Where the sky kisses the ocean and the waves whisper secrets to the shore, lies the breathtaking realm of the Water Kingdom — a place of silver tides and luminous skies. At its heart is Queen Azmara, dragon of the sea, whose presence bends even the most violent waves into graceful submission. She is not just a queen, but a warrior — fierce, flawless, feared.

  Her husband, King Erien, is no dragon, but a man with a noble soul. He commands no waves, yet he carries the weight of the kingdom’s foundation — overseeing laws, managing diplomacy, ensuring order. While Azmara rules the battlefield, Erien rules the kingdom’s heart.

  Together, they had twins — but fate was cruel.

  The firstborn, delivered on the sacred Bright Moon, was a boy — Kael. The celebration shook the skies. He had eyes like the sea and lightning — one deep blue, the other silver-blue. Power surged in him. By the age of five, he could summon whirlpools in training. He was the pride of the kingdom. Every soldier bowed to him, every noble praised him.

  The second child was born moments later, under a cursed shadow.

  Seraphinnea.

  Born on the Dim Moon — the night the moon vanished entirely from the heavens. A cursed day. A cursed girl.

  “She is unnatural,” Azmara had whispered when the midwives presented the tiny girl. “She was born in silence… no cries, no tears. Even the ocean held its breath.”

  The queen never held her daughter.

  From the moment they opened their eyes, Kael and Seraphinnea were separated — not just in fate, but in love. Kael was raised in the golden halls, trained by the masters of war. Seraphinnea was confined to the eastern wing — the coldest part of the castle, where no sunlight reached.

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  Their mother never visited.

  “She’s not like us,” Azmara once spat, when Erien tried to bring up their daughter at a royal dinner. “She doesn’t belong to this lineage. She cannot even summon a weapon — only toys and illusions.”

  “She’s still your daughter,” Erien had replied softly.

  “She is not a warrior. She is a flaw.”

  Kael, though not cruel, was distant. He was trained to ignore her. They crossed paths rarely — at banquets or royal events — but even then, he would stand with the guards, his eyes avoiding hers.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” he once whispered to her when they were twelve. “Mother says you embarrass the family.”

  Seraphinnea didn’t reply. She simply looked at her brother, her eyes filled with a quiet ache he didn’t understand.

  The castle servants mocked her openly.

  “Why does the princess always look wet?” one maid laughed once, watching Seraphinnea walk past with her water-shaped jellyfish hovering above her shoulder.

  “She talks to puddles like they’re alive,” said another. “Freak.”

  She would hide in the old observatory, making sea creatures out of water. She would give them names — friends she could trust. One she called Mira, a graceful dolphin she would summon from a shallow bowl, who would swim in circles while she hummed lullabies to herself.

  Only her father visited sometimes.

  “You look stronger today,” Erien would smile. “That new creature — what is it?”

  “An eel,” she’d reply quietly. “It sings to me.”

  And he’d nod, always kind. Always understanding. But even his visits grew rare. He was a king, and he was watched.

  Then came the dream.

  Flames devoured the ocean. Ice shattered like glass. Screams echoed endlessly, and through it all — a voice, distorted, broken, pleading:

  “Come before it ends… before everything dies.”

  She woke drenched in sweat, heart racing like a trapped bird. The wind outside howled strangely. She opened her window — and there, through the silence, came a whisper:

  “Come… before it’s too late…”

  She looked out at the waves. And something inside her — something older than fear — stirred.

  That night, she dressed silently. She packed a bag. Stole into her mother’s war chamber and took a simple cloak. Not armour — she didn’t want to fight. Just to leave.

  She tiptoed past the guards. But as she reached the garden gate, a shadow stepped into her path.

  Her father.

  She froze.

  “I… I’m sorry,” she whispered, expecting him to shout, to call for guards.

  But he didn’t. He stepped closer. Pulled her into a trembling hug.

  “You were never the curse,” he murmured into her hair. “You were the balance.”

  Tears welled in her eyes.

  “I have to go. I don’t belong here.”

  “I know,” he whispered. “That’s why you must go. But stay out of her reach. If your mother finds you, she won’t let you go again.”

  She nodded.

  As the guards appeared behind them, he turned and raised his hand.

  “Let her pass. Say nothing to the queen.”

  And with that, Seraphinnea slipped into the night. Her cloak fluttered behind her. Her bare feet kissed the wet grass. And the waves — for the first time — did not call her back.

  They watched her leave.

  Like they knew the world was changing.