They say that on the day I was born, the wind sang as it does in legends,

  and the sun shone brighter than ever before.

  The servants still retell that tale:

  “The princess was born—and nature itself opened the sky before her.”

  I am the heir of the Laurels.

  I am the blood of Arthur and Merlin.

  And from childhood, it was not a title… but a chain.

  I have an older brother and an older sister.

  Both perfectly talented.

  Perfectly raised.

  Perfectly strong.

  Both graduates of the Academy’s elite class.

  Both the pride of the kingdom.

  As for me…

  I was called “the brightest flower” of the family.

  That’s what everyone said.

  Teachers.

  Advisers.

  Military mages.

  Diplomats.

  Courtiers.

  Anyone who saw me lift water without incantations,

  or shape flame with my fingers.

  Everyone praised me.

  Everyone admired me.

  Everyone smiled.

  Only one person never smiled—my father.

  The king of the country.

  The man before whom the entire nation bows.

  But not Merlin.

  I remember that moment better than my own reflection.

  That day, the great mage returned from distant travels.

  The court buzzed like a hive—ministers, knights, magical adepts, everyone rushing about,

  because Merlin himself, a living legend of the world, had come to our castle.

  He was my great-great-grandfather on my mother’s side—

  the descendants of Arthur and the descendants of Merlin had joined long ago.

  I was so nervous that I kept forgetting to breathe.

  When he was brought into the hall, I saw a strange old man

  who smiled as if everything around him were a funny play.

  He approached my father—

  and… poked him in the chest with his staff.

  — You’ve spoiled her.

  The silence in the hall turned to stone.

  I had never seen anyone dare to speak to the king like that.

  But my father… simply nodded.

  For the first time, I saw respect in his eyes instead of coldness.

  Merlin lifted me into his arms as if I were not a princess,

  but an ordinary child.

  — Elinia, your soul is brighter than your blood.

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  — If you wish it, you will become stronger than me.

  That was all.

  One sentence—and thousands of obligations.

  From that moment on, I had to be perfect.

  I was raised like a magical artifact.

  They brought me books, but I didn’t read them—

  why would I, if all magic came to me intuitively?

  I wielded four elements in a single day.

  Changed the temperature of water without effort.

  Made metal vibrate with a thought.

  The teachers said:

  “She is a child, but feels magic like a mature archmage.”

  “She doesn’t need explanations—she understands.”

  “She was born to rule.”

  And I believed it.

  I believed that greatness was a given.

  That talent was my nature.

  That I was better than everyone else.

  When I entered the Academy’s elite class,

  I wasn’t surprised—I was certain it was my place.

  Lucille Arvent—space magic.

  Siren and Tara Walter—prodigies of the blade.

  Finn Rainford—the noble blood of fire.

  And many others.

  All of them were strong.

  All were heirs to great houses.

  I was their future queen—

  and I wanted to be better than every single one of them.

  That was how I had been taught since childhood.

  But… on the list, there was one name that shattered the picture.

  Zenhald Helvard.

  Son of a minor baron.

  Ice mage.

  Weakling.

  A lost soul in the world of elites.

  I remember the feeling when I saw his name next to mine.

  It was irritation.

  “Why is he here?

  A mistake? An accident?

  How did he pass the exam?”

  When he first entered the class, almost everyone judged him.

  He looked… unremarkable. Quiet. Calm.

  And—far too indifferent.

  But what was strangest of all—he did not suffer.

  After that first practical exam,

  when he was called weak, weaker than everyone,

  when they laughed at him,

  when Finn openly mocked him…

  He did not leave with his head lowered.

  Not angry.

  Not crying.

  Not humiliated.

  He left seemingly… calm.

  Even… as if satisfied.

  His smile irritated me.

  When the water lesson began, I expected him to be pathetic.

  But… he explained things as if he had studied under masters his entire life.

  He helped everyone—simply, clearly.

  Without arrogance.

  Without the desire to stand out.

  He helped not for praise,

  but simply because he wanted to.

  And that… threw me off balance.

  Because:

  I am the heir to the blood of Arthur and Merlin,

  yet people understood his explanations faster than mine.

  I was praised for my blood.

  He—for his knowledge.

  I was used to others adjusting themselves to me.

  And he… needed nothing that gave power in my world:

  not a title,

  not attention,

  not admiration.

  As if he stood above it all.

  As if this world of ranks was foreign to him.

  He was an outsider—

  and therefore unpredictable.

  And for the first time in my life, I felt…

  not irritation,

  not contempt,

  but a quiet, unpleasant sting of envy.

  I expected him to fail.

  But when the explanation began…

  he spoke as if he had been teaching magic all his life:

  quietly,

  calmly,

  in images,

  as if he were opening doors

  that had long stood right in front of me, yet I had never noticed them.

  And worst of all—

  everyone listened to him.

  Swordsmen. Mages. Even Finn.

  They listened to him more than to me.

  He was praised for knowledge.

  I—for my name.

  And for the first time in my life, I felt envy.

  Perhaps he was weaker than us in raw power.

  But…

  he was stronger in something I had never valued—

  thinking.

  And that was unpleasant.

  I still thought I was above him.

  Smarter.

  More talented.

  Until the figurine war.

  When he defeated me for the first time.

  Fairly or unfairly—it didn’t matter.

  He won.

  And I felt not anger,

  but fear.

  Fear that for the first time in my life,

  someone stood at a level I had believed unreachable for “those below.”

  In the days that followed, I noticed:

  my skills improved when he explained things;

  my spells became more stable;

  my control grew alongside his;

  I didn’t even notice when I began comparing myself to him.

  And stranger still—

  I caught myself wanting to compete only with him.

  He never showed his full strength.

  Never displayed his mana.

  Never sought to surpass others.

  It was as if he…

  was hiding something.

  And it drove me mad.

  Why does he restrain himself?

  Why doesn’t he want to show how strong he is?

  Why does he live as if none of this matters to him?

  Who is he, really?

  I am a princess.

  I am the heir to the blood of two legends.

  I was meant to be the brightest star of the elite.

  But when he is in the classroom…

  I feel as though the world moves around him,

  not around me.

  And that began to frighten me

  far more than it irritated me.