Night had swallowed the last rays of sun, and the corridors of the Valemortis mansion were now illuminated by the soft light of chandeliers and sconces. Elyandra walked silently, her light steps echoing on the velvety carpets, when she spotted her father and Dalia in a serious conversation in a side hallway. Lord Valemortis, with his imposing posture and austere countenance, gestured as he spoke. Dalia listened intently, her expression professional and focused. The atmosphere between them was heavy with strategic weight—clearly matters of a military nature.
Sensing the seriousness of the dialogue, Elyandra instinctively tried to retreat, seeking a shortcut to avoid their attention. "Better not disturb them," she thought, already turning to follow another corridor. However, before she could take more than a few steps, her father's deep and unmistakable voice echoed down the hall.
— Elyandra.
Her body froze instantly. Slowly, with her learned formality, she turned. Her golden eyes first met her father's, then Dalia's brown ones.
— Good evening, Father. Good evening, Dalia.
Both approached, their faces softening slightly as they addressed the birthday girl.
— Happy birthday, Elyandra — Lord Valemortis said, his voice firm but carrying a note of paternal affection.
— Happy birthday, Lady Elyandra — Dalia added, her habitual formality tempered by a slight recognition of the occasion.
Elyandra offered a small, elegant nod, gratitude visible in her golden eyes.
— Thank you, Father. Thank you, Dalia.
Lord Valemortis observed her with a piercing gaze, his posture still formal, but with genuine curiosity in his features.
— And how are the preparations for the exams, Elyandra? Do you feel ready?
The girl hesitated for a brief moment. Her thoughts raced through the countless days of grueling training, the nights of study, and the pressure of expectation. She weighed the real extent of her preparation, the uncertainty inherent in any evaluation. Finally, with a composure that belied her age, she replied:
— Within the planned parameters, Father.
— I see — Lord Valemortis stated, that single word laden with imposing firmness, before passing by her. Dalia followed closely behind.
The tutor, however, paused her steps. She knelt beside the little Valemortis. Even kneeling, her posture maintained its military rigidity, but her brown eyes softened slightly as they met Elyandra's. Her firm hand rested briefly on the girl's shoulder.
— Lady Elyandra — Dalia said, her voice maintaining the formality of her position, but with a nuance of solemnity. — Do not let yourself be carried away by excessive thoughts. Lord Valemortis is a man of his position, with the responsibilities it entails. His rigidity is part of that. But he holds a great appreciation for you, and he has prepared something special that awaits you in your quarters.
With a slight squeeze of the shoulder—a nearly paternal gesture disguised under the mask of a recruit's farewell—Dalia rose with the same austere composure and resumed following Lord Valemortis down the corridor.
Elyandra watched the two distance themselves, her mind working at a fast pace. Her pragmatic and slightly suspicious gaze remained fixed on her tutor's back. "Appreciation? Something prepared?" Dalia's words echoed as she tried to decipher the meaning behind that brief interaction. Her father's rigidity was familiar, but the mention of a gift... that sparked a cautious curiosity in the young noble. What could Lord Valemortis, usually so reserved in his demonstrations of affection, have prepared for her?
Alone again in the now-silent corridor, Elyandra proceeded toward her quarters, small fingers interlaced behind her back in a thoughtful gesture. The curiosity planted by Dalia's words began to bloom. "What could Father have prepared?" The question spun in her head, feeding a hint of hesitant expectation.
The truth was that the father figure had always been an enigma to Elyandra. Their interactions were like brief diplomatic encounters: formal, concise, and devoid of real intimacy. Lord Valemortis was an imposing presence, shrouded in an aura of power and responsibility, and his words to Elyandra rarely extended beyond what was necessary. She couldn't decipher her father's layers, nor could she trace a profile of his tastes, feelings, or deeper motivations. He was a distant figure, respected and feared, but hardly understood. The idea that he might have prepared something special for her was both intriguing and a bit disconcerting. What kind of gift would a man like Lord Valemortis give his daughter? Would it be something practical, something reflecting her noble status, or perhaps... something more personal? The doubt persisted, hanging in the air like a faint melody of mystery.
Turning the handle and pushing the door to her room open, Elyandra entered the space with the caution of a hawk eyeing its prey—or, more precisely, like a hungry kitten sniffing out a possible feast. Her golden eyes scanned every corner for any unusual change. Her attention was immediately captured by an imposing object on the bed.
A box. Not just any box, but a volume that exceeded her own height. For a brief moment, her eyes shone with a mix of pure childish curiosity and genuine surprise. What could such an enormity contain? With slow and hesitant steps, as if fearing to wake a sleeping giant, she approached, keeping her eyes fixed on the mysterious object.
The box's design was the epitome of the refined elegance expected of the high Valemortis nobility. Pale sky-blue panels adorned with intricate white details that seemed to bloom on the surface. A discreet magical seal, engraved with silver runes, shimmered slightly—a silent warning that only the pre-registered magic of a specific individual could break its protections.
Upon the lid lay a letter. The paper was a pale gold, almost ethereal, and Lord Valemortis's seal—the imposing double-headed eagle of House Valemortis pressed in red wax—adorned the center. With a hesitant hand, a mix of expectation and apprehension dancing in her chest, Elyandra reached out and picked up the letter. The weight of the golden paper in her small hand seemed to carry the solemnity of a royal decree. What could her father's sealed words reveal?
The golden letter in her hands seemed to radiate an air of solemn mystery, prompting Elyandra's childish mind to embark on a torrent of hilarious and unlikely speculations about its content.
"Could it be a decree? A royal order disguised as a birthday letter?" She imagined the double-headed eagle seal coming to life, squawking imperial orders about future marriages. "Oh, heavens! Has Father already arranged a marriage for me? To some distant prince with bushy eyebrows and a stamp collection?" Her mind visualized a miniature wedding dress coming out of the massive box, made of heavy brocade and adorned with pearls the size of peas. "How horrific! And what if he's already chosen names for grandchildren? Eustace and... Genoveva?" A shiver ran down her spine.
Her imagination galloped wildly, weaving increasingly absurd scenarios. "What if the box isn't a gift but... a portal? To another dimension? Where furry creatures live that speak backward and eat blue mushroom soup?" She even imagined her father, with a solemn expression, explaining that it was her duty to marry the leader of that people to seal an interdimensional alliance.
Her thoughts took an even more bizarre turn. "Or perhaps... the letter is a map! To a hidden treasure deep in the mansion's dungeons? And the box contains the tools necessary for the expedition: a rusty shovel, a ridiculously large explorer's hat, and a scroll with indecipherable riddles?"
The sequence of surreal thoughts made her wave her hands frantically over her head, as if trying to shoo away particularly persistent mosquitoes. "No, no, no! Father wouldn't do such a thing! He's... he's Lord Valemortis! He has a certain decorum! At least that's what I imagine." A hint of uncertainty wavered in her conviction. The idea of her father orchestrating an arranged child marriage or sending her on an interdimensional adventure seemed so absurd it bordered on unbelievable. "Please, let it just be... a normal gift," she silently pleaded to her imaginary buttons.
With slightly trembling fingers, Elyandra broke the wax seal of the golden letter. The paper, smooth to the touch, revealed an elegant and ornate handwriting, the letters flowing with almost theatrical fluidity, shining softly in the room's light. It was the unmistakable script of her father, Lord Valemortis.
"My dear Elyandra,
On this, your ninth birthday, I allow myself to express the gratitude that your presence has brought to this house throughout these years. I wish you health and that fortune always favors your paths. Know that House Valemortis remains firm in its support, whatever your goals may be.
I confess that I have observed with... a certain perplexity the remarkable transformation that has taken hold of you after the loss of our esteemed Siris. Your sudden interest and dedication to training under Dalia's guidance have not gone unnoticed, and I must admit they cause me a dose of concern. I do not entirely understand the nature of the goals that now drive you with such intensity.
However, you are a Valemortis. And as such, I presume that your goals, in the end, will be aligned with the welfare and honor of our family. The object you will find in this box may or may not be something that pleases you at this moment. However, know that it belongs uniquely to you, and only you will have the prerogative to decide when and how to use it. It is a worthy gift, commissioned from trusted hands, made to measure for my daughter. Its utility... that is a discovery that only you, Elyandra, can make.
With the highest consideration, Lord Valemortis"
By the end of the reading, Elyandra held the golden letter, her mind spinning with her father's words. There was a tone of recognition and even a certain veiled admiration, mixed with concern and a lack of understanding. The mystery of the box, now wrapped in those enigmatic words, became even more intriguing. What could be a gift so significant and personal, whose use would be exclusively hers?
Elyandra swallowed hard, the same hungry anxiety of a gamer about to uncover a legendary treasure taking hold of her. Her hand hesitated in the air for a few moments, hovering over the box like an undecided butterfly, curiosity and a certain fear dancing within her. Finally, with a nearly inaudible sigh, her finger touched the magical seal.
At the moment of contact, the seal glowed with surprising intensity, radiating a translucent white light that raced through the cracks of the box like veins of energy lighting up. With a soft click, the seal dissolved, releasing the lid. The box opened slowly, revealing its contents as Elyandra waited, golden eyes wide, gripped by a nearly painful curiosity.
The faint light of the room caressed a rigid, deep-dark object that seemed to emit its own subtle glow. Elyandra was faced with a sword. Not just any sword, but a work of martial art, with intricate engravings of the Valemortis family adorning the hilt and her own name, "Elyandra," etched in elegant inscriptions along the blade.
The little Valemortis brought her hand closer, a mix of perplexity and reverence guiding her movement. Her hesitant fingers touched the cold, smooth surface of the blade. The exact moment her skin made contact, an intense glow emanated from the sword, absorbing Elyandra's mana in a smooth and powerful flow. The dark blade seemed to wake up, gaining a vibrant golden glow from the point of her touch, as if the sun itself had been imprisoned in its steel.
The brightness intensified, becoming so blinding that Elyandra instinctively raised her hand to shield her eyes, glimpsing an ethereal beauty between her fingers. Her lips remained sealed, paralyzed by admiration. But in her mind, a whirlwind of silent exclamations echoed. "Impressive... magnificent... unbelievable..." She was in a frenetic ecstasy, a wave of admiration so overwhelming that no words could express the wonder of the object before her. She thought and rethought, but her mind was so overloaded that no coherent phrase could form. The sword, gifted by her enigmatic father, was much more than an object; it was an extension of her own magic, a silent symbol of a future she could barely begin to imagine.
Elyandra's eyes shone with a nearly feverish intensity, the same contained excitement of a player absorbed in the anticipation of a powerful, yet still inaccessible, item.
— It's like... a very high-level legendary weapon — she whispered, her voice carrying a mix of playful frustration and pure excitement. — "Requires level..." But it's mine! Mine!
She looked at the sword with childish possessiveness, but with the strategic vision of a commander planning their next move.
— I'm going to keep you like a rare, limited-edition action figure. The kind that only hardcore collectors with black credit cards get to have. Like... the Holy Grail of collectibles. This sword is my real-life "action figure." One day... one day I'll have enough "level" to use you.
A mischievous smile danced on her lips. The wait, somehow, made the possession even more exciting. That dormant treasure in her room was a silent promise of future power, a constant incentive to keep growing and training. The little Valemortis, with her grand sword and her contagious enthusiasm, seemed ready to face any challenge the future held, even if she had to "level up" a lot for it.
With a final look of pure admiration at the box, Elyandra closed the lid carefully, the soft click of the latch sounding like the confirmation of a silent promise. That night, the little Valemortis found her sleep in a peculiar way. The box, imposing in its size, became her bedmate, both wrapped in the protective warmth of the blanket. The scene, certainly unusual to any outside observer, represented a peak of contentment for Elyandra. It was the tangible personification of a wish fulfilled, a silent luxury that filled her with genuine, almost palpable happiness. In her thoughts, a fervent thank-you echoed toward her father—not a simple, formal "thank you," but a silent explosion of deep and turbulent joy, a childish and sincere recognition of that extraordinary gift that had lit a new flame in her young heart.