The day I was born, I was supposed to be the wind child, the final piece of the prophecy that would complete our family. For years, my siblings and I had been the living embodiment of the elements—each of us representing one of the forces that shaped Elorath. But when my twin sisters were born, things didn’t go as expected.

I was the wind child, my hair light and free like the breeze, always swirling with an unseen current. But then came Eira. She had silver-gray hair, no elemental power, and those hollow eyes that didn’t reflect the life force the royal bloodline was known for. The moment the queen and king laid eyes on her, I knew things would never be the same. She was different, and they didn’t know how to accept it. The room went cold when her name was mentioned.

While I was celebrated for my powers, Eira was cast aside, hidden away. The queen and king ordered a private chamber for her on the farthest edge of the palace, away from the warmth of the family. Her name rarely passed anyone’s lips, and when it did, it was said with a sense of doubt, fear, or worse—disappointment.

I could see it in the way they looked at her, with pity or uncertainty. And I hated it. I didn’t understand why they treated her like she didn’t belong. She was still a princess, after all. She was still family. But they isolated her, as if her lack of power was some terrible flaw. The other servants—quick to see weakness—were cruel to her in ways I could never stand to watch. They whispered behind her back, mocking her silence and her inability to wield the elements.

No one really talked to her. No one seemed to care. It was as if she was invisible, a shadow in a palace full of light. And every time I passed her dark, lonely room, I could feel the weight of the silence pressing down on her. It hurt me. I wanted to be there, to tell her it wasn’t her fault, that she wasn’t broken. But I knew how the palace worked. I was a princess, yes, but my place was still with my family—the celebrated ones, the ones with the power.

But Eira, she