Sole Survivor of a Generation

The sun rose over the Archipelago, casting golden rays onto the shimmering waters that surrounded the islands. A new day was dawning, and for Valeryon, it marked the beginning of another chapter in her life: her first day at the Academy of Standardised Education, affectionately known by the locals as the Junior Academy.

Situated in the heart of downtown Vinora, the Junior Academy was an architectural marvel. Its dome-shaped structure, composed of hexagonal glass panels, resembled a giant honeycomb—a tribute to the transparency of the education system envisioned by King Vilram Valeryon. His reforms had transformed the lives of countless children, offering opportunities for early learning that were previously unavailable.

The Junior Academy provided a strong foundation in basic education and rudimentary magic control, though it was not a traditional magical institution. That title belonged to academies like the prestigious Forester Academy of Sorcery in Norden, Fiore, where Valeryon and other children from the Archipelago would go when they turned thirteen. It was one of the world’s fifteen official magical institutions.

As the carriage approached the academy, Valeryon's thoughts wandered to the struggles of her ancestors in establishing a formal magical school. Queen Vera Valeryon’s frustration with Mission Central’s restrictions was well-documented in the journals Valeryon had spent hours reading. The Queen had dreamed of creating a school within the Archipelago but was thwarted by Mission Central, which claimed that a magical institution under Trainees' control would undermine its mission. One entry in particular lingered in Valeryon’s mind: “What if the academy was not built by us?What if we just happened to…rule own the land it was built on?”

When the carriage rolled to a stop, Valeryon took a deep breath, steeling herself for the day ahead. Dame Fray, a plainclothes knight assigned to protect her, stepped forward to open the door.

“Thank you, Dame Fray,” Valeryon said softly as the knight helped her down from the carriage. The knight responded with a nod and a small, reassuring smile.

Inside the academy, the vast, airy space was filled with gleaming white marble floors that shone under the soft morning light. The walls were lined with display cases showcasing past students’ achievements—trophies, art projects, and even glowing orbs of magic. It was fascinating to see, but today, Valeryon could not appreciate it. The transparent walls, designed to symbolise openness, felt like a cage, and she could almost feel the curious eyes of strangers scrutinising her every move, both inside and out.

In the main foyer, their instructor, Marius Willowbank, awaited them. His thick, gold-framed glasses magnified his eyes to an unsettling degree, giving him a curious yet slightly disconcerting appearance. “Welcome to the Junior Academy, Your Highness, Heir Vesalius. It’s a bit of a walk to the classroom. If you will allow me, Your Highness,” he said, extending a hand toward Valeryon.

She hesitated, uncertainty swirling in her mind about what was expected of her. The idea of holding a stranger’s hand did not appeal to her. Just as her hand twitched with indecision, another hand grasped hers tightly.

“Do not concern yourself with such things. Just lead the way,” Laurel interjected, his tone resolute. The smile on his face didn’t quite reach his eyes, and concern washed over Valeryon. She brushed her thumb over the back of his hand, offering silent reassurance. His gaze softened, and his smile transformed into something genuine.

Mister Willowbank blinked, momentarily taken aback, but quickly regained his composure. “Yes, of course. Your Highness, Heir Vesalius, please follow me.”

As they walked through the bustling halls, Laurel’s grip remained firm around Valeryon’s hand, a silent barrier against the overwhelming sea of unfamiliar faces. Children scurried past them, their laughter ringing in the air, but Valeryon felt as if she were walking through a dream, disconnected from the lively scene.

When they reached their classroom, Valeryon took her seat at a long, polished table with Laurel naturally sitting beside her. The room buzzed with energy as classmates introduced themselves, exchanging stories and sharing jokes. Valeryon offered polite smiles but struggled to contribute. Her peers chattered eagerly, their voices high-pitched and animated, while she remained on the outskirts, observing and absorbing the lively dynamics.

Laurel, on the other hand, was in his element. He easily engaged with the other children, his charm drawing them in. “You’ve got to see the trick I can do with my magic!” he exclaimed, demonstrating a small, colourful illusion that sparked laughter and admiration. However, whenever he was invited to join their games, he flatly rejected their invitations, refusing to leave Valeryon alone for even a moment.

At first, no one had an issue, but as such behaviour persisted, it began to draw attention. Whispers spread among the children. “Why does he never want to hang out with us?” one girl asked, casting a glance at them. “Isn’t it weird how they stick together all the time?” another chimed in.

Valeryon sensed the growing scrutiny, and her heart sank. She didn’t understand why the others seemed to view their closeness as unusual—weren’t they also close with their friends? During lunch, the cafeteria buzzed with gossip, and Valeryon caught snippets of conversations about “the evil princess” and “the slave boy.”

She dismissed it at first, chalking it up to the peculiar obsession children often had with strange new fairytales. But as days turned into weeks, the tension thickened around her like an oppressive fog. Valeryon noticed teachers exchanging meaningful glances, their expressions shifting from curiosity to disapproval. “What’s with them?” she overheard one teacher murmur to another. “I’m not sure, but this has gone on for far too long,” came the reply.

It eventually dawned on her that the murmurs were about her relationship with Laurel. Valeryon couldn’t grasp the problem. Laurel was a Vesalius, conceived with the specific purpose of being her lifelong companion. Their closeness was not only natural; it was a duty. And as Trainees from the Origin, they were meant to collaborate closely to complete their missions in this world. To Valeryon, their bond was inevitable. Yet it was clear the staff and students saw it differently.

As the weeks blended into months, the atmosphere at the Junior Academy grew increasingly stifling for Valeryon. Teachers, perhaps under some misguided notion of promoting independence, insisted that she and Laurel work separately during lessons. Laurel protested vehemently, but his words fell on deaf ears. His face flushed with frustration as they exited yet another tense meeting with Mister Willowbank.

“They’re just being ridiculous and unreasonable, Val,” Laurel grumbled, his voice laced with irritation. “We should just ignore them.”

For a while, they tried. They continued to sit together during classes and worked together, but the persistent scrutiny wore on Valeryon. Despite Laurel’s protests, she quietly accepted the new arrangement, hoping to avoid further attention.

But the change only fuelled the gossip. Whispers spread through the academy like wildfire—speculations about a falling out between them. The more Valeryon tried to blend in, the more she stood out. She often found herself working alone, while the other students paired off, their conversations flowing effortlessly around her. A part of her was relieved to avoid the awkward social interactions, but the isolation gnawed at her. Laurel, on the other hand, seemed to fit in with ease, his playful demeanour earning him smiles and invitations that were never extended to her.

It puzzled her. Why was Laurel embraced while she faced cautious glances and outright hostility? The question lingered in her mind, growing more pressing with each passing day. Why was she treated like something that shouldn’t exist?

Curiosity gnawed at her, prompting Valeryon to start keeping a journal. Her first entry posed the question that haunted her: What is it about me that makes others treat me like the villain of some story? She was the Crown Princess of the Archipelago, the future ruler to whom they would one day swear their loyalty. It wasn’t conceit, just a fact of her existence. Yet even the teachers, who should have known better, treated her with thinly veiled disdain. She had seen the way they scoffed and rolled their eyes when they thought she wasn’t looking. As for the other children, their behavior might be excused as the fickleness of youth, but what was the source of this animosity that greeted her from the moment she stepped into the academy?

Her suspicions grew when she overheard some older students referring to her as the "evil princess” as she passed by. The nickname had floated around since her first day at the Junior Academy, but now it piqued her curiosity. Was there some resemblance she bore to a villain from a story? Or was this label born of something more sinister?

Determined to uncover the truth, Valeryon requested that the palace staff gather popular fairy tales from across the Archipelago. She took a night off studying just to comb through them for any clue that might explain the hostility she faced. The answer appeared sooner than expected, nestled within the fourth book she opened.

The Golden Girl and the Evil Princess.

The title seemed innocuous enough, but the story was damning. Published just six months ago by an author under the pseudonym "Golden Goose," the tale was part of a series that had taken the Archipelago by storm. As Valeryon read the summary, and flipped through the illustrated pages she could not help but gape.

In the world of Lumina, a radiant heroine known as the Golden Girl embarks on a series of adventures, her shimmering golden hair and skin bringing light and hope wherever she goes. Her adversary is the Evil Princess, a shadowy figure cloaked in a black veil and dress, who seeks to plunge the world into darkness. By her side is the Slave Boy, a silver coloured youth bound to the princess by a ‘dark spell’. Together, they antagonised the Golden Girl, setting the stage for a battle between light and darkness.

It didn’t take much to see the parallels. The Evil Princess and the Slave Boy were clearly modelled after Valeryon and Laurel. The resemblance was too uncanny to be a coincidence, down to the iridescent sheen of the veil and gloves she wore.

Valeryon found herself laughing at the absurdity of it all. The art was striking, the narrative compelling, so it wasn’t hard to see why the story had become so popular. What puzzled her, though, was the clear dissonance between the characters’ roles and their actions. The Golden Girl, despite her outwardly benevolent appearance, was depicted as selfish and short-sighted, often causing more harm than good. The Evil Princess, on the other hand, was portrayed as a misunderstood figure, working in the shadows to undo the damage caused by the Golden Girl’s well-meaning but disastrous interventions.

In one tale, the Golden Girl "cured" a forest of its strange, foul-smelling dark flowers, believing she was doing the nearby town a favour—despite no one asking for her help. In her ignorance, she disrupted the natural balance, leading to a drought that threatened the entire kingdom. The Evil Princess, aware of the delicate equilibrium the flowers maintained, sought to restore them, even as the townspeople vilified her for it. Her attempts to have the Golden Girl arrested for destroying a protected species only increased their hatred. The perception of the Slave Boy was also interesting. The Golden Girl was offended by the idea of someone being bound to the Evil Princess, clearly unaware of the history they shared. The story made it clear that the Slave Boy had taken his oath willingly after growing up with the Evil Princess, knowing her better than anyone. Additionally, it wasn’t like Evil Princess was shown to have suddenly changed, she was called Evil Princess from birth and everyone considered her to be such from the very beginning as well.

It was fascinating, really. The influence of a simple children’s tale had shaped an entire community’s perception of her.

But now that she understood, Valeryon’s curiosity was satisfied. She turned her attention back to her studies with renewed focus. Each day after school, she spent hours poring over textbooks and practicing the rudimentary magic skills taught at the academy. Her diligence paid off. By the end of the month, Valeryon excelled in the mid-year skill assessment, impressing her instructors enough to allow her to skip grades and move on to more advanced classes.

As she walked home that day, hand in hand with Laurel, a sense of determination washed over her. If she continued at this pace, she would graduate early and leave this absurd chapter of her life behind. The experience had been unnecessary, a pointless ordeal that only strained her bond with Laurel. Valeryon couldn’t help but understand, at least a little, why Laurel harboured such disdain for Lady Sachar. The Governess had insisted they attend the Junior Academy, despite being fully capable of teaching them herself. It was irrational, perhaps, but the resentment felt good, so Valeryon embraced it fully.