The Academy of Heroes was a place of rigor, discipline, and promise.
The grand halls echoed with the sounds of children — no, future heroes — training to protect the world, as they prepared for the awakening of their powers. The marble floors were as polished as their expectations.
Arin Veyla, the pureblooded heir to the House of Veyla, stood at the center of it all.
Her every step was measured, her every word watched.
She was the number one student, the golden child of the Academy, adored by her teachers, adored by her peers.
But with every bow of respect, every whispered prayer, came the weight of her bloodline. She was expected to be perfect. She was expected to lead. To save. To guide.
Her family, the Veylas, had high expectations of her. The weight of their name pressed down on her shoulders.
She was the Hero's descendant, the shining light of the Academy.
Arin smiled, as she always did — but inside, something twisted. Was this all she was?
A living legacy?
A name to live up to?
Was she her own person? Or simply a tool to uphold an ideal?
She longed for peace, for simple moments without the burden of others' desires weighing on her. But the world saw her as the one who would protect them. She could not fail them.
Arin was loved.
But she was trapped in expectations.