The Feast of Shadows marked the beginning of more than just alliances and rivalries. It was the spark that would ignite a forge of discipline, challenge, and transformation. The children of the Clans—Saviik StormCrown and the six heiresses—were bound by more than fate and prophecy. They were bound by the path of fire, echo, and steel that lay ahead.
Thus began the Seven-Year Accord, an unprecedented joint training pact among the Clans of Vharenthia. A symbol of unity. A crucible of strength. Each year would strip them of weakness, reshape them through hardship, and prepare them for the unknown.
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Year One: Foundation
The first year was survival.
Within the stone embrace of the Whisperspire Citadel, high in the frost-etched Veilpeaks, the heirs trained under the harsh eye of Matron Yngvara StormCrown. Days began before dawn. Coldlight mist curled along the ancient floors as they recited incantations and defensive stances, the Echo humming faintly in their veins.
Saviik learned to fall before he could stand. His strikes were wild, his breath unsteady, but his will—unyielding.
Xala Veyne was quick to adapt. Her footwork was a storm of crimson and purpose. She challenged Saviik daily. Sometimes they bled. Sometimes they laughed. Each scar was a sentence in their shared story.
Seranyth Myrrenhal, ever the perfectionist, scowled at failure and rewrote every form until mastery bent to her will. Her Cold Echo flared with sharp efficiency, her posture a flawless blade.
Vaelyra of Clan Fenraeth embraced silence. She moved like a breeze through frost-laced forests, preferring to train alone, but her dual-wielded daggers danced like whispers through the air.
Lira Elaren, gentle-hearted and swift, shone brightest when working in tandem with others. She was the one to break tensions with laughter, yet when it came to healing Echo or defensive wards, no one could rival her.
Aralya Thandor, strong and stubborn, treated every session as a battlefield. Her hammer wasn't just a weapon—it was her declaration. Of presence. Of power.
And Nysera of Clan Vaelora… She was the last to arrive, months into the first year. A pale specter of grace, with an Echo so deep it chilled the marrow. She rarely spoke, but her presence shifted the air around her. She could silence a room with a glance—and disarm a sparring partner with a flicker of intent.
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Year Three: Tempering
The third year introduced war-games.
Saviik had grown taller, shoulders broader, voice deeper—but his fire had not dimmed. The Ember Circles of Clan Thandor honed him into a tactician. He began to see the flow of battle in dreams.
Xala had grown fiercer, and now wielded twin sabers forged in the Skyforge of Veyne. Her style mirrored her temperament—bold and precise, emotional yet calculating.
The rivalry between Seranyth and Vaelyra intensified. One fought with clarity, the other with misdirection. Watching them duel was like witnessing day clash with twilight.
Lira excelled in Echo-woven combat, creating barriers while aiding her allies. She had become the glue, the moral compass, and Saviik's quiet confidante.
Aralya's hammer now bore runes of her people, and each strike left trails of raw, sparking energy. She carried a growing affection for the group she once saw as rivals.
And Nysera? She trained in secret rites, mastering Echo types none of the others dared channel. She began speaking more often to Saviik—never quite warm, never cold. Just… measured. Her affection came in acts, not words.
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Year Five: Awakening
They were no longer children.
By now, each wielded a unique Echo Affinity:
Saviik: Coldlight and Stormflame — the mark of a Trueborn Dragon
Xala: Emberbrand — passion turned to precision
Seranyth: Crystalline Echo — sharp and unrelenting
Vaelyra: Dusksheen — shadows that danced with grace
Lira: Silverheart — healing and harmonic resonance
Aralya: Stonewake — power channeled through earth and body
Nysera: Veilfire — ethereal, ancient, almost divine
During a winter siege simulation, they held their ground against three war-bands of mercenary elites hired to test their limits. Wounded, freezing, and nearly outmatched, they did not falter.
Saviik led. The heiresses followed. And for the first time, they moved as one.
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Year Seven: Unity and Departure
By the seventh year, the name StormCrown had already begun to echo through the keeps and courts of Vharenthia. But it wasn't just him. It was all of them.
The Seven.
At the eve of their first real mission—an emissary journey to the enigmatic Kingdom of Yrvalen—they stood together on the sky balcony of the Highwatch Keep.
Below, banners of the Seven Clans flared in the wind.
Above, the stars shimmered as though remembering the night Saviik was born.
"You remember what I said?" Xala asked, her voice quieter than usual.
"That you'd beat me in a duel before we turned twenty?" Saviik replied.
She smirked. "No. That no matter what the world throws at us—we don't face it alone."
He turned to each of them. "Not alone."
Seranyth offered a nod, Vaelyra a playful roll of the eyes. Lira reached for his hand and squeezed. Aralya thumped her hammer against the floor. Nysera simply looked into his soul and said, "Then let's begin."
A horn blew in the distance.
Their mission awaited.
But they were ready.