were no rough bone buttons or clumsy twine strings to be found here. Instead, each piece was held fast by pristine, intricate silver hooks that clicked softly into place, tracing my ribcage with a gentle, protective weight.
"There we go, little princess," Melawin spoke right softly, kneeling down upon the polished ironwood floorboards to smooth out the heavy creases along my hem. She gave my long, bright orange hair a gentle, affectionate pat, her fluffy raccoon companion giving a soft squeak from her shoulder as its tiny ears twitched. "You look absolutely spectacular. A true little lady of the upper rings."
I peeked into the tall, custom-grown wooden glass by the wardrobe, my pale face covered in its light dusting of freckles looking altogether strange above the dark gray silk. I could yet vividly remember the horrific day I did arrive in this world. The savages had suddenly descended upon our settlement of Roanoke, shouting through the black smoke as everything began to burn. In the midst of the absolute chaos, my pet dragon Albion used the last of his strength to shield me, his scales flashing with a wild light as he did spirit me away from the slaughter.
I had awoken all alone in a massive, empty clearing, staring at a giant wall of forest-covered mountains rising into the sky right before my face. Ere I could even process the loss of my kin, a foul, chattering pack of green goblins did ambush the field and make me their captive.
And then, I met Kirra.
My heart twisted as the memory flashed behind my eyes. I had only just met the brave princess when a brutal assassin's blade suddenly cut through the air, beheading her right before my eyes. The sheer terror of that moment was burned into my soul, yet since the first second I looked upon her face, I did feel an unyielding, magnetic bond with her. For all her flat, stony stares and her strange, snow-white owl ears, she put me in mind of my birth mother—the gentle woman who did tragically perish of a terrible wasting sickness during our long, grueling voyage across the great sea. I had lost one mother to the ocean waves, but the heavens had given me a fierce, unbreakable ranger to fill the empty ache in my chest.
Turning away from the glass, I did scamper across the floorboards, the long dress lines of my gray gown sweeping heavily against the wood as I reached out to catch Mother’s hand. Her fingers were small and delicate, yet they were covered in tough, hard-earned forge calluses from the three days she had spent pounding raw metal under the heavy drop hammers. She gave my hand a tight, protective squeeze, her frozen, deadpan face looking straight ahead as she led our small circle out into the grand ironwood corridor.
Walking beside us was a massive parade of protectors. Mistress Sharn marched right on our flank, her giant two-meter halberd resting casually against her shoulder plate, while Mistress Talestia and Mistress Freya kept their eyes locked on the shadowy corners of the high halls. I had to quicken my small shoes to keep pace with the elegant, sweeping movement of Mother's red dress, yet I did not feel afraid at all. Even when the massive ironwood doors of the King's chambers slid open with a deep, heavy groan, I kept my shoulders squared just as Mother did.
King Arwin was waiting right by the threshold, his giant, mountain-like frame casting a colossal shadow across the cobblestones. He looked incredibly terrifying with his black and red furred wolf tail sweeping the floorboards, his amber eyes shining with an ancient, unyielding authority that made the other palace servants freeze in pure fright.
"I must speak to you about the coming term and what lies ahead for our family," the giant King rumbled, his deep, booming voice shaking the hanging vines overhead as he laid out the next five years. He spoke of grand tournaments, formal court dances, and a massive royal wedding that would take place the exact week Mother turned fifty.
I did not understand most of the heavy political talk, but then the King turned his large, amber gaze straight down at me.
"And as for Amy," King Arwin continued, his rough features softening into a warm, gentle smile as he looked at my tiny gray dress. "Over the next five years, she will not be entering the dungeons just yet. She will have to stay within the safety of these upper rings to undergo intensive history lessons, math, reading, writing, and a strict language curriculum."
My mind did whirl at the words. Back in the settlement, learning to read meant staring at a single, cracked hornbook under the dim candlelight while the village dogs barked at the wilderness line. But here, I was being given an entire royal academy curriculum just for myself, treated like a real, sovereign piece of the kingdom before I was even old enough to hold a sword.
I looked up at his giant, towering frame, completely unbothered by his sharp teeth or his heavy wolf tail. He looked just like the old, grumpy blacksmith back in Roanoke who used to yell at the town kids for stealing his charcoal, but always handed out sweet apples when no one was looking.
"Ok, Grumps!" I said cheerfully, letting out a bright, bubbling burst of child energy as I gave him an obedient nod.
A sharp, terrified gasp instantly left the lungs of the attendant maids standing behind us, and the ancient Prime Minister Subwin's floppy silver ears violently flared forward in pure, unmoving shock. Mother’s snow-white owl ears gave a sudden, panicked twitch, her fingers tightening against my hand as if she was waiting for the castle walls to come crashing down on our heads.
But Grumps just froze for a single fraction of a second, his giant amber eyes widening in total surprise before a massive, roaring chuckle rumbled straight through his robust chest. His red and black furred tail gave a delighted, sweeping swipe against the wood, the terrifying weight of his sovereign aura dissolving entirely into a warm, grand fatherly rumble.
As Mother led me back down the corridor toward our private wing, my mind was still spinning with wonder. The ancient, glowing ledger ball back in the audience hall had said I was a "Necromancer," and that I carried some kind of ancient, original bloodline from the first human colonists who had guarded the World Tree three thousand years ago. It said I was called to venture into the absolute bottom of the twelve decaying labyrinths to cleanse the hearts of fallen gods.
I did know naught of decaying labyrinths or dark, end-game grimoire channels. But as I looked up at Mother's flat, stubborn deadpan profile, and felt the heavy weight of the emerald-plated spellbook she had purchased for me resting safely in our chambers, I knew I had no cause to fear the dark depths anymore. I had history lessons to study, math charts to draw, and a giant wolf-king grandfather to tease. For the first time since the dark mist did tear me away from Roanoke, I finally had a real home—and an entire vanguard family ready to rewrite the destiny of the continent just to keep me safe.