The king sat upon his throne, the weight of the kingdom pressing upon his shoulders. Before him stood a woman clad in the colors of her house—Valgrion 's sister, the last trueborn of his blood. Her face was calm, yet her eyes carried the same sorrow as his own.
"Lady Elira," the king addressed her, his voice heavy. "You are all that remains of your family. With Valgrion gone, the council will seek to dismantle your house, but I will not allow it. I am entrusting you with the Skjolfrost stronghold, with the child's upbringing, and with the preservation of our greatest warrior's legacy."
Elira bowed her head, her expression unreadable. "I accept this duty, Your Majesty."
The king nodded solemnly. "See to it that Valgrion 's heir is raised strong, skilled, and unquestioned. The council will watch closely. If they sense weakness, they will take everything from you."
Elira understood. She had always known this day would come, though not under such tragic circumstances. Her brother had sacrificed everything. Now, she must do the same.
The tale of Valgrion 's son became legend. The people of Valdris whispered of the boy who would one day take up the mantle of his father, the future shield of the kingdom. But behind closed doors, the truth was far different.
"My aunt used to tell me this story," I whisper, the memory of her voice echoing in my mind. "Whenever I asked why I needed to train, why I had to wield the hammer and raise the shield."
She never sugar coated it. The lie had to be maintained. To be discovered was to be stripped of everything.
The council watched us like hawks. When I turned six, they demanded proof. Proof that I bore the mark of Skjolfrost's lineage. The tattoo of the shield—an ancient symbol of power—was the ultimate test.
I remember the day clearly. The council stood in a circle, their gazes cold and calculating as I knelt before them. My aunt, Elira, was beside me, her grip firm on my shoulder.
"Show us," they ordered.
I lifted my arm, my small fingers trembling. There, etched into my skin, was the shield—proof of my bloodline. The council murmured among themselves, testing it, willing it to activate.
And it did. A faint, shimmering barrier flickered to life, responding to their call.
But they did not know the truth.
The tattoo had once belonged to my aunt. She had given it to me, sacrificing her own power, stripping herself of the ability to wield the shield in battle. It was a desperate deception, one that would not last forever.
The shield was real, but weak. It would fade with time. I had to grow strong, strong enough to wield true power before the council saw through the illusion.
Before they realized the heir they had accepted was nothing more than a girl living a lie.