Once opon a time........ There was a land where troubles would leave and anxiety melts away behind you. But far away from this land in the kingdom of Yorna, there was a small town called Flori and there lived a little five year old girl named Alicia. Her parents always kept her inside, away from the cruel world. Here dad worked for the king as his head of trade, and her mom worked as the towns seamstess. Life was never easy for Alicia's family. The king really didn't care about her town all he really did care about was power and domination. Even though her parents had decently succsessful roles in the kingdom poverty always had them under.

As the seasons passed, Alicia grew more curious about the world beyond her window. She would sit for hours on the cushioned ledge, watching the townsfolk hurry along the cobblestone streets—faces tired, shoulders heavy, hope worn thin. Even at five, she sensed the weight that hung over Flori like a storm cloud that never quite burst.

Her parents tried to shield her from it, but Alicia was sharper than they realized.

One evening, as the sun dipped behind the distant Yornan mountains, Alicia heard something unusual—a soft hum, almost like a lullaby, drifting through the cracks in her bedroom wall. It wasn’t frightening. In fact, it felt warm, familiar, as though someone were calling her name without speaking it.

She pressed her ear to the wall.

The hum grew clearer, forming into a whisper.

“Alicia… come find me.”

She jerked back, heart fluttering like a trapped bird. She looked around the room; nothing moved, nothing glowed, nothing seemed out of place. But the whisper lingered in her mind, gentle yet insistent.

That night, she barely slept.

The next morning, while her mother stitched dresses in the corner and her father prepared for another long day at the castle, Alicia finally gathered the courage to speak.

“Mom,” she said softly, “do the walls ever… talk?”

Her mother froze mid-stitch. A shadow crossed her face.

“No, sweetheart,” she said too quickly. “Walls don’t talk. You must have been dreaming.”

But Alicia wasn’t convinced. And she noticed something else: her mother’s hands trembled.

Later that day, when her father returned home, exhausted and dusted with the scent of parchment and old stone, her mother pulled him aside. They whispered in the kitchen, voices low and urgent. Alicia couldn’t hear the words, but she felt the tension like a tightening rope.

That night, the whisper returned.

“Alicia… the land beyond the troubles… it needs you.”

This time, the voice was clearer—almost melodic, like wind chimes in a forgotten garden.

Alicia sat up in bed, eyes wide. She didn’t know what the voice meant, or why it called to her, but she felt something stir inside her—a spark, a warmth, a strange sense of belonging she had never felt before.

And far away, in the cold stone halls of Yorna’s castle, the king felt it too.

He paused mid-step, a shiver crawling up his spine.

“Magic,” he muttered. “It’s waking again.”

His eyes narrowed.

“And I will not allow it.”