Elira stumbled through the forest path, clutching the satchel strapped tightly across her chest. Her royal dress was already snagged with twigs and dirt stains, but she didn’t seem to care—she was humming off-key, brushing leaves out of her tangled braids as she marched on.

“Okay, Elira, you’ve got this,” she muttered to herself, puffing out her cheeks in determination. “Deliver the scroll, save the kingdom, don’t trip over rocks… again.”

She stopped suddenly, eyes darting around. The woods were too quiet. Her grip tightened on the satchel, nervousness flickering through her expression before she forced a crooked grin.

“Alright then… whoever’s out there, I should warn you—I’m terrible at fighting, but I bite really hard!”

Her voice echoed into the silence, leaving the air wide open for an unexpected reply…