The Princess of the Ardenii, now one of a concubine of the King of Marceau, sat in her chamber, her six-year-old son Michaelli perched on her lap. She was a remnant of a tribe that once stood proud and powerful—a matriarchal society unlike any other in a world dominated by men.

  The Ardenii, a legendary tribe, had thrived deep within the ancient forest between Crystaliana and Chalcedony. Known for their wisdom and resilience, they were revered as protectors of nature’s secrets and guardians of sacred groves. Their ways were rooted in balance and harmony, believing the forest to be a living entity that guided and protected them as its chosen daughters.

  But that legacy had been shattered. Long ago, the Ardenii had been wiped out by war, their lands razed, their people slaughtered. The King of Marceau, seeking their rumored power, had captured the last of their leaders. She was made a concubine, stripped of her title and dignity. She bore not a daughter to carry on the Ardenii’s legacy, but a son.

  Now, that son sat before her, his words a reflection of the harsh, male-dominated society of Marceau.

  “Listen, Elli, you should treat women with respect. What you did is wrong,” the princess said firmly, addressing her son after witnessing his mistreatment of a servant girl.

  “But my advisor said women aren’t worth anything, Mother. They only exist to produce,” young Michaelli replied, tilting his head in confusion. “We can treat them however we want.”

  The princess’s heart ached at his words. She gently pulled Michaelli closer, placing him firmly on her lap. “Then, my child, are you going to treat your mother the same way you treated that girl?”

  Michaelli frowned, shaking his head vigorously. “No, Mother! You’re not the same as everyone else. You’re the best, above them all. I was told that I’m above everyone too and that one day I’ll rule over all the weak. I’ll need to dominate them to be a true leader.”

  The princess sighed deeply, brushing her fingers through his dark hair. “And how am I different, my child? We both have one head, two arms, and two legs. I am the same as the others, and so are you. The only difference is that we dress in fine clothes and eat as much as we want while others cannot. Shouldn’t it be our duty to share what we have and be grateful to the women who gave us life? Elli—you grew inside my womb, a woman you seem to think so little of. That makes you no different from anyone else. Didn’t I tell you about my people?”

  Michaelli's brow furrowed as he listened to his mother’s words, confusion flickering in his young eyes. “Your people? The Ardenii?” he asked hesitantly, recalling the stories she had told him before, though they often seemed more like fairy tales than reality.

  The princess nodded, a sad smile tugging at her lips. “Yes, my people, the Ardenii. We were once strong, proud, and united. We lived in harmony with the world, valuing every life equally—man or woman, strong or weak. Women, Elli, were not just mothers or daughters to us. They were leaders, healers, warriors, and sages. They were the lifeblood of our tribe. We believed in balance, in respect for all living things.”

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  She paused, her gaze distant, as if seeing her homeland in her mind’s eye. “But that balance was destroyed by those who thought like your advisors—those who saw women as tools or possessions, not as equals. They tore our lands apart, believing themselves superior. That is why the Ardenii are no more.”

  Michaelli shifted uncomfortably, the weight of her words sinking in. “But... the advisors say that’s how things are supposed to be. That women can’t lead or fight like men can.”

  His mother’s eyes hardened, her voice gaining an edge. “And who decides that? Who claims the right to determine another’s worth? Let me tell you something, Elli. Strength is not just muscle or might. True strength lies in compassion, wisdom, and the courage to protect what is right, even if the world stands against you. That is what the Ardenii believed. That is what I want you to believe.”

  The boy looked down, his small hands fidgeting with the hem of his tunic. “But... how can I do that when everyone else thinks differently?”

  The princess cupped his face gently, lifting his gaze to meet hers. “It will not be easy, my son. To live with honor in a world of cruelty takes more courage than any battle. But you are my child, and I know you have the heart to rise above. Promise me, Elli, that you will think before you act, that you will remember the lessons of the Ardenii and the worth of every person.”

  Michaelli swallowed hard, her words stirring something deep within him. He nodded slowly. “I... I promise, Mother.”

  The princess smiled softly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Good. Remember, my son, a leader who rules with respect will never lack for loyalty. And a heart that understands others will never be truly alone.”

  As Michaelli nestled closer to his mother, the seeds of her wisdom began to take root. Whether they would grow or be buried under the weight of Marceau’s harsh world remained uncertain, but for now, the boy clung to his mother’s words like a lifeline.

  And then, the bright day suddenly darkened, swallowed by a suffocating night.

  “Promise me... you will live, Elli,” his mother’s trembling voice echoed, slicing through the oppressive silence.

  Michaelli froze, wide-eyed. Before him, his beautiful mother sat slumped on the floor, her body drenched in crimson. A dagger jutted from her chest, her delicate hands gripping the hilt. Blood trickled from the corner of her lips as she coughed, her strength slipping away with every passing second.

  “M-Mother?” The now thirteen-year-old Michaelli’s small hands trembled violently as he looked down at them, his mind struggling to grasp what he saw.

  She smiled weakly, her eyes shimmering with both pain and unshakable love. “Forget everything... and live, Elli,” she whispered, her voice a fragile thread holding firm against the abyss.

  Her hands slipped from the dagger’s hilt, and her body crumpled to the ground. Michaelli’s breath hitched as his vision blurred, tears spilling freely down his cheeks.

  [[Present Day]]

  Michaelli woke with a start, gasping for air, his body drenched in a cold sweat. His chest rose and fell in rapid bursts as he clawed his way out of the dream that clung to him like a phantom. The image of his mother, her blood-stained smile and final words, lingered at the edge of his mind, refusing to fade.

  He was back in his pavilion, seated stiffly at his desk. His loyal attendant, Nixon, stood nearby, a steady presence grounding Michaelli in the present.

  “Your Highness, the hunt will begin in a few minutes,” Nixon announced, his voice calm yet authoritative.

  Michaelli’s golden-brown eyes, sharp and calculating, flickered with a fleeting softness before hardening once more. The ghostly echoes of his mother’s ideals whispered through his mind, haunting yet persistent.

  Her world was not his. In this one, dominance was the law, and submission was death. Weakness had no place here. He had been weak once, but not now. Not anymore.

  Still, her words clung to him like a stubborn ember, refusing to be extinguished. Bend, but don’t break.

  With a measured breath, Michaelli rose, his movements deliberate, as he prepared for the hunt. Someday, he would prove to her that he had listened.