Etheria: Lost Kingdom

Prologue

Hideout

Rowena jerked awake, breathless, heart hammering like she'd just outrun a nightmare beast.

Cold gray dawn seeped through the cracks in her cabin. One thought echoed, sharp and unwelcome:

Today, everything felt different.

Seven years in exile. Seven years since Etheria's fall. She'd marked each day in her battered journal,

a ritual of survival,

a record of loneliness.

But this morning, a deeper chill clung to her bones. Not just winter's bite-something else.

A warning.

There was something unseen.

Something was out there, lurking at the edges of her world.

She sat upright on her prickly pine bed, shivering under a patchwork of pelts. The cabin was a box of shadows: ashes in the hearth, a battered tinderbox, a trunk in the corner, her few treasures lined along the mantle.

Rowena's gaze swept the room.

A nameless fear weighed on her, heavy and close.

She gripped her journal and forced herself to mark the day. The scratch of charcoal across the page felt final, like a door closing.

For seven years, she'd lived on scraps and hope, waiting for her father to return.

But today, her bones ached with cold. Her fingers were numb, her throat raw. Another year in hiding loomed. She dragged in a shaky breath, fighting down the swell of disappointment.

Self-pity was a luxury she couldn't afford. She had to be strong, for herself and for the others. Swallowing her feelings, she stood and readied herself for the day.

Once, Rowena Valemont had been the darling of high society.

The beauty whispered about in every ballroom.

Even now, at twenty-seven, she carried herself with a noblewoman's poise.

Her posture was straight.

Her movements were graceful.

Every gesture echoed her aristocratic upbringing.

Her dark hair, once meticulously styled, now fell in loose waves she often tied back with a scrap of cloth. Her fair skin, once shielded by silk and lace, bore sun freckles, old bruises, and the fine scars of survival.

Despite her circumstances, Rowena's beauty endured in an unpolished, arresting way.

Keen brown eyes held a quiet strength she'd never had in her youth. Her clothes were simple, worn.

But even rags looked regal on Rowena.

She was thinner now, wiry-strong from years of self-reliance. Dirt smudged her cheeks. Her nails were rough and broken.

But nothing could strip away that noble bearing.

Even half-wild, Rowena was unmistakably highborn.

Weathered by circumstance, unbroken in spirit.

When Rowena stepped outside for the first time this particular morning, she could smell a change in the air. Although it was still cold and crisp, heavy notes of wet ground soil and grass permeated her nostrils. This new smell was a welcome change compared to the stale, frozen air of winter.

She looked down the hillside at the cluster of cabins nestled among the pines. With their fences, barns, and tidy gardens, the village almost looked peaceful.

An illusion for any outsider passing by.

But Rowena saw something else.

A graveyard of memories beneath the surface.

That first spring, seven years back, was nothing but graves. Sickness and hunger claimed both friends and strangers. Her own mother was among the lost.

Each year, the survivors clawed their way up: from bare ground, to tents, to rough shelters, to these log cabins.

They became hunters, foragers, healers.

Old lives gone.

Yet through pain, Rowena watched hope claw its way back, stubborn as weeds.

Most mornings, Rowena woke before dawn to patrol the village edge. Sometimes she paused listening.

Always listening.

Every morning, hope flickered: maybe today she'd hear the thunder of hooves, the clank of armor, banners snapping in the wind.

The unmistakable sound of the king's army returning triumphantly from war to lead them out of hiding and back to their beloved home.

The great kingdom of Etheria.

She walked, scarcely breathing, heart aching with longing. The fur pelt around her shoulders did little to block the mountain bite.

She'd never gotten used to the cold. Northern winters were brutal.

So different from Etheria's southern coast, where snow never fell and summer rains were soft and warm.

Sometimes, nostalgia softened her face as she remembered the City of Paradise, her lost home.

She pictured rolling green hills,

Fairytale woods blanketed in flowers and moss,

Endless blue sky overhead.

Her mind drifted to bustling markets, endless farmland, and the hum of a city overflowing with life.

She ached to stand on the white sand beach, staring back at the Great City shining against the southern mountains.

The castle would glow, sunlight blazing from white marble walls, gold and silver shining for all to see,

Proof of Etheria's glory.

That was home. Her heart was still there, somewhere beyond the mountains.

Etheria.

She made a silent vow that day: somehow

She would see her beloved kingdom restored.

No matter what it costs.