Cold moisture clung to the leaded glass, fogging the narrow view of the outside world. Aurelia pressed her forehead against the freezing obsidian frame, ignoring the persistent, dull ache that pulsed behind her temples. Far below, a gilded carriage rolled slowly through the massive iron gates of the outer perimeter, its heavy wooden wheels churning the thick, black mud of the valley. Rain lashed the curved carriage roof, blurring the proud golden sunburst crest painted on its side panels. Heavy droplets hammered a relentless rhythm against her window, filling the cavernous room with an oppressive, hollow sound. Trembling fingers traced the glass, leaving faint, erratic grey smudges on the dark surface. Inside that carriage sat her mother and father, wrapped in layers of velvet and fur, fleeing the very monster they believed they had birthed. Happy sixteenth birthday to the exiled princess of Solis. Thunder shook the spire, rattling the iron hinges of the heavy oak door. Silence swallowed the echo, leaving her alone with the howling wind. She hated them. Every muscle in her body was tense as she watched the golden speck of the carriage shrink until it was nothing but a memory in the grey downpour. Solitude was a physical weight, pressing down on her chest until breathing felt like swallowing glass. Just yesterday, she had been a princess of the realm, adorned in pearls and toasted by dukes. Today, she was a prisoner in the Obsidian Spire, a desolate tower built on a volcanic wasteland at the edge of the map. High priests of the Elder Synod had spoken, and their word was law. "She will burn the empire to ash," they had chanted, their withered hands pointing at her during the trial in the grand cathedral. Fear had turned her parents' eyes to stone. Instead of defending her, they had signed the decree of exile, trading her life for a fragile peace. Memories of her mother's tearless goodbye burned hotter than any fire. "It is for the good of the realm, Aurelia," her father had muttered, refusing to look her in the eyes. Cowards. Hypocrites who traded their own blood to maintain their throne. Turning away from the window, she surveyed her new kingdom of dust and shadow. Dead air filled her lungs, smelling of dry rot and ancient stone. Black walls rose high above her, curving into a pointed dome that trapped the cold. Scattered pieces of broken wooden furniture lay rotting in the corners, left behind by some long-forgotten occupant. Dirt coated her heavy velvet gown, dragging her down like lead weights. Tears threatened to spill, hot and furious, but she forced them back. Crying was a weakness she could no longer afford. If they wanted a monster, she would survive long enough to show them what a monster truly looked like. Rage, cold and sharp as winter ice, began to calcify around her heart. --- Walking toward the center of the room, her boots clicked against the dark flagstones. Pushing against the heavy oak door yielded nothing but a dull, mocking thud. Iron bands bound the wood, sealed with runic locks that hummed with a faint, suppressive magic. Aurelia kicked the base of the door, pain radiating up her shin. "Let me out!" she screamed, her voice cracking under the strain. Only her own echo answered, bouncing off the damp stone walls. Nobody was coming to save her. Her younger sister, Lyra, would probably inherit her dresses, her canopy bed, her silver hairpins. Bitter resentment pooled in her stomach like acid. Lyra had always been the golden child, the one who smiled for the court and never questioned the priests. As a child, Aurelia had spent her nights reading forbidden histories and questioning why the Synod demanded so much gold from the peasants. Perhaps that was the real reason they branded her a harbinger of doom. Free thinkers were dangerous to empires built on blind faith. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around her chest, trying to stave off the biting cold. Wind whistled through the cracks of the masonry, carrying the scent of pine and distant civilization. Just a few miles away, people were sitting by warm hearths, drinking spiced wine, completely oblivious to her slow death. Hunger began to gnaw at her belly, a sharp reminder of her fragile mortality. They had left her a single loaf of stale barley bread and a wooden pitcher of water. It was a slow execution masquerading as an exile. "They expect me to wither," she whispered to the empty room. "I will never crawl and beg for mercy." Dry, cold air caught in her throat as she laughed. Never. If she died here, her bones would become a monument to their cruelty. But she had no intention of dying. --- Memories of the arduous journey to this desolate peak flooded her mind. Two weeks she had spent locked in a rusted iron cage, dragged behind a military wagon. Rain had soaked her to the skin, and the wind had chapped her lips until they bled. Crowds in the villages they passed had thrown rotten fruit and stones, screaming curses at the "harbinger." Soldiers guarding the carriage had ignored her pleas for dry clothes or a blanket. Only one young guard had shown a shred of humanity, slipping her a piece of salted beef when the others weren't looking. Even his kindness had been laced with pity, a look that made her stomach churn. Pity was just another form of condescension. She didn't want their pity; she wanted their respect. Most of all, she wanted to see the look of absolute terror on their faces when they realized they had made an enemy of the wrong princess. Night fell over the obsidian spire like a heavy velvet curtain, blotting out the last grey light of day. Pitch-black darkness swallowed the room, making it impossible to see her own hands. Cold intensified, creeping up from the stone floor and sinking into her bones. Aurelia crawled toward a corner, dragging her heavy dress behind her. Huddling against the rough wall, she pulled her knees to her chest. Every muscle in her body trembled, partly from the freezing wind and partly from sheer exhaustion. Thoughts of her childhood kitchen drifted into her mind, warm and fragrant with baked cinnamon and roasting meats. She remembered the crackle of the great hearth in the royal library, where she used to hide from her tutors. Tears finally slipped down her cheeks, burning hot against her icy skin. Angrily, she wiped them away with the back of her sleeve. Weakness was a luxury for princesses, and she was no longer a princess. She was a prisoner. A pariah. Branded by old men who feared her mind, locked away in a tower at the edge of the world. "Let them fear me," she whispered into the dark, her voice steadying. Hatred was a remarkable fuel, burning cleaner and hotter than any wood fire. It kept her fingers from going numb. This dark fuel gave her a reason to draw her next breath. Hours dragged by, marked only by the steady dripping of water from a crack in the ceiling. Plip. Plop. Plip. Each drop felt like a countdown to her doom. Standing up, she decided she could not sit still any longer. Moving in the dark was dangerous, but inactivity felt like surrender. She dragged her hands along the wall, feeling the cold, smooth texture of the obsidian. Volcanic glass, polished to a mirror shine, yet completely devoid of life. Suddenly, her foot caught on an uneven stone. Falling forward, she gasped as her hands slammed into the hard masonry. Sharp pain shot through her wrists. Groaning, she sat up, cradling her bruised hands. Frustration boiled over, hot and chaotic, shattering her fragile composure. "Why?!" she screamed at the ceiling, her voice cracking. "What did I do to deserve this?!" No answer came. Imperial gods were silent, as they always were when the innocent suffered. Standing up once more, Aurelia felt a wave of reckless fury wash over her. She needed to strike something, to break something, to prove she still had a voice. Balling her hands into tight fists, she turned toward the nearest wall. With all the strength left in her small body, she threw a punch at the solid obsidian. As she strikes the wall in frustration, her bleeding knuckles activate a hidden, glowing violet seal that causes the stone floor beneath her to collapse into a subterranean vault.

Chapter 1: A Cage of Black Glass