Morning sunlight spilled through the tall arched windows of the royal dining chamber, illuminating the long table of polished walnut that stretched across the room.
The chamber was quieter than the grand banquet halls used for court feasts. This room was reserved for the royal family alone, though even here servants moved carefully along the walls, setting silver trays and crystal cups upon the table.
At the head of it sat King Ivan Vranov of Ivanova.
His presence filled the room with the calm authority of a ruler accustomed to command. His dark hair, streaked faintly with silver, caught the morning light as he read over a parchment while sipping his tea.
To his right sat Queen Augusta.
Her posture was flawless, her expression composed in that elegant, watchful way she always carried. Her sharp blue eyes missed very little within these palace walls.
The Vranov Royal Daughters had begun to gather.
The eldest sat nearest the queen.
Princess Katarina Vranov of Ivanova.
At twenty-five, Katarina possessed a refined beauty that had made her a favorite subject of many marriage negotiations across neighboring kingdoms. Her hair was a deep chestnut brown, always styled in intricate braids that signaled both elegance and authority.
Katarina held herself like someone who believed the throne room should have been her natural stage.
Beside her sat the second daughter.
Princess Elizaveta Vranov of Ivanova.
She was twenty-three and far more delicate in appearance than her older sister. Her golden hair fell in soft waves down her back, and she spoke little, though her quietness often concealed a mind that observed everything.
Elizaveta had long ago mastered the art of smiling politely while saying almost nothing.
Across from them sat the third sister.
Princess Milena Vranov of Ivanova.
At twenty-one, Milena carried a lively energy that rarely remained still. She had inherited her father's dark hair and sharp eyes, and her laughter often filled the palace halls.
But beneath that laughter lived a temper that appeared quickly when crossed.
Next to her sat the fourth daughter.
Princess Danika Vranov of Ivanova.
She was nineteen, only a year older than Ariana, and perhaps the most outwardly charming of the sisters.
Danika possessed soft brown curls and a voice so gentle that many courtiers believed her to be the sweetest of the royal daughters.
Those who knew the palace well understood that sweetness could often hide sharper thoughts.
The final seat at the table remained empty for a moment longer.
Then the doors opened.
Princess Ariana Vranov Ivanova stepped into the chamber.
Even the servants along the walls lifted their heads slightly.
Ariana's presence always carried that effect.
Her fiery red hair flowed down her back like a living flame — a rare inheritance from her grandmother, the former Queen. It contrasted strikingly with her deep blue eyes, a trait she had inherited from Queen Augusta herself.
The combination made her beauty almost ethereal.
It was the kind of beauty that turned heads in every hall of the kingdom.
King Ivan looked up from his parchment the moment she entered.
A warm smile touched his face.
"Ariana."
"Good morning, Father."
Her voice carried a softness that balanced her confidence as she moved toward the table.
Queen Augusta watched her quietly.
Ariana greeted each of her sisters with polite nods before taking the final seat.
"Good morning," she said.
"Good morning," Katarina replied smoothly.
Milena smiled brightly.
"You look radiant today, Ariana."
Danika tilted her head slightly.
"Your hair is especially beautiful this morning."
Elizaveta added gently, "It suits you."
The compliments came easily.
Too easily.
Ariana had lived inside the palace long enough to recognize the tone beneath them.
The smiles were warm.
The eyes were not.
She returned the courtesy anyway.
"Thank you."
The conversation around the table resumed as servants poured tea and arranged the morning meal.
Milena leaned forward slightly.
"Father, I heard from Lady Verena yesterday that another envoy has arrived from the western territories."
King Ivan nodded.
"They seek stronger trade agreements."
Katarina smiled faintly.
"Or perhaps stronger alliances."
Her meaning was clear.
Royal daughters often served as bridges between kingdoms.
Queen Augusta's gaze flicked briefly toward Ariana before returning to her cup.
Danika spoke next.
"I wonder which of us they hope to charm this time."
Milena laughed.
"Perhaps all of us."
Their laughter sounded light.
But beneath the table, Ariana noticed the subtle glance Katarina cast in her direction.
It lasted only a moment.
But it was enough.
Ariana had grown up among these women.
She knew their patterns.
She knew the quiet conversations that happened when she left a room.
She knew the way their smiles sometimes tightened when courtiers praised her beauty too loudly.
She also knew they would never show that bitterness openly.
Not while their father watched.
Not while the court adored the youngest princess.
Ariana lifted her teacup calmly.
If she noticed their whispers, she never allowed it to show.
Across the table, Elizaveta spoke again.
"I heard something interesting this morning."
Milena looked curious.
"Oh?"
"A merchant arrived late last night from the northern trade roads."
Katarina raised a brow.
"And?"
Elizaveta folded her hands neatly.
"He claimed that entire kingdoms are falling to a single ruler."
Danika leaned closer.
"Another warlord?"
"Perhaps."
Elizaveta glanced briefly toward their father before continuing.
"They say the King of Draco is expanding his territories."
Milena frowned.
"Draco?"
"Yes."
Katarina looked thoughtful.
"I have heard the name before."
Ariana listened quietly.
Kings conquered lands every year.
It was hardly unusual.
Danika shrugged lightly.
"Men chasing glory again."
Milena smirked.
"They always are."
King Ivan set his parchment aside and spoke calmly.
"Wars in distant lands do not concern this table."
The daughters fell silent immediately.
Ariana noticed the way her father's voice settled the room.
He had always possessed that quiet authority.
Queen Augusta studied Ariana for a moment longer before finally speaking.
"A princess should concern herself with her kingdom first."
Her words were gentle.
But the message beneath them was not.
Ariana met her mother's gaze without hesitation.
"Of course, Mother."
The tension lasted only a moment before the morning meal continued.
Conversations shifted toward court events, visiting nobles, and preparations for upcoming festivals.
But beneath the polished manners and royal composure…
The unspoken rivalries between the Sisters of the Crown remained.
And Ariana, the youngest among them, understood them better than any of them realized.
**********************************
The breakfast hall had emptied, the echoes of conversation and clinking silverware fading into the polished marble.
Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, gilding the intricate tapestries and casting golden patterns across the long, oak table.
The royal family had risen, the servants quietly collecting the remnants of the morning meal, and the chatter of alliances, suitors, and succession had dwindled to murmurs.
**********************************
Far beyond the borders of Ivanova, in the heart of the Draco Kingdom, a chamber unlike any mortal abode gleamed with an ethereal light.
It was silent except for the faint hum of power, a vibration that seemed to echo in the very bones of the mountains.
The Oracle resided here—a dragon spirit of immense majesty, its scales shimmering like liquid silver and sapphire, eyes luminous with knowledge that spanned centuries.
The Oracle stirred, wings folding in a motion that rippled light across the vaulted chamber.
Its' gaze, vast and encompassing, swept over the land, reaching into the far corners of the world.
And it sensed it—something faint, a pulse unlike any other, a presence that had only just begun to assert itself. It was alive, vibrant, tethered to a destiny the Oracle could not fully comprehend.
But then, as always, the vision faltered.
Fragments shattered, visions splintering into shards of possibility.
Alexander's inner dragon, bound tightly by forces the Oracle could not pierce, cast a veil across the spirit's perception.
Every attempt to see clearly, to understand, was met with obstruction—an invisible hand that twisted the flow of magic.
Yet still, the Oracle could feel it: a potential match, a thread weaving through the currents of the world.
A life, small but potent, stirring with the promise of connection.
The Oracle's voice, usually calm and resonant, vibrated with a whisper that no human ear could catch.
"It exists… somewhere. Vital… yet veiled. Frustration clouds the clarity. Hidden, elusive… but near. Too near to ignore."
The chamber pulsed with light as the Oracle shifted, its massive form coiling gracefully around the dais.
Each movement stirred the ambient air, scattering motes of power like sparks across the walls.
The vision flickered again, the potential presence teasing, just beyond reach.
The Oracle's senses strained, catching glimpses of warmth, fleeting colors, a life threaded with fate—but no more.
The details remained obscured, as if the world itself had conspired to shield the truth.
And so it remained, perched in its holy sanctum, radiant and immense, aware yet powerless, feeling the tug of a destiny it could not name.
Somewhere, in the sunlit lands far beyond its chamber, a life moved unknowingly into the orbit of something far greater than itself.
And the Oracle, ancient, vigilant, and endlessly patient, could only wait—its holy heart sensing the stirrings of a future it longed to truly understand, yet could not.
"The dragontamer has been hidden.."