Eina Tokio doesn't just carry nobility she is defined by it. As the daughter of Cion, her presence feels inherited, not learned. There's something unmistakably "royal bloodline" about her, as if power runs through her before she even chooses how to use it.
Her eyes—those striking, luminous blue—feel like a direct legacy. There's a quiet authority in them that suggests she was raised under expectation, not comfort. When she looks at someone, it can feel like standing before a throne rather than a person.
Her dark hair, soft and slightly untamed, creates a contrast to that control. It moves freely, almost rebelliously, hinting that while she is Cion's daughter, she is not a perfect reflection. There's individuality there—something that refuses to be entirely shaped by lineage.
Her expression is where her heritage shows most clearly. It's composed, reserved, almost unreadable. Not cold—but disciplined. The kind of face trained from a young age to reveal nothing unless necessary. As First Princess of Astroling, she learned early that vulnerability can be used against her, and she wears that lesson like armor.
Physically, she's not imposing—but she doesn't need to be. Her strength is in how she carries herself: straight-backed, controlled, deliberate. Even stillness feels intentional. She doesn't demand attention; she naturally holds it.
But there's something deeper beneath all of that—something more human. Being Cion's daughter likely means living in the shadow of a powerful legacy, constantly compared, constantly expected to match or exceed it. That tension shows in the subtle tightness of her posture, the restraint in her emotions, the way her softness never fully disappears but is always held back.
And as Kion's twin, there's an added layer—someone who shares her origin, her blood, her expectations. But where twins often mirror each other, Eina feels like the quieter side of that reflection. If Kion is fire, she is controlled flame—contained, focused, and far more dangerous for it.
Eina Tokio isn't just a princess.
She's the weight of a legacy, carried with elegance—and just enough resistance to make her unpredictable.
Iona Gaia and Aiona Geia carry the kind of beauty that feels almost mirrored magic—two reflections of the same origin, separated only by the smallest, most deliberate detail.
At first glance, they are nearly indistinguishable. Both stand at 5'1, their height giving them a deceptively soft, almost delicate presence. But there's nothing weak about them. Like daughters of Krince, their power doesn't need to be loud—it rests in precision, in poise, in the way they hold themselves as if they were born knowing exactly who they are.
Their hair is a rich, burnished auburn—deep and warm, catching light like copper touched by fire. It falls in soft, natural layers, slightly tousled, with light bangs framing their faces. There's movement in it, a kind of effortless grace, as though even stillness bends around them.
Their eyes are large and dark, almost liquid in depth. They don't just look—they pull. There's an intensity behind them, something quietly calculating, but also curious.
Their features are soft but striking: smooth, pale skin, gently flushed at the cheeks; small, straight noses; and full lips that naturally hold a thoughtful, slightly parted expression. They both have that rare balance—youthful softness mixed with a subtle, knowing maturity.
The difference—the only visible difference—is the small mole just beneath Iona Gaia's lower lip. It's subtle, but once noticed, it becomes unmistakable. It gives her face a touch of individuality, a signature mark that quietly sets her apart from her twin. Aiona, without it, appears almost too perfect—like an untouched reflection, smooth and uninterrupted.
But beyond appearance, their identities begin to separate more clearly.
Iona Gaia, the second princess, carries a slightly softer energy. There's something more open in her expression, even if she doesn't speak much. The mole beneath her lip somehow adds to that—grounding her, making her feel just a bit more real, more approachable. She feels like someone who observes and feels deeply, even if she doesn't always act on it.
Aiona Geia, the first princess, feels sharper. Not colder—but more refined, more controlled. Without that small imperfection, her beauty leans toward something almost untouchable. Her gaze lingers longer, weighs more. There's a sense that she's always aware of her role, her responsibility, and the expectations placed on her as the firstborn.
Together, they are balance.
Iona is the quiet warmth behind the throne—the breath, the pause, the unspoken thought.
Aiona is the face of it—the stillness, the decision, the crown carried without hesitation.
And as daughters of Krince, there's something undeniable in both of them: a shared strength, a shared origin, and a bond that goes beyond resemblance. They don't just look alike—they exist in relation to each other, like two halves of the same design… separated only so the world can see them more clearly.
Dawn hadn't broken yet. The sky was bruised purple, and the town was already frantic. Lanterns ignited like warning flares. Magic cracked across rooftops. Illusions flared and vanished in the air like nervous sparks. Villagers moved fast, breathless, desperate to please a king who could level their homes with a thought. This was not celebration. This was survival.
Krince stood in the center of the square like a commander before battle.
"Cake," he barked. "Three layers. Elegant. Not childish."
"Yes, sir!"
"Fish. Alive until cooking."
"Yes, sir!"
"Bread. I don't want excuses."
Water bent from the river in silver arcs. Fire roared from bare hands. Musicians tuned instruments with trembling fingers.
A wedding or an execution. At the edge of town, Aideon addressed the guards, voice iron-hard.
"She's a dragon. Not everyone will accept that. Search everything. If someone bleeds today, it won't be the Queen"
"Yes, sir!" Inside the palace the air was colder.
Arastella stood at the window, watching them prepare to celebrate her imprisonment. They move like ants for a tyrant. The door opened.
Cion entered first. Smiling. Behind him—Eina.
The twins.
"Good morning, my queen," Cion said smoothly.
"Call me that again," Arastella replied, not turning, "and I will carve the title out of your throat."
The twins stiffened.
Eina didn't.
"You agreed to marry him," Eina said flatly.
Arastella turned slowly.
"Did I?"
Cion chuckled. "You did." Before walking closing the door behind him.
"And you let him chain you?" Iona asked.
Arastella lifted her wrist. The bracelet gleamed.
Gold. Cruel. Aiona swallowed.
"You're a dragon," Eina said, voice sharpening. "Dragons don't kneel."
"I didn't."
Eina stepped closer.
"You think you're clever? You think playing helpless makes you powerful?"
"I don't think about you at all." The words hit harder than a slap.
Eina's hand struck her. The sound cracked through the room. Arastella hit the floor and laughed. Low.Ugly.
She rose in one fluid motion and drove her fist into Eina's jaw. Bone cracked. Blood spilled. The twins screamed. Arastella didn't blink.
"I may not have magic," she said calmly, "but I can still make you bleed."
Eina wiped her mouth slowly, eyes burning.
"He was supposed to be mine."
There it was. The truth.
"He promised me," Eina hissed. "He said I would rule beside him."
Arastella stepped into her space.
"And yet here I stand."
"You stole him."
"If he can be stolen," Arastella whispered, "he was never yours." Hatred thickened the air.
"You think he loves you?" Iona snapped. Arastella's smile turned vicious.
"I think he terrifies you." Eina lunged again
The door exploded open. The temperature dropped.
Castel entered. Black suit. Hair sharp.
Power coiled tight enough to suffocate the room.
Every girl dropped to her knees. Except Arastella.
His eyes locked onto the bruise forming on her cheek.
The doors slammed shut. The pressure descended.
Bodies lifted violently, pinned to the walls. Bones creaked. Breath vanished.
"You dare," Castel said softly, "to mark what is mine?"
The air became lethal. Tears streamed down the twins' faces. Eina gasped as invisible force crushed her ribs.
Arastella moved. She grabbed his wrist.
"I handled it." His power faltered. She stepped closer.
Close enough to feel the heat radiating from him.
"It's done." The room snapped back into place.
The girls collapsed. Castel's gaze never left her.
"You shed blood without my permission," he murmured.
"And you nearly killed them without mine."
A dangerous silence fell. The twins scrambled out of the room. Eina followed last. Humiliated. Bleeding.
Castel stepped into Arastella's space.
"I guess she was your lover," she said quietly.
He studied her face.
"Not even close."
"Did you enjoy us fighting over you?" His jaw tightened.
"I enjoy many things." Her fingers brushed the front of his jacket. Slow. Calculated.
"You enjoy control," she said softly.
"And you enjoy defiance."
The tension between them felt like a drawn blade.
He pulled her flush against him. Not gentle. Not cruel.
Possessive.
"You think I don't see what you're doing?" he murmured.
"What am I doing?"
"Playing." His hand slid up to her jaw, thumb brushing the edge of her bruise.
"You can hate me," he said quietly. "You can plot. You can scheme." His eyes darkened.
"But you are still walking down that aisle."Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"And when I do?" His smile was terrifying.
"The world changes." He released her abruptly and storm out the room.
Maids entered. Fabric. Jewelry. Silk. Preparation resumed. Arastella lay back against the bed, staring at the ceiling.
"Ota volema zote vagel esie," she whispered.
(You will never have my heart.) Her fingers curled around the bracelet.
"Vollema skoto esie."
(But I will burn you alive.) Outside the bells began to ring. And the kingdom held its breath.
Eina POV
I have loved him since childhood.Before crowns.
Before blood. Before the throne made him colder.
Back when he was just Castel. Back when he would sit on the palace roof with me and count constellations, pretending he did not hate being watched. He never looked at me the way I looked at him. Not once.
To him, I was safe. Predictable. A mind he respected.
A presence he trusted. A little sister. I hated that word.
I hated the way he would ruffle my hair and say, "You're too clever for your own good, Eina."
I hated that he never saw how my hands shook when he stood too close. When we were fifteen, he fell in love. Her name was Larees Udor the 1st Princess of the Waterlings. She laughed too loudly. Spoke too freely.
Looked at him like he was a boy instead of a weapon.
I helped him sneak away to see her. I lied to my father.
I lied to the council. I lied to myself. I watched him climb down the palace walls at night, grinning like an idiot, because of her.
He never smiled like that with me. One night, he lost control. No one knows what happened. But the truth is with the help of my sister I messed with his memories . I only met for him to break up with her not kill her.
She was found unrecognizable. And he stood in the center of it, covered in blood. He never said it out loud. But I knew this broke him. He loved her. And his power devoured what he loved. After that, he changed.
He shut down. He stopped smiling. He stopped wanting, he became my father. And I thought this is my chance. If she had never existed, he would have loved me. If she had never distracted him maybe he would have looked at me differently. I hated her.
Even in death. I hated the way she had something I never did. He told me once, years later.
"I can't love like that again."
His voice was hollow when he said it.
"I won't." I asked him what that meant for me.
He looked at me the way he always did.
Carefully. Not cruelly.
"You will rule beside me one day," he said. "When the time comes." Not I love you. Not I choose you.
But a promise. A throne. I took it. I swallowed my pride and took it. If he could not love, I would be indispensable. I would be necessary.
I would be the only one who stayed. Years passed.
He never touched another woman. Never looked twice.
Never let anyone close enough to hurt him again.
And I told myself—It's because he learned.
It's because he knows I am the only one who understands him. I waited. Patient. Loyal. Relentless.
And then—He met her. A dragon from nowhere.
A girl with fire in her eyes who didn't bow.
He looked at her once—And something inside him moved. I saw it. I know him. The way his shoulders shifted. The way his breathing changed. The way the air around him tightened. He didn't shut down.
He ignited. For her. Not me.
For a woman he had known for less than a day.
While I had spent years carving myself into something worthy. And then—He humiliated me.
In front of her. Pinned me to the wall like I was nothing. For touching what he now calls his. His.
He never said that about me. Not once.
I bled in front of her. And he didn't even look ashamed.
Do you know what that does to a person?
To give your life to someone who barely sees you—
And then watch him fall for a stranger? He told me he couldn't love again. He told me love was weakness.
He told me we would rule together. And now he looks at her like she is oxygen. Like she is prophecy.
Like she is the only thing in the room. I don't hate her because she took him. I hate her because she did what I never could. She made him feel. And if he can feel—
Then he lied to me. Which means he chose not to love me. That is worse. I have loved him through blood.
Through war. Through madness. And he never chose me. He chose the dragon. And if she thinks I will kneel quietly while she stands beside him— She does not understand what I have sacrificed. If I cannot have his love— I will have his throne. And if she stands between me and that— Then I will become exactly what he fears. Because I have loved him longer than she has breathed his air. And I will not lose to a girl who met him yesterday. Not again.