"Greatest talent the Sun Empire has ever produced."
That's what her mother said to her on her fifth birthday.
It didn't make sense. Not then. Not at five years old, standing in the grand hall of the Valen estate with frosting on her fingers and a paper crown sliding off her head.
Lyralei remembered blinking up at her mother—and wondering what those words were supposed to mean.
Greatest talent? Me?
She couldn't even swing a sword like her father.
"Here. Try this one."
The blacksmith—a broad-shouldered man with soot-stained hands and a leather apron—handed her a longsword. The blade was twice her height, a seven-foot slab of iron that gleamed dully in the forge's orange glow. Heat radiated from the furnace behind them, making the air shimmer. The smell of coal and hot metal filled her lungs.
Lyralei wrapped both tiny hands around the leather grip and lifted.
It wasn't heavy. Not really.
She squeezed—just a little—and—
CRACK.
The iron splintered. The blade snapped clean in half, fragments scattering across the stone floor with a sharp, metallic clatter. The handle twisted in her grip, bending inward like it was made of clay instead of tempered steel.
The blacksmith blinked. Once. Twice.
"Yeah... she can't be a swordsman," he muttered, crouching to pick up the shattered pieces. He turned the twisted metal over in his hands, eyes narrowing. "Her grip's too strong. The blade bent toward the handle before it broke. That's... that's not normal."
Blood dripped from the blacksmith fingers, he dropped the shard.
"Oh it's her special element, it's not compatible with metal".
Her father—Grand Duke Eldric Valen, the greatest swordsman in all Nine Realms—stood with his arms crossed, expression unreadable. His blade, Severance, rested against the wall behind him, its edge catching the firelight.
He hummed thoughtfully. "Martial arts, then. Hand-to-hand. Or..." He tapped the pommel of Severance with one finger. "Or perhaps, after she grows up, she can inherit Severance. A soul weapon adapts to its wielder."
Lyralei stared at the crumpled ball of iron in her palm—what used to be a sword handle. Her small fingers had compressed it without her even trying.
She could never understand why it was so hard for other people to form an aura circle around their heart. The instructors would spend months teaching students the meditation techniques, the breathing exercises, the visualization methods. And still, most of them failed.
But Lyralei? She just... did it. On her first try. Age six.
Just... do it. See the flow. Feel the energy. Shape it.
How do you even get hit by an attack you can see coming?
She could sense movement with her whole body—not just her eyes. The shift in air pressure, the vibration through the ground, the subtle tension before someone struck. It was obvious. Instinctive.
Why do people only use their eyes?
It didn't take her long to figure out the truth.
She was born strong.
Stronger than others. Stronger than she had any right to be.
She knew it for certain when she saw adult knights—trained warriors with years of experience—struggle to lift weights she could toss with her pinky finger. She watched them sweat and strain through exercises she completed without thinking.
She never spoke it out loud. Never bragged. But deep down, she knew.
Lyralei wasn't just born strong.
She was born privileged.
The privilege of being Grand Duke Eldric Valen's daughter. The privilege of bearing the name Lyralei Valen. The privilege of growing up surrounded by the best tutors, the finest weapons, the most powerful techniques in the empire.
Above all.
She was blessed by not being ignorant.
She was blessed by not being a frog in a well, thinking her tiny pond was the whole world.
It was an ordinary day when her father decided to take her to the Royal Palace.
Nine-year-old Lyralei had been excited. She'd heard stories about the palace—the golden spires, the enchanted gardens, the throne room where the king held court—but she'd never seen it herself.
What she hadn't expected was for that visit to change her perspective forever.
She'd always wondered: Why does Father serve someone else?
He is the greatest swordsman in all Nine Realms. Wielder of a Soul Weapon. People whispered his name with reverence, fear, awe.
So why kneel to a king?
Then she saw them.
King Adric. And beside him, the Hero of Light—Rae.
The king had black hair streaked with white at the front, the strands falling over eyes that looked... empty. Lifeless. Blue, drained of warmth. His frame was lean—too lean. He looked like a man who'd forgotten to eat, forgotten to sleep, forgotten to live. Like someone walking on the edge of a blade, balancing between existence and collapse.
Beside him stood Rae. White and black hair mixed in equal measure, golden eyes sharp and watchful. His presence was quieter than the king's, but no less intense.
With her father, three of them.
Lyralei only saw them for a second.
They passed through the corridor—
But something inside her ignited.
Suddenly, everything made sense.
She saw it clearly then, like a vision.
Life was a simple river, raging toward the still ocean of death.
Countless people fell into it like stones—plop, plop, plop—sinking without a trace. Gone. Forgotten. Replaced.
Geniuses were maybe different. They fell in like large boulders—SPLASH—and the river water surged higher for a moment. People noticed. People remembered, at least for a while.
But they too were gone eventually. Forgotten. Replaced by the next boulder.
But them?
King Aldric. Hero of Light Rae. Her father, Eldric.
The three of them together were a complete picture. They weren't stones or boulders.
They were disasters.
They broke the flow of the river completely. Like an earthquake that swallowed the river whole, redirected it, changed it.
They weren't forgotten. They changed the world. They changed people. They changed how people saw the world.
They were immortal.
And Lyralei wanted to be immortal too.
She wanted to cut the river with her blade and smash it with her fist.
The simple imagination had brought her so close to something original—something uniquely hers. She couldn't wait to feel it for real.
When was the first time someone told her she was beautiful?
Suzzy had laughed, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. "You know, you're ridiculously beautiful, right? Like, unfairly so."
Lyralei had blinked, genuinely confused. "What?"
"Your face! Your hair! Everything!" Suzzy gestured dramatically. "I'm surprised you don't have a line of suitors camped outside your estate.
She'd looked at her reflection later that night—really looked, for the first time.
Long black hair that fell past her waist in smooth, perfect waves. Black eyes that caught light like polished obsidian. Soft pink lips. A tall, graceful frame with long legs and a figure that somehow balanced strength and elegance. Despite the raw power in her fists—enough to shatter steel—her body wasn't bulky or overly muscled.
She was beautiful.
If my strength has a goal, my beauty should too.
Now she understood those gazes. The way men and women stared. Envy. Admiration. Desire.
Goddess of beauty, they whispered.
A beautiful, strong queen.
Yes.
Queen.
Queen of the Sun Empire. The empire her father served. The empire that ruled over half of humanity.
That would be her path to immortality.
Strength. Beauty. Power. Legacy.
All of it, unified under her will.
Maybe that's when it started.
The hollow feeling.
She first felt it on her seventeenth birthday—a strange emptiness in her chest that wouldn't go away. It picked at her, clawed at her, whispered in quiet moments.
She ignored her own stagnation in strength. She'd been stuck at Level 5 Mana Circuits for... how long now?
Just a moment or two, and I'll break into Level 6, she told herself. A month or two doesn't hurt.
A year or two is fine.
Maybe it wasn't fine.
No.
It wasn't fine.
When Draekon challenged her to a Heart Duel, everything shattered.
How dare he challenge her—her, Lyralei Valen, prodigy of the Sun Empire—and demand her as a prize, like she was some object to be won?
No.
Wait.
She stopped, the thought cutting through her anger like a blade.
I objectified myself.
She'd accepted the duel. Accepted the condition. Let herself be placed on the table like a bargaining chip, all because of House Valen's stupid family code about honor and never refusing challenges.
No.
She'd accepted those conditions. Agreed to them, because of pride, because she was angry and wanted to crush him.
The Hero of her generation. From Dragon Valley. Supposedly legendary.
He was impossibly weak to her.
Level 5, just like her. But she knew—knew—she could run circles around him. He wouldn't land a single hit. Then she'd tear him apart. Limb by limb. Break every bone. Rip his head off and take that stupid Dragon Bracelet as a trophy.
Then she'd—
Stop.
Lyralei pressed her palms against her eyes, shame burning in her chest.
These thoughts aren't worthy of a knight.
They were weak thoughts. Lashing out in anger. Violence for violence's sake.
There had been so many other ways to handle it.
She could have negotiated. Changed the conditions. Bet wealth, land, even a Soul Weapon—the one the Majesty had promised her when she married Prince Agni.
Or she could have refused the duel entirely.
Father wouldn't have minded. Mother wouldn't have cared. She was practically royalty already. The Valen family code didn't have to bind her.
But I didn't think.
I didn't respect anyone—not even myself.
She was supposed to be clever. Strategic. Better than this.
Lyralei sat in her dorm room now, the space quiet except for the faint hum of enchanted lamps. Evening light filtered through the curtains, casting long shadows across the floor.
In her lap sat a cookbook: The Dragon Realm Culinary Compendium.
She flipped a page absently, not really reading, black hair spilling across the recipes.
What am I supposed to do now?
The backlash from the failed Heart Duel still dragged at her body. Every movement felt sluggish, delayed. Her mana circuits throbbed faintly, like bruises that wouldn't heal.
She sighed, the sound heavy.
I should talk to Agni.
She lifted her head slightly, staring at the wall.
And... maybe write a letter to Father.
Her chest tightened.
Tell him I'm lost. Tell him I don't know what I'm doing anymore.
She closed her eyes, letting the silence settle over her like a heavy blanket.
For the first time in her life, Lyralei Valen—the greatest talent the Sun Empire had ever produced—felt small.