In the heart of Elorath, the sacred tree loomed, its roots burrowing deep into the earth, drawing power from the very elements—fire, water, earth, and wind. For generations, our kingdom flourished under its blessing, and our family upheld the ancient tradition: four children, each representing one of these elemental forces.

But this time, everything was different.

Mother, already the mother of three—each gifted with an elemental power—was pregnant again. Everyone expected the final child to be the wind child, completing the prophecy. But when she was born, there was only confusion. Two daughters, not one. The first, with wind flowing in her hair, was as expected. But the other—Eira—was not. Her silver-gray hair and empty eyes marked her as something else. Nothing. She had no power. No element.

Mother and Father, their faces unreadable, treated the children differently from the start. The first three of us, celebrated for our gifts, were raised at the heart of the palace, adored by the court. But Eira... Eira was different. She was a reminder of imperfection. Though she was still called a princess, she was kept distant from us. They built her a chamber in the farthest corner of the palace, isolated from the rest of us. No one spoke her name outside of the palace walls.

I never paid her much attention, and why should I? The court saw her as a curiosity, nothing more than an anomaly in our perfect family. The other servants and maids, quick to judge, treated her with disdain. They whispered cruelly behind her back, mocking her silence and her lack of power. I don’t care for her, and I don’t think anyone else does. I never saw the need to acknowledge her.