Kaiswen, Ardesco school of magic, near the border of Bromaric, spring (1618 a.L)

The sun blazed down in a cloudless sky, casting its warmth over the rolling fields as a young girl approached a well. The soft wind tugged at her long white hair, lifting it in gentle waves behind her. She wore a long, tattered tunic, its once-iris hue now faded and stained with dirt. A simple leather belt cinched her waist, and her worn shoes had seen better days. Reaching the well, she paused and tilted her head back, closing her eyes as she let the sunlight bathe her face, a fleeting moment of peace amidst her endless duties.

She knelt beside the well and plucked a small, common flower from the grass, tucking it behind her ear. A soft hum escaped her lips as she straightened, her fingers curling around the thick rope that hung down the well. With a practiced tug, the bucket rose, groaning with the weight of the water. She pulled it to the surface, her arms straining slightly, and then carried the heavy bucket towards the stable, following the familiar path worn into the earth.

The cool, musty air of the stable greeted her like an old friend. The horses whinnied in recognition, their sharp eyes flicking toward her.

"Shh, it's alright," she murmured soothingly as she stepped inside, her footsteps muffled by the straw-covered floor. She stroked the neck of a brown mare, Maisie, who nickered softly in response.

The girl took the bucket and carefully filled the water troughs, the rhythmic task comforting in its simplicity. When the last drop had fallen, she set the empty bucket aside and allowed herself a rare indulgence—falling back into a soft pile of hay. The scent of fresh straw filled the air, mixing with the faint, earthy odor of the horses. She lay still, watching as rays of sunlight filtered through the wooden beams, casting dancing patterns across the floor. The dust motes caught in the light, swirling lazily in the air. For a few moments, she allowed herself to forget her duties, closing her eyes to the world around her.

Raelyn had long since grown accustomed to this solitude. She was a maid at Ardesco, the famed school of magic, where she tended to the wizards and their students without complaint. She scrubbed floors, cooked meals, cared for the horses, and took orders from people who rarely saw her as more than a servant. Despite the hard work, she stayed. Ardesco provided food, shelter, and the only life she knew, ever since she was abandoned there as a toddler. Sometimes, in the quiet moments like this, she wondered what lay beyond the castle walls—the distant realms of Unevia, the places she'd read about in the library's dusty books. Perhaps one day, she'd escape. But for now, she endured.

The sudden, harsh creak of the stable door shattered the silence, and Raelyn's heart skipped a beat. "Raelyn, you lazy wench," came the voice of Grorm, the Master of Horses. His words were a venomous rasp.

She shot up, eyes wide with panic, and saw him standing in the doorway, his beady eyes narrowing as he surveyed her. Grorm's thick, bulging form blocked the entrance, his sweat-slicked skin glistening under the harsh light.

"I didn't mean to," Raelyn stammered, but Grorm cut her off with a sneer.

"You didn't mean to sleep when you were supposed to work?" He moved past her, his steps heavy on the floor, heading toward the tack room. She took a hesitant step back, instinctively putting more distance between herself and the angry man.

"I won't do it again, I promise," she said, her voice trembling, but Grorm's face twisted into a cruel grin.

"No, you won't," he snarled, snatching a riding crop from the tack room. He brandished it with a swift, practiced motion, the crack of the leather echoing through the stable.

Raelyn's breath caught in her throat, her pulse quickening as he advanced. "Please, don't," she begged, her voice barely a whisper. But he didn't stop. With a swift flick of his wrist, he lashed the crop against her back.

The sharp sting of the leather against her skin burned through her tunic, and she gasped in pain. She staggered back, but there was nowhere to go—her back pressed against the cold wooden wall. The horses neighed in alarm, their anxious cries filling the air, but Grorm was relentless.

Tears stung her eyes as the crop struck again, and again. She cringed, trying to shield herself with her arms. "Please, stop," she cried, but he only grinned wider.

"You'll learn your place," Grorm sneered, raising the whip once more. His steps were slow, deliberate, each crack of the leather sending another jolt of pain through her body.

Desperation surged within Raelyn. She threw herself forward, pushing against him with all her might. Grorm lost his balance and toppled backward, his hefty frame crashing to the ground with a thud. This was her chance. She bolted, her heart pounding in her chest, and ran toward the open stable doors. Behind her, Grorm scrambled to his feet, but she was already outside.

Raelyn didn't stop until she was far from the stable, breathing heavily, her skin still burning from the blows. She didn't look back, not even when Grorm's curses followed her into the distance. The tears had stopped, leaving only the quiet sting of humiliation and pain.

The path through the forest was familiar, the gentle rustling of leaves soothing as she walked, trying to regain some semblance of composure. By the time she reached the hilltop overlooking Ardesco, the tears were dried, but her eyes still felt raw. From here, the castle looked different—old, crooked towers reaching toward the sky, ivy crawling up the stone walls like veins in a weary body. To her, it was beautiful in its imperfections, a reflection of her own life.

Raelyn descended into Westwell, the nearby village, where the cobbled streets seemed to stretch endlessly before her. The village bustled with the life of the market, vendors calling out their wares—fruits, fabrics, trinkets, and charms. Yet, even after all these years, she could feel the eyes of the villagers following her, the whispers of her white hair still stirring curiosity. The whispers began as soon as she entered the square, hushed but biting.

"That cursed girl," one woman murmured, her voice heavy with contempt.

"The gods marked her," a vendor added, leaning closer to another.

Even here, the world seemed determined to remind her of her place. The whispers of her white hair, the looks of disdain from those who saw it, were like unseen hands pushing her further into the shadows. She had heard the rumors her entire life—white hair meant curses, the ire of the gods. It was as if her very existence carried the weight of their fear and scorn. They didn't see her as a person, only a harbinger of misfortune, someone to blame when crops failed or sickness spread. Her mere presence unsettled them.

She passed through the crowded square, the air thick with the scent of fresh bread and the sound of haggling merchants. She spotted a boy—skinny, ragged, his face dirty—trying to slip a loaf of bread under his arm as a merchant shouted after him.

Raelyn stepped forward, her voice soft but firm. "What's going on here?" she asked.

The merchant scowled. "This thief tried to steal my bread."

Raelyn looked at the boy, his eyes wide with fear, then down at the loaf clutched under his arm. His clothes were in tatters, his body thin from hunger. "Give it back," she said gently, squatting to meet his eyes. "It's not right to steal."

The boy hesitated, his gaze flicking between her and the merchant. Slowly, he handed her the bread, avoiding her gaze. The merchant grunted and turned away.

Raelyn smiled at the boy, ruffling his hair. "You did the right thing." Then, without missing a beat, she took the loaf and leaned over the stall, handing it back to the merchant. "Here you go, good sir," she said sweetly, then, in one smooth motion, slid a freshly baked bun under her tunic and hid it from view.

"Hey, kid," she called as the boy started to walk away. He turned, confusion in his eyes, just as the bun flew through the air toward him. His hands caught it instinctively, and for the first time, a smile spread across his face.

"Thanks," he whispered, looking up at her with wide eyes.

Before Raelyn could respond, the merchant appeared, red-faced and shouting, "Thieves!"

The boy turned and bolted, disappearing into the throng of people as the merchant gave chase. Raelyn chuckled softly, shaking her head. But as she turned to leave, she caught the wary glares of nearby villagers.

"See what I mean?" a man muttered, his voice dripping with disdain. "She brings nothing but trouble."

"She's bad luck," another whispered. "Always has been. If the gods marked her, it was for a reason."

Raelyn's smile faded, the weight of their judgment pressing heavily on her as she made her way out of the square. She didn't look back, her thoughts already drifting back to the castle on the hill.