Eliana stared into space, gently rocking baby Hansel in her arms.

“Mommy?” Hanara’s voice chimed. Eliana blinked and looked up.

“Yes, Hana?” she said softly.

Hanara, six years old, beamed.

“Mommy, look at this!”

She cupped a small blue flame in her palm, fluid, shimmering like water. With a flick of her wrist, the flame stretched and danced, trailing behind her hand like a glowing ribbon. She spun, laughter bright as the fire drew elegant arcs through the air.

Eliana watched in awe, eyes tracing both the flame and her daughter’s grace. A radiated warmth touched her lips.

Hansel sat up, his little hands clapping.

“Ha-ba!” he squealed.

Hanara struck a final pose, one hand lifted, the flame dissolving into air in a gentle fade. She turned to them, cheeks flushed with pride.

“Did you see? I made it myself!” she said, breathless.

Eliana laughed and drew her close.

“It was beautiful, my darling. You controlled your flames so elegantly. Did you have fun dancing?”

“Of course!” Hanara grinned, throwing her arms around both her mother and Hansel. Eliana pressed a kiss to her forehead. Hansel reached for Hanara. She scooped him up, spun him once, then set him gently on his feet. Eliana’s eyes warmed at the sight.

“Let’s dance together,” Hanara said, tugging Hansel forward. He tottered beside her, learning to balance one small foot at a time.

“Be careful with your baby brother, Hanara,” Eliana chuckled.

Hanara laughed heartily, then bent, hands tucked behind her back.

“Are you ready?” she whispered. Hansel giggled and clapped.

Hanara summoned a ribbon of blue flame and swept it gracefully to the side. She stepped back, spun low, then raised her arm in a swirl of light above her head. The flames shimmered in Hansel’s spring-green eyes. She leaned back to meet his gaze with a grin, then twirled again, the fire moving with her like a willing partner. Hansel clapped cheerfully. When his little steps faltered, she slowed, sent the last of the flame soaring, and scooped him into her arms for one more spin. Laughter rang from them both.

“Hanara Enya Fintan-Solares,” Eliana said with a soft smile. “Be gentle.”

“Eliana,” Hanara pretended, bowing with exaggerated ceremony, “I shall be gentle with my baby brother.”

Hanara tittered and placed Hansel carefully on his feet, holding his hand. He trotted toward Eliana, small claps still bubbling from him.

“Come here, my baby girl,” Eliana called.

Hanara ran into her arms.

“Can we walk by the lake later, Mother?” she asked. Eliana held her tightly, the garden’s sunlight turning the moment warm and ordinary—until Elise, the maid, hurried in, hand pressed to her chest, eyes lowered.

Hanara felt the shift before words reached them. She let go of Hansel’s hand and sank beside him, the easy joy curdling into alertness.

“Your Majesty,” Elise said, voice steady despite the urgency, “Knights from the Dragon Empire have arrived. They request an audience.”

Eliana’s smile vanished. Her eyes narrowed. The maternal softness folded into something colder, sharper.

“Who leads them?” she asked.

“Tait Einsen Lesingbard, the Second Prince of the Dragon Empire,” Elise answered.

A faint, knowing smirk flickered at Eliana’s lips, but she stayed rooted to her children, measuring the moment. What are they plotting now? Would the command of a mere Second Prince truly threaten the clan? Her mind turned, suspicion sharpening into strategy.

Far beyond the palace walls, the spring meadow thrived—reborn, radiant. Sunlight spilled across grass like shards of emerald light; a warm breeze coaxed waves of green into a soft, swaying dance. Renewal hummed in the air, fragile and alive, as if time itself paused to breathe.

“Uncle, I thought phoenixes were just birds that stayed in their own nests… they wouldn’t be a threat to us, Dragons…” a small voice said.

Zilant Lesingbard, nine years old, frowned up at the commander who had patted his head.

“I am just following orders,” Tait answered, patient and practiced. “I cannot disobey the Emperor.”

“But he’s your father… shouldn’t you reason with him?” Zilant pressed.

“The world isn’t as kind as we’d like,” Tait said. “When the Emperor gives an order, even I must obey.”

“But Uncle… they’re just kids like me. Why take them away?” Zilant’s frustration showed in the way he fiddled with his fingers.

“You have a good heart like your mother,” Tait said, smiling to soften the rebuke. “I’m glad to have you as my nephew.”

They arrived at the Phoenix gate and waited. No one came to greet them at first. Patience stretched thin among the knights.

A gruff voice muttered, “Those damn birds will get it soon—” and Tait’s cold command cut it off.

“Silence. These people are still respectable.”

From the gate Felix and Eliana approached, solemn and unyielding, their people at their backs. Tait walked forward with Zilant on his arm.

“Who dares to enter the Phoenix Clan?” a Square demanded.

Tait bowed shallowly.

“Tait Lesingbard, Commander of the Dragon’s Snow Knight. I come with the order of the Emperor of the Dragon Empire. Your son will be educated by the finest tutors in the Empire, to one day rule wisely under Heaven’s will.”

The crowd gasped. Eliana’s jaw hardened. The idea of losing her heir ignited a quiet fury. Felix’s hand found hers as he stepped forward.

“How bold of the Dragon Emperor to think he can take my son,” Felix said.

“Our prince needs no schooling from a Dragon’s leash!” someone shouted. “We will not surrender our heir to foreign hands!”

Tait kept his head bowed.

“I speak only on behalf of the Emperor.”

Felix’s retort was cold.

“Messenger or not, you are your father’s son. Would you accept it if I came demanding your brother for ‘education’? Or that boy behind you?” His gaze flicked to Zilant. The implication was sharp.

Zilant trembled but stepped forward. He bowed respectfully, then spoke in a voice steadier than his age suggested.

“If anything…I’ll protect your son when we’re in the Dragon Empire. I promise. I do not wish any harm on anyone.”

Eliana softened—surprised at a child so young to speak with such clarity and earned wisdom. She looked at Tait, then at Zilant’s eyes—blue as frozen sea beneath winter sun, silent and luminous.

“Who could this child be?” she asked.

Tait flinched, his jaw tightening.

“This… is my nephew,” he said. “Zilant Aislin Lesingbard.”

Eliana smiled once, an almost private thing.

“Let them in and guide them to their stay,” she commanded. The Phoenix people murmured but obeyed. They bowed and opened a way through the guarded gate.

After a day of rest and hospitality, Zilant wandered the palace alone, no servant, no escort, and something brushed his awareness: an aura so gentle it felt like drifting underwater. He followed it, breath shallow, peeking into the garden and along the buildings until he found the river.

Hanara was there. Her light-blue hair twirled with the motion. A ribbon of flame trailed after her hands. Her giggles echoed near the water. Zilant crept closer, captivated.

SNAP.

A twig betrayed him.

Hanara froze. In a blink, her ruby eyes blazed, and a stream of blue fire scorched the space in front of him. Zilant flinched, swallowed by the sudden heat and light.

Blue fire. The aura he’d felt, gentle and clear, was hers.

“Wait! I’m just lost!” he called, urgency tightening his voice.

She narrowed her eyes and marched to him, hands on her hips like a scolding queen.

“Who are you? Why are you sneaking around?” she demanded.

“I… I came with my uncle… but I couldn’t find him. So I wandered off,” Zilant answered.

Hanara observed him, his clothes, and his face. She huffed silently.

“If you’re a guest at the palace, you should stay in your chamber,” Hanara said, softer now. “The guards might even arrest you for trespassing.”

She reached a hand down.

“Get up. You’ll get your clothes dirty.”

He paused and stared at her before taking it. She helped him to his feet. He brushed dirt from his pants. She looked away, embarrassed at having frightened him.

“I’m sorry… I acted without considering that I could hurt you.”

“You didn’t mean to do it. No need for an apology,” Zilant said, then smiled.

“If you’re looking for people from the Dragon Empire, they’re to the right of the river,” she offered.

“How did you know?” he asked, surprised.

“Your clothes,” she said simply, pointing. “They aren’t like ours.”

He glanced down, flushed, then looked up at her.

“You’re right!” he said, scratching his neck. She reached for her bag and, after a beat, looked back at him.

“Good luck,” she mumbled before walking past. Zilant watched her go, heart still racing. He’d never met anyone like her.

Behind him, somewhere near the palace gate, a shadow lengthened—subtle and patient as a tide.

A knight. Dragon Empire’s knight. Not the Snow Knight who followed Tait’s orders.

A knight who followed a secret order from the Emperor. A tyrant.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 🪶 🔥 Princess, Don’t Waver ❄️ 🐉 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~