Echoes of Her Disappearance

The city of Eldoria shimmered under a sky embroidered with silver. Lanterns floated in the air like weightless dreams, each one carrying a whispered wish to the heavens. The scent of honeyed figs, roasted nuts, and spiced wine filled the night, while laughter wove its way through the cobbled streets. Children ran with sparklers, couples danced in moonlight, and the old told tales of long-forgotten gods beneath canopies of silk and gold.

But no star shone brighter than the one seated high on the royal chariot, her skin kissed by the soft glow of moonlight-Princess Liora of Eldoria, heir to the throne and beloved daughter of King Aeron and Queen Miralys.

With long, flowing curls the color of midnight and eyes like pools of ancient blue, Liora waved gently to the cheering crowd. Her smile, graceful and poised, betrayed none of the boredom she secretly felt. Tonight marked the Festival of Stars, an annual celebration of unity and hope. Yet for Liora, it had become a performance-a parade of tradition and expectation.

She lowered her gaze and whispered to her handmaiden, "How many more laps around the square?"

"Only two, Your Highness," the girl replied with a shy smile. "Then the speech."

Liora sighed inwardly. The speech. The same carefully curated words she gave every year. Words about light, about love, about legacy-words that had begun to feel like borrowed truths.

Still, she sat taller, smiled wider, and waved again. Her people adored her. For their sake, she could be a mask a little longer.

From the palace terrace, King Aeron watched proudly. Tall and battle-worn, his armor gleamed with the insignia of the phoenix. Queen Miralys stood beside him, regal and unreadable. She leaned over and murmured, "She is not herself tonight."

"She carries the weight of a thousand eyes," the King replied. "It is not an easy crown."

"Nor an easy heart," the Queen added quietly.

Beneath the tower, Kael crouched behind a vendor stall, his eyes fixed on the princess. Unlike the noble-born boys who fought for a glimpse of her, he didn't worship her from a place of fantasy. He admired her grace, yes-but more than anything, he wondered what it would feel like to live a life that wasn't constantly fighting to survive.

Kael was seventeen. Lean, wiry, and sharp-eyed, he'd grown up in the forest edges, surviving on instinct and courage. His parents were a distant memory-faces blurred by time and hunger. He'd learned to hunt before he learned to read, and he'd only ever known the cold of stone and the warmth of firelight in borrowed cottages.

He shouldn't have been in the city, not tonight. The festival was no place for orphans without coin. But Kael had come anyway. Something about the way the stars danced tonight tugged at him, like an invisible thread pulling him toward something he didn't yet understand.

Just as the final chariot passed, a sudden gust of wind extinguished half the lanterns above the square. The crowd gasped. The music faltered. Liora turned her head sharply.

Then-darkness.

All at once, the plaza fell silent.

A shrill scream sliced through the night, then another. Chaos rippled like a tidal wave. The royal chariot halted. Soldiers drew their swords. The crowd surged and scattered in confusion.

Kael ducked behind a cart and waited. His heart thudded against his ribs. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

And then came the cry that changed everything.

"THE PRINCESS! SHE'S GONE!"

The royal guards scrambled. The King's voice boomed across the plaza, demanding answers. But there were none. Liora's seat was empty. The silk cushion still warm, the gold bracelets she had worn lying scattered on the marble steps.

The Queen didn't scream. She didn't faint. She simply stared into the night as though she had just watched the stars fall from the sky.

Kael watched, frozen, from the shadows. He couldn't explain it, but a strange cold settled in his bones. A chill not from fear-but from fate.

By morning, the kingdom was sealed.

Every gate closed. Every market silent. Royal messengers galloped to distant villages, announcing a reward for information. Anyone caught withholding knowledge would be punished as a traitor.

The King's face grew gaunt with worry. The Queen refused food. Whispers of ancient rituals and dark prophecies swirled like wildfire.

Days passed.

Then weeks.

And still, no sign of the princess.

But deep in the northern forest, a rabbit would soon run-not from a predator, but toward destiny. And behind it would follow a boy who had never dreamed of becoming a hero, let alone a prince.