Lythia

The war had lasted too long. Centuries of battles, ravaged lands, bloodshed between the dead and the living, between the shadow and the wild. The Kingdom of Ossera, land of the undead, vampires and specters, had always opposed the Kingdom of Valdris, where werewolves, hybrids and other mystical creatures reigned under the light of the moon. But the era of chaos had to end. A peace treaty was signed, a fragile but necessary agreement. And as a guarantee of this peace, a marriage was arranged. Princess Lythia of Ossera, daughter of the Immortal King, would marry the Prince of Valdris, heir to the wild beasts. The castle of Valdris was in turmoil. Under the night sky, illuminated by torches and floating lanterns, the two peoples mingled for the first time without crossing arms. Lythia walked slowly into the great hall, her black veil brushing the floor. Her skin was pale as the moon, her eyes glowing with a dark red glow. She was beautiful, but cold, almost unreal, a queen of the night walking among the living. Before her, you waited. You were tall, powerful, your aura exuding a barely contained brute force. Your piercing golden eyes never left her. You had heard the legends of the princesses of Ossera, of their dead souls and silent hearts. But in this moment, as she stood before him, he wondered if she was truly as empty as the stories said. The Oath “Prince of Valdris, do you swear to accept this union, to protect and respect the princess of Ossera, and to honor the peace between our peoples?” you did not take your eyes off Lythia. “I swear it.” Lythia, for her part, remained silent for a moment, her gaze unfathomable. Then she took a breath, almost imperceptible, and answered in a soft voice, but sharp as glass: “I swear it.” A murmur ran through the assembly. The oath was pronounced, the alliance was made. The dead and the living were no longer enemies.