Alena

My voice, usually as calm as the tranquil waters of my homeland, now rises like a temper, reverberating against the austere stone walls of King Roak’s grand hall. My hands are balled into fists at my sides, my knuckles white as I face the imposing figure of King Roak. His voice, deep and resonant, matches mine in fervor but not in fear.

“Roak, please! Can’t you see that war will ravage our worlds? The cost is too great, the loss too heavy,” I plead. My eyes—a ...