Sole Survivor of a Generation

Valeryon’s infant body was cradled in the arms of her guardian, as they moved through the labyrinthine corridors of the castle. Each step echoed softly against the cool marble floors, reverberating through the quiet, expansive halls. Though limited by her body, Valeryon’s mind, sharp and aware, took in every detail.

The castle was an ancient structure, its walls adorned with tapestries that depicted the long history of the Valeryon clan. These tapestries were more than mere decoration; they were records of the clan’s achievements, meticulously woven with scenes of healing, creation, and battle. Valeryon’s gaze lingered on them, trying to piece together the history of this world from the fragments she could perceive.

As they moved deeper into the castle, the polished marble floors gradually gave way to rougher stone. The air grew cooler, the walls darker and more austere, signalling their approach to an older section of the castle. Valeryon noticed certain doors emanated a faint, almost imperceptible barrier—a gentle push against her presence. These were the age-restricted areas her guardian had warned her about, accessible only when one reached the required milestone.

Eventually, they arrived at a set of large, imposing doors made from dark, aged wood. The handles were crafted into the shape of golden phoenixes with peridot eyes, their wings spread wide, each holding a branch of asphodel in full bloom—an unmistakable symbol of the Valeryon clan. This was the entrance to the Ancestral Hall.

Her guardian paused before the doors, carefully setting Valeryon down on a small bench outside. She took a moment to remove her shoes. With a sense of ritualistic precision, she removed her shoes, placing them neatly beside the bench. Valeryon observed the moment with a quiet understanding. This act was one of respect, an acknowledgment of the significance of what was about to happen.

Once barefoot she lifted Valeryon back into her arms and pushed open the doors. The Ancestral Hall was vast, its high ceiling supported by heavy wooden beams intricately carved with symbols. The polished wooden floor reflected the soft, flickering light of chandeliers that hung above, casting a warm glow throughout the room. The air was cool, carrying with it the faint scent of incense, and the atmosphere was one of solemnity.

At the far end of the hall, dominating the space, was a massive tapestry. Its design was simple yet powerful—a golden circle composed of concentric rings, each ring meticulously detailed with names. This was the genealogical record of the Valeryon bloodline, an unbroken chain stretching back to their origin in this world.

Her guardian approached the tapestry, her footsteps barely making a sound on the polished wood. Valeryon’s gaze was fixed on the tapestry as they neared it. At the centre of the circle was the name of Valeryon the First, the founder of their clan in this world. Each ring spiralled outward, representing a new generation, with names meticulously woven into the fabric. The further out the rings extended, the fewer names there were—a stark reminder of the clan’s dwindling numbers.

As they reached the tapestry, the woman gently adjusted Valeryon in her arms so that she could see the outermost ring better. There, at the very edge, was her name: “Valeryon II.” The date beneath it marked the year of her birth in this world—1824. The sight of her name, standing alone in that final ring, filled Valeryon with an uneasy sense of foreboding. The previous generations, even in their decline, were still packed with names, but hers was solitary.

Her guardian’s voice broke the silence, soft and reverent. “Valeryon the Second,” she murmured, her tone filled with awe. “What an incredible honour to be bestowed the name of King Valeryon himself as none before you ever have, your highness. Lady Daphne Vesalius greets Her Highness, Crown Princess Valeryon the Second.”

Valeryon felt a weight settle on her small shoulders—a weight she had known in her past life but was now more tangible. The name, the lineage, the expectations—they all pressed down on her, a burden she had no choice but to bear. She was the last of her line, the sole heir to a legacy that was both a blessing and a curse.

As Daphne continued to speak, Valeryon’s thoughts drifted to the other infant who had been a constant presence in her life since her arrival in this world. Laurel, as she had come to think of him, though his appearance was different in this life, was always near, his purple eyes watching her with an intensity that belied his infant form. His demeanour had changed as well, from the radiant happiness she remembered to a more somber, reserved temperament. However, she still believed that this was indeed Laurel Vesalius, her teammate, reborn into this world alongside her.

The days that followed were a blur of learning and adaptation. Valeryon struggled to master the limitations of her infant body, practicing the formation of words and trying to make sense of her surroundings. Her adult mind, sharp and frustrated, battled against the constraints of her physical form. It was during one of these frustrating days that she decided to test her theory about Laurel.

They were in their playroom, a place filled with toys and soft furnishings which went wasted on the two of them who preferred to simply lay on the soft carpet and sleep. Laurel was lying beside her doing just that, his eyes half-closed as he drifted off. Summoning all her strength, Valeryon whispered his name, “Laurel?”

His response was immediate. His eyes flew open, and she saw the recognition in his gaze. “Val?” he whispered back, his voice small and tentative.

Valeryon nodded, feeling a strange mix of relief and anxiety. It was him. Somehow, Laurel had been brought into this world right beside her from the very beginning. Was this the result of them choosing to form a team prior to their entry into this world? Was being born in close proximity to teammates part of the deal?

Laurel reached out and took her hand, just as he had done back in the OWL. His touch was warm, grounding her.

Daphne’s gentle laugh broke the moment, drawing their attention. “Look at the two of you, already so close,” she said, her voice filled with warmth.

Valeryon felt a surge of emotion—relief, gratitude, and a deep-seated resolve. She was not alone in this strange, ancient world. With Laurel by her side, she felt the strength to face whatever challenges lay ahead, even the weight of her lineage and the expectations that came with it.

The Ancestral Hall had confirmed her place in this world, and though the burden was heavy, Valeryon was determined to carry it with dignity. She was Valeryon the Second, the sole survivor of her generation, and she would not falter.