Bounds by scales and secrets.

The land of Harm was as beautiful as it was oppressive. Rolling hills and vast forests painted a picture of tranquility, but under the shadow of King Gordon’s rule, peace was an illusion. Harm’s citizens lived in fear, their lives dictated by a man who once stood as a hero but had long since lost his way.

Gordon declared himself a god years ago, following a series of victories in war that elevated his status to that of a living legend. Overcome by pride, he demanded absolute loyalty, expecting all to kneel in worship or face execution. The kingdom’s once-thriving cities became places of fear, and even the air seemed to carry the weight of despair.

Arie, his only daughter, was no stranger to the pain caused by his rule. Born amidst tragedy, her very existence had been marked by sacrifice. Her mother, Queen Eleanor, had died in childbirth, a loss that forever changed the trajectory of Arie’s life. While she was raised in a palace of gold and luxury, her childhood was barren of the love and attention she craved.

Now 18, Arie sat in the castle’s grand library, her sanctuary from the world outside. Stacks of ancient books surrounded her, the flicker of candlelight casting shadows on the high, arched walls. She traced her fingers over a dusty tome, lost in thought.

The door creaked open, and her lady-in-waiting, Liora, stepped in. “Princess, your father summons you to the throne room,” she said softly.

Arie sighed, closing the book. “What is it this time?”

“There’s… been another rebellion,” Liora hesitated, lowering her gaze.

Another execution, Arie thought bitterly. She followed Liora through the palace corridors, their footsteps echoing against marble floors. As they approached the throne room, the air grew colder.

Inside, King Gordon sat on a grand gilded throne, his crimson robes flowing around him like a pool of blood. Before him knelt a man bound in chains, flanked by two guards. The man’s face was pale, his eyes filled with defiance even as fear flickered beneath the surface.

“You dare defy your god?” Gordon’s voice boomed.

The man raised his head. “You are no god. You are a tyrant.”

The room fell silent. Arie’s heart pounded as she watched her father’s expression harden. Without a word, Gordon gestured to the executioner. The man was dragged away, his shouts of defiance echoing down the hall.

Arie clenched her fists, her anger bubbling beneath the surface. She turned to leave, but her father’s voice stopped her. “Arie, stay.”

Reluctantly, she turned back. “Yes, Father?”

“You must understand the burden of leadership,” Gordon said, his tone cold. “These actions are necessary to maintain order.”

“Order built on fear is not order at all,” she replied, her voice trembling with barely restrained anger.

His eyes narrowed. “You speak as though you know better. One day, you will thank me for the strength I have shown.”

Arie didn’t respond. She left the throne room, her thoughts racing.

That night, unable to sleep, she wandered the halls of the palace. Her steps led her to her mother’s old chambers, a place long sealed off after Eleanor’s death. Pushing open the heavy door, she was met with a wave of dust and the faint scent of lavender.

The room was untouched, a shrine to a life lost too soon. On a small desk lay a leather-bound diary. Arie hesitated before picking it up, the worn cover cool beneath her fingers.

She opened it to the first page, where her mother’s elegant handwriting greeted her:

To my dearest daughter, Arie. If you are reading this, then I am no longer with you. But know that my love for you is eternal.

Arie’s breath hitched. She turned the pages, each one revealing fragments of Eleanor’s life and her connection to the spirits of the Otherworld. The final entry chilled her to the bone:

The spirits demand balance. Gordon’s pride has tipped the scales, and I fear the price will be my life. But my sacrifice is not the end—Arie, you are the key to restoring harmony. Trust the forest, for it holds the answers you seek.

As Arie processed the words, a faint glow filled the room. She turned to see a cloaked figure standing in the doorway. “Who are you?” she demanded, clutching the diary.

The figure stepped forward, their voice calm yet filled with urgency. “I am a messenger, here to guide you. Your kingdom stands on the brink of ruin, and only you can save it.”

Before she could respond, the figure pressed an amulet into her hand—a small, silver disk inscribed with intricate runes. “The spirits watch over you, Princess. Seek the ancient tree in the forest. There, your journey begins.”

The figure disappeared as suddenly as they had appeared, leaving Arie alone in the dim light. She looked down at the amulet, its surface pulsing with a faint, otherworldly glow.