My name is Skylar Dawin.
I am one of many children coming of age, yet one thing sets me apart from the rest: noble blood does not run in my veins. I don't know where I come from—I was found as an infant on the island of Eldkiwane, on a stormy night. The sea carried me ashore, as if fate itself meant to deliver me here. According to my foster mother, Moira, the waves brought me, but in the eyes of the villagers, I was always a curse. A misfortune that still lives on the island.
They say that since my arrival, fewer and fewer children have received gifts from the gods. Eldkiwane was once a thriving community, but now the number of youths eligible for training has drastically declined. And who else would they blame, if not me? The child cast out by the sea.
The villagers despised me. They didn't speak to me—and when they did, their words cut like blades. Even the family that raised me shared in that disdain. Moira and my foster father, Henrik, never said it aloud, but I saw the pain in their eyes whenever people hurled cruel words at them. The villagers treated them like servants. We barely had proper food, and most of the hard labor fell to us. I learned that the only place I could truly be free was the shore.
The sea always called to me. The sound of the waves, the cool touch of the water, the salty wind on my face—these were my sanctuary. Every morning I rose before dawn to train on the beach. While others were taught to fight by the instructors, no one wanted to take me in. I had to teach myself everything a warrior needed to know. Archery, dagger work, sword fighting—I practiced it all alone. Tree trunks stuck in the sand became my opponents, and stones washed up by the tide were my targets.
I turned twenty this summer. That evening, the village gathered around the sacred fire to witness the selection ritual. The flames pulsed as the gods revealed whom they had blessed. The chosen were surrounded by a radiant glow, and everyone knew—they had received the gods' gift. But when it was my turn this year, nothing happened.
A heavy silence fell over the square. The villagers, who had always loathed me, now looked at me with burning disappointment. I was their last hope—the final youth that year who might have been chosen. But nothing came. In their eyes, I saw not just rejection, but fury.
At dawn the next day, I went back to the beach, as always. My body ached from training, but my mind hurt far more from the weight of disappointment. The waves quietly lapped at the sand, indifferent to the world's sorrow. I knelt in the water, letting the cold liquid soak through me, and closed my eyes.
The silence was broken by the sound of a horn. I recognized it instantly—a ship from the Empire had arrived. I knew what it meant. Each year, they came to take the chosen ones to the training grounds. Last year, they took one child. This year, none.
My heart pounded as I ran. I tore through the village and burst into my mother's room.
"Mother! Mother!" I tugged at her blanket. "The warriors are here! They've come early—everyone's still asleep!"
She sat up in shock, her face pale, as if she already knew what was about to happen.
"Wake the village!" she ordered. "I'll help too!"
As I rushed toward the governor's house, the guards blocked my way, but before they could speak, I shouted,
"The Empire's warriors have arrived! Everyone must be woken at once!"
The governor's face darkened, then he nodded. The guards dispersed to raise the alarm. My task was done. I returned to the shore, where the warriors were already waiting.
At the head of the group stood a tall, armored woman. Her cold gaze swept over me.
"Who are you to speak for the people of this island?" she asked, her voice sharp as ice.
I swallowed hard and lowered my gaze.
"No one," I whispered.
She smiled—a smile that brought no comfort. It was the kind of smile a hunter gives its prey, just before the kill.
"Then you shall die as no one."
—
The sea rippled gently along the shore, as if the whole world was holding its breath for what would come next. The Empire's ship loomed solemnly in the water, its black sails stark against the morning sky. The warriors had already landed, their gleaming armor reflecting the sun in cold, sharp flashes. The villagers backed away in fear; no one dared approach them. And rightly so.
Skylar Dawin stood barefoot in the sand, the cool water lapping lightly at her feet. Her body was tense, fingers clenched into fists as she watched the soldiers. She could feel their eyes on her—the warriors' cold, calculating stares, and the villagers' contemptuous yet desperate glances. They thought they knew her. Thought she was a curse. A blight to be removed.
From among the soldiers, the first to step forward was a tall woman with long black hair woven into a thick braid. Her armor was more ornate than the rest, and there was something measured, something threatening in her every movement. She was known as Lady Marhya—one of the Empire's most ruthless commanders.
"Who bears the gods' gift?" she asked, her voice loud and echoing like a command across the beach.
The village governor, an elderly, stooped man, stepped forward and bowed low. Fear shimmered in his eyes.
"My lady," he began quietly, "this year, not a single child received a gift from the gods."
Lady Marhya's gaze turned icy. For a moment, the world seemed to fall into silence, as if even the sea recoiled in fear of her wrath. The soldiers exchanged glances, some placing hands on their weapons, ready for battle at a moment's notice.
"Not one?" she asked softly—but her voice sliced through the stillness like a blade.
The governor licked his dry lips and nodded. "Not one, my lady."
Marhya slowly looked over the villagers, her gaze finally settling on Skylar. She studied the girl in silence, as if weighing her very existence. Skylar did not bow, did not look away. She met the woman's stare with cold defiance.
"And her?" the commander asked at last.
The governor hesitated, reluctant to speak, then muttered,
"She doesn't matter, my lady. An orphan. A… a nobody."
Marhya's lips curved into a faint smile—not of joy, but of cold calculation.
"A nobody?" she echoed. "Then why does she stand as if she matters?"
Murmurs stirred among the villagers. Skylar felt the tension around her growing thicker. The soldiers' eyes turned toward her, but she didn't move.
Then, something changed.
The sea… shifted. Not like an ordinary wave. The water moved irregularly, as if it sensed the rising tension. Tiny whirlpools formed along the shoreline, and the wind began to pick up with uncanny speed. A distant lightning bolt tore across the sky.
Marhya narrowed her eyes. She stepped forward and leaned in close.
"Who are you?" she asked quietly—but not with threat. With curiosity.
Skylar's heart pounded wildly. She felt a strange tingling deep within her—something she had never felt before. As if something had always been buried inside her, something she had tried to keep hidden from the world. But now… now it wanted to break free.
"Skylar Dawin," she finally said.
The commander held her gaze for a long moment, then nodded.
"Take her to the ship."
A breath seemed to pass through the crowd of villagers. Skylar knew what they were thinking. They were free of her. The Empire would take her, and perhaps she'd never return.
Two soldiers grabbed her arms and led her toward the vessel. Skylar didn't resist. Something deep inside told her—this was where her fate truly began.
The roar of the sea followed her from a distance, as if watching her journey unfold.
—
The deck creaked quietly beneath Skylar's steps as the two soldiers pushed her forward. The Empire's ship was massive, with black sails and carvings of serpents winding along its hull. Armed warriors stood guard on deck, their faces blank, as if war had long since stolen all feeling from them.
Skylar said nothing as she was led up a broad staircase to the captain's quarters. The hinges groaned as one of the guards opened the door and shoved her inside the dark room.
The cabin's interior was lavishly decorated, in sharp contrast to the ship's grim exterior. A carved wooden table, silk-covered chairs, and a large map of Willorion, dotted with red marks indicating battles. At the table sat a man with a long white beard, clad in dark blue bearing the Empire's crest. His eyes were like deep water—calm, yet unreadable.
"Sit," he said softly, his fingers tracing one of the maps on the table.
Skylar didn't move. The man didn't seem threatening, but there was something about him that made her instinctively wary.
"My name is Nikolaus," the captain continued. "I command this ship. From now on, you're part of my crew."
Skylar pressed her lips together.
"I didn't join any crew," she said quietly, but firmly.
Nikolaus smiled, as if he had expected that reply.
"That wasn't a question," he said. "Once we reach the Wargolion training grounds, you'll become a soldier of the Empire. If you're lucky, you'll learn to control what lies within you."
Skylar didn't know what to say. For the first time in her life, she didn't feel completely helpless. No one threatened her or humiliated her—they simply stated her fate as a fact. But something still gnawed at her. The sea. That strange feeling when she stood on the shore. As if the ocean had responded to her thoughts.
Nikolaus watched her, as if trying to read her mind.
"You're not an ordinary girl," he said finally. "You weren't chosen in the ceremony… yet something is happening around you."
Skylar tensed.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she said—but even she didn't believe her own words.
Nikolaus nodded and slowly stood.
"Then they'll find out."
The cabin door opened, and two soldiers stepped in.
"Take her to her quarters," the captain ordered. "Her journey toward her true destiny begins tomorrow."
Skylar let herself be led away without a word. Standing by the ship's railing, she watched the distant shores fade. The island of Eldkiwane slowly vanished beyond the horizon—along with her past.
She didn't know what the future held, but one thing was certain: something inside her had begun to change.
And that change would not allow her to remain a nobody.