The Valeris Empire reigned over the heart of the world. Spanning the entirety of the Central Continent, it claimed dominion over fertile plains, snow-draped peaks, crystal rivers, and the arcane heartlands. Magic and steel, law and order — all bent to the Emperor's banner.
At the empire's radiant center rose the capital, Solaria — a gleaming jewel of marble towers, glowing sigils, and floating skybridges. But far to the north, where the mountains kissed the clouds and frost never melted, lay the ancestral stronghold of House Snowblaze.
The Duchy of Snowblaze was cold — in both climate and reputation. Its people were known for discipline, loyalty, and unyielding strength. But beneath their stoic exterior lay a quiet warmth, kept guarded like a hearthfire in winter.
Duke Alaric von Snowblaze was a man of iron bearing, rarely showing emotion in court. His silver hair and piercing silver eyes gave him the appearance of a frost-forged statue — beautiful in the way that glaciers are: silent, immense, and unyielding.
Duchess Seraphina Snowblaze, poised and graceful, ruled the household with quiet intelligence. Her deep violet eyes held a serene intensity, and her hair, a cascade of soft midnight black, offered contrast to her husband's icy presence. Where Alaric was cold steel, Seraphina was moonlit velvet — gentle, but no less strong.
It was into this household, in the heart of a blizzard, that twins were born.
The girl was strong, silver-eyed like her father, and she cried once — sharp, defiant. Her hair matched his as well, sleek and pale like fresh-fallen snow.
The boy was quiet. His eyes opened slowly — twin orbs of amethyst, deep and curious. His hair was silver too, but it shimmered faintly, almost ethereal under light.
They were named Cassandra and Alden.
To the world, the twins of House Snowblaze were another noble miracle. But within the manor, they were Cassy and Al — two halves of a bond that grew stronger with each season.
By age three, Cassy had taken her first steps with a wooden training sword. She'd swing it like a knight from the stories, declaring herself "Duchess Commander of the North."
Al preferred the library.
He wandered its candlelit halls in silence, his tiny fingers running across the spines of ancient tomes. Books made more sense than people. They whispered truths with patience.
Cassy would burst in, dragging him from his reading throne to play outside in the snow.
"Come on, Al! Just one round of snow dueling!"
He'd sigh in mock protest, dog-ear his page, and follow her — always.
Their parents watched from the manor windows.
Alaric, ever stern in court, would occasionally rest a hand on Al's shoulder after a well-placed observation. Seraphina often read with Alden in the evenings, correcting his posture and praising his sharp memory.
Their love was never loud — but it was real.
In private, Alaric's tone softened with his children. He rarely smiled, but when he did — usually when Cassandra landed a perfect stance or Alden quoted ancient texts — it was quiet and genuine. Seraphina, meanwhile, would brush Alden's silver hair behind his ears with motherly affection, often humming lullabies sung in the older tongue of Valeris.
By age six, the twins began formal training. Sword drills in the morning, literature and history after lunch, etiquette in the evening.
Cassy excelled in swordplay. Alden matched her in theory, strategy, and magic theory.
"Why don't you fight seriously, Al?" Cassy pouted after a light spar.
"I'll start trying when you stop going easy on me," he smirked.
She grinned. "Deal."
They laughed often — together more than apart.
Among the staff, Al was known as the quiet prodigy. He learned faster than expected, especially in history, geography, and ancient runes.
He once corrected a visiting scholar on a mistranslated passage from an imperial war treaty.
Cassy called him "book-headed." He called her "sword-brained."
They fought often — with words, with snowballs, and wooden sticks. But they never stayed angry long.
Alden was different.
Sometimes, when he touched certain relics or heard old songs, he felt an ache. Not pain. Recognition. Like he had already known them.
But it always passed.
For now, he was just Al.
A quiet twin in a cold land, surrounded by warmth of his family.
But not forever.