Melissa leaned against a weathered stone column in the castle’s garden, the te afternoon sunlight illuminating her ptinum blonde hair. Her eyes burnt with frustration as she watched Gan pace nearby, his hand resting casually on the pommel of his sword—even his silent vigince betrayed his unease. The ctter of approaching boots soon announced the arrival of her brothers.

  Victor and Lucien strode in together, their smirks instantly setting her nerves on edge. Victor’s chiseled features exuded a self-assured arrogance, while Lucien’s cunning gre and disdainful smile left no doubt about his contempt.

  “Look who’s run away,” Victor sneered. “Still reveling in your escape from responsibility, sister?”

  Melissa’s eyes fshed with fury. “Not this again. I did the family a favor by dodging that marriage with the pompous windbag from House Vienar.”

  Lucien’s ugh was bitter. “A favor? You’ve disgraced us. House Vienar has been humiliated, and now their banners stir with rebellion—all because you refused to do what’s best for the family.”

  “They’re rebelling because they’re opportunistic vipers, not because I spurned their second son,” Melissa shot back, her tone low and dangerous.

  Victor crossed his arms. “Do you ever take responsibility, Melissa? Your reckless defiance has brought shame upon us all.”

  “Shame?” Melissa’s ugh was icy. “Coming from you two, that’s rich. How many times have I had to clean up after your disastrous schemes or suffer the fallout from your arrogance? You’ve alienated half the court with your contempt for anyone not born into nobility!”

  The brothers’ expressions hardened. Victor’s eyes narrowed, and Lucien’s smile turned cruel. “Watch your tongue, sister. It might cut deep, but it won’t save you when the Vienars come for blood.”

  That was the final straw. With a fierce cry, Melissa stepped forward and shed out with a swift punch that crashed into Lucien’s jaw, shattering his smug expression into shock. Without waiting for him to recover, she turned on Victor, her fists flying in a relentless barrage that left him staggering under the force of her blows.

  All the while, Gan continued his measured pacing along the garden path, deliberately turning his back on the violent spectacle as if it were nothing more than background noise. His cool detachment was unsettling—a silent refusal to acknowledge the beating his brothers were receiving at Melissa’s hands.

  Victor, bloodied and disoriented, managed to sputter, “You’ve lost your mind!”

  Defeated and humiliated, Victor and Lucien exchanged a bitter gnce before storming off, leaving the garden echoing with the remnants of their retreat.

  As the chaos faded, Melissa’s heavy breathing gradually subsided. She straightened, her fists finally unclenching, and gnced over at Gan.

  A wry smile tugged at Melissa’s lips as she remarked, “You didn’t think I’d let them get away with that, did you?”

  Gan only chuckled softly and shook his head, his detachment as cool as ever.

  Melissa shook out her fists, a satisfied smile curling her lips as she watched her brothers retreat in humiliated silence. With a gnce at Gan—who was still stubbornly pretending not to have witnessed the beating—she dusted off her sleeves and turned toward the castle.

  A mischievous glint flickered in her ice-blue eyes. If she pyed her cards right, she could get to their father before Victor and Lucien did. It would be a shame if their version of the events got… slightly adjusted.

  With an air of nonchance, she strode off toward the throne room, already crafting her story. Maybe she’d mention how Victor had thrown the first punch. Or perhaps she’d imply Lucien had tripped and fallen into her fist—twice.

  Behind her, Gan finally sighed, rubbing his temple. “I should probably stop her.

  The golden rays of the afternoon sun bathed the bustling town square of Sunvale in a warm, gentle glow. Farmers and townsfolk gathered in the open-air forum, eager to hear the words of the visiting bishop. Cd in robes of pristine white and gold, the Bishop of Lumara Pentra stood atop a raised ptform, his hands lifted in a gesture of blessing. His voice rang clear, a melody of devotion that carried over the murmuring crowd.

  “Beloved children of Lumara Pentra,” the bishop began, his tone filled with reverence. “Our Goddess of Light, in her infinite love and wisdom, blesses us all. She is the beacon in our darkest nights, the fme that warms our hearts, and the source of all that is pure and good. Through her radiance, we are shown the path to peace and enlightenment. And through devotion, we may receive her divine guidance and bask in her unending love.”

  The crowd murmured in agreement, their faces lit with hope and faith. The people of Sunvale, humble and hard-working, had a deep respect for the nd and a profound belief in the blessings of the goddess. Many csped their hands in prayer; others wiped tears of emotion from their weathered cheeks.

  “The central truth of our faith,” the bishop continued, his voice swelling with passion, “is that love is the greatest force in the universe. It is love that heals the broken, love that mends what has been torn, and love that binds us all together as one people under Lumara’s divine gaze. Through love, we may reach eternal harmony!”

  The words struck a chord with the gathered crowd, and a ripple of appuse and murmured “Amens” spread through the square.

  Just as the bishop prepared to continue, a voice rang out from the back of the crowd—sharp, demanding, and unyielding.

  “Is it truly love that binds us, Bishop? Or is it power that divides us?”

  The crowd turned as one, gasping and whispering, as a young man pushed his way forward. He was dressed pinly, his tunic patched from years of use, but there was fire in his eyes. His presence was magnetic, his voice cutting through the reverent atmosphere like a bde.

  The bishop’s serene expression faltered for a moment before he addressed the young man. “Speak your heart, my son. What troubles you?”

  The young man stepped forward, his voice unwavering despite the crowd’s stunned silence. “You preach of Lumara’s love and guidance, yet the blessings of Aetherium—her divine power—are reserved only for the royal family, the nobles, and the wealthy in the cities. Why is it that those of us who bor in her fields, who toil to feed the kingdom, are deemed unworthy of her light?”

  The bishop’s expression softened, though his eyes gleamed with caution. “It is not for me to determine who receives the blessings of Aetherium. The goddess works in mysterious ways, and her light flows to those who are chosen—”

  “Chosen?” The young man interrupted, his voice rising. “Or favoured? The royal family and the nobles are no more righteous than the farmers and workers who keep this kingdom alive. We are just as devoted to Lumara, just as deserving of her love. Why, then, are we denied her light?”

  The murmurs of the crowd grew louder, and some nodded in agreement with the young man’s words. Others exchanged uneasy gnces, unsure of whether to support such bold defiance or to remain silent.

  The bishop held up his hands for calm, his voice steady but strained. “My son, the gifts of the goddess are not for us to question. They are a reflection of her divine will, beyond mortal understanding. To doubt her choices is to risk—”

  “Risk what?” The young man stepped closer, his tone turning bitter. “Her wrath? Her love is supposed to be infinite. Her light is supposed to guide all, not just the privileged few. Tell me, Bishop, is this the wisdom of Lumara Pentra, or is it the greed of men twisting her teachings to serve their own ends?”

  The crowd fell silent, the air heavy with tension. The bishop hesitated, searching for the right words to respond, but the young man pressed on.

  “If love is truly the ultimate force in the universe,” the young man said, his voice breaking slightly, “then why does it feel like those of us at the bottom are being asked to love blindly while receiving nothing in return? When will Lumara’s light shine on us?”

  The bishop lowered his gaze, his expression a mix of sorrow and thoughtfulness. Before he could reply, an older farmer pced a hand on the young man’s shoulder, gently pulling him back.

  “Enough, boy,” the farmer said quietly. “You’ve spoken your truth. Let the bishop answer in his time.”

  The young man took a step back, his jaw clenched, but he nodded reluctantly. The bishop, now visibly moved, stepped forward and pced a hand over his heart.

  “I hear your pain, my son,” he said softly. “And though I may not have the answers you seek, I pray that the goddess will guide us all toward greater understanding. Let us not forget that her love shines upon all of us, even in our moments of doubt.”

  The crowd began to disperse slowly, the tension lingering in the air. The young man stood motionless for a moment, watching the bishop retreat from the ptform before turning and walking away into the fields.

  As the sun dipped lower in the sky, its golden light cast long shadows over Sunvale—a reminder that even amidst the brightest radiance, questions could remain unanswered.

  NOTE

  The Religion of Pentra

  The religion of Pentra is centered around the worship of Lumara Pentra, the Goddess of Light. She is the embodiment of love, wisdom, and purity, and her light illuminates the path to peace and enlightenment. Her followers believe that through devotion, they can receive her divine guidance and bask in her radiant love. The central tenet of the religion is the belief that love is the ultimate force in the universe, a force that can heal the world and lead to eternal harmony.

  Childhood of Melissa and Gan

  Gan Wills, the son of Bishop Wills, had grown up in the royal court alongside Melissa. From a young age, the two were inseparable, often sneaking out of lessons to explore the castle grounds. Gan’s steadfast loyalty and unwavering sense of duty had always been a foil to Melissa’s rebellious streak. Over the years, their bond deepened into a friendship built on trust and mutual respect, though unspoken feelings lingered beneath the surface.