Whispers of earth

Chapter 1

Adora walked the grey stone path toward the grand entrance of the Order of Octavia, her heart pounding. She tugged at the stiff brown novice tunic clinging to her shoulders. It felt heavy and unfamiliar. This was it. Her apprenticeship began today – the moment she’d known was coming since she was a child. But knowing didn’t slow her heartbeat or steady her breath.

She glanced at her twin sister walking beside her. Isadora’s head was high, her steps sure. She looked like she already belonged.

Everyone around them seemed the same – confident, focused and composed.

Adora felt like an imposter.

They’d arrived with the Royal Harpy Guard after a long morning’s ride from the palace. Leaving before first light, the two princesses had been escorted like dignitaries. But now, in the shadow of the Order’s great buildings, her royal title felt less like a blessing and more like a burden.

This place was led by the legendary war hero Odanatious Tarkine himself. Every child in Octavia knew his name. Most apprentices had earned their way in through talent, combat skill or a remarkable act of courage. She and Isa were here because of birthright. They were potential heirs to the Grand High Guardian and Grand High Seer titles, but neither bore their Heir Rings yet, and nothing was guaranteed.

Earlier, they’d passed the training fields where older novices sparred with steel, their voices ringing across the stone court. Adora had flinched at the clash of blades. The fighters were so capable. So confident. The courtyard had been Isadora’s world, sparring with Aunt Rhianna’s Elite Guard. But Adora had spent her years buried in scrolls under the watchful eyes of the harpy elders, studying history, politics and the ancient crafts of herbalism and alchemy. Her world was the quiet hum of knowledge. How was she supposed to find her place here among warriors and rangers – people who already knew how to fight?

Duty demanded that this was her path. She was heir to the Harpy Kingdom and likely the future Grand High Seer. But deep down, she didn’t feel ready.

She didn’t feel worthy.

She’d asked her mother so many times: “Shouldn’t I be training with weapons, like Isa?”

And every time, her mother had smiled and said, “There will be plenty of time for that once you’re with the Order.”

Now that time had come.

She took a breath and, mimicking her sister’s posture, lifted her chin. Together, they stepped through the heavy wooden doors. Her fingers twitched at the hem of her tunic as she stepped into the courtyard. The cool stone underfoot felt too real. She was no longer imagining her time here. It was happening. And now she had to prove – if not to the world, then at least to herself – that she belonged here.

~ ~ ~

“Fall in, recruits.” Odan’s voice cracked across the courtyard like a whip.

Adora jerked to attention, her spine stiffening. Around her, dozens of fourteen-year-olds scrambled into formation, shuffling into a straight line. She counted thirty-five in total – harpies, druids, fae and tauran – the four great magikal races bound to the Order since the Shadow War. Beyond their ranks, Octavia teemed with life: humans, pixies, gnomes, sprites and countless other commonfolk who would never set foot within these walls. The courtyard buzzed with nervous energy, boots shuffling against the grey stone.

Adora looked up at the raised platform overlooking the courtyard. Her mother, Zhianna, Grand High Seer of the realm, was as radiant and serene as ever. Her long white robes shimmered in the afternoon light, her presence both soft and commanding. Beside her stood her twin sister, Rhianna, Grand High Guardian, just as striking in stature but carved from a different stone entirely. Her gold leather armour fit like a second skin, her arms crossed tight over her chest, her gaze sharp and unreadable. Even when Rhianna smiled, it never reached her eyes. Zhianna’s smile, by contrast, could fill a room, lighting her whole face with warmth that softened even the hardest heart.

It was rare for either of the Grand Highs to attend a new induction, but today was no ordinary intake of novices. The twin daughters of the Grand High Seer – nieces to the Grand High Guardian – were among them, a moment the realm had long awaited. Adora and Isadora were both presumed heirs to their mother and aunt’s mantles. Yet without their Heir Rings – living sigils of succession inscribed by the Oracle herself – there were no guarantees. Only expectation … and pressure.

Adora’s gaze lingered on her aunt. She remembered what little her mother had shared – that Rhianna had once been pregnant, twin babes lost before they drew breath. Her one chance to become a mother. Isa had always been Rhianna’s favourite. They’d trained together for years with the Guardian’s Elite Guard. It made sense that Rhianna had poured everything into her. Isa had become the daughter she was never able to have.

Adora’s path had been the complete opposite, working under the wise guidance of her mother and the elders. Scrolls, tinctures and books, not blades and battle drills. While Isa sparred in the courtyard, Adora brewed the Elderberry Elixir and pored over ancient texts in the Royal Library. She’d been running the Royal Apothecary since she was twelve. Yet the Sight still hadn’t stirred. No visions. No flashes. No dreams. Still, her mother had reassured her that it would come when it was ready.

Odan paced down the line, broad shouldered and imposing in his fitted black uniform. His long, pale-blond hair was tied back with a strip of leather, and his storm-grey eyes swept over them with quiet force. He was Adora and Isadora’s sire, chosen for ritual pairing with the Grand High Seer. It was said that only druids could safely bond with harpies – earth steadying air, reason tempering passion. Any other union risked unstable offspring, their magiks at war within the womb. The male harpies had been wiped out in the Shadow War, along with the loving bonds that once defined their kind. What remained were ceremonial unions, clinical pairings necessary for the survival of the harpy race.

“Today,” Odan said, his voice deep and commanding, “you stand on the threshold of the Order of Octavia.”

No one dared shift or fidget.

Beside Adora, Isa stood tall and steady. Her posture was flawless, her eyes fixed forward.

“This is not an honour given freely,” Odan continued. “You are here because you show promise and because you carry within you the spark that may one day protect this realm.” He paused to let the weight of his words settle. “Not everyone will ascend. Some of you will falter. The Order is not for the weak. It is not for the arrogant. It is for the resilient, the disciplined and the loyal.”

Adora’s breath hitched. Her mother had warned her that the Order would be unlike anything she’d known. A few of the novices glanced at one another, but Isa didn’t flinch. Adora focused on her breath.

“Your apprenticeship will last four years,” Odan continued. “During your final cycle, around your eighteenth lap of the sun, you will face your reckoning – an awakening of your true power, granted by the Oracle herself.”

A murmur rippled through the line.

“Until then, you will train in each of the four disciplines: weaponry, alchemy, spellcraft and warcraft. You will be pushed, broken down and rebuilt.” He turned on his heel and paced back along the line. “You are the future of Octavia. And that future is under threat.”

Adora’s heart beat faster. This was what she’d come for.

“The gloom spreads further each year. Shadow beings continue to creep through the veil into our realm. And there are whispers of something older still … a force that nearly destroyed us once before.”

Adora swallowed hard. Ragnarold.

She remembered the moment years ago when her mother first told her the truth of the Shadow War. Something had sparked in her that day – a hunger for answers and a burning desire for justice. It still lived in her now, a quiet heat beneath her ribs that refused to fade. Since then, she’d mastered herbology and alchemy, brewing hundreds of vials from the mother batch of the Elderberry Elixir – the only known protection against the gloom’s slow creep. She’d pored over countless texts from the sections of the library she was allowed to access. But no matter how much she learned, there was always more. Always another page. Always another unanswered question. She hoped she might find some of those answers here at the heart of the forces working to protect Octavia.

“Now,” Odan said, raising his arm, “meet your commanders.”

Twelve figures emerged from a side door, dressed in fitted black like Odan. Males and females, druid, fae, tauran, harpy. Each one moved with the kind of confidence only years of battle and survival could forge.

“They have walked where you now stand. Some were novices. Others survived the Shadow War. All have earned the right to lead.”

Adora stared. One day, she thought. One day, she would be like them.

“My wish for you,” Odan said, “is that you do not waste this chance. Embrace your purpose. Fight for what is right. Stand beside one another, no matter what comes.”

His voice rang out like steel.

“Welcome to the Order of Octavia.”

Cheers erupted down the line. Adora clapped too – though slower than the rest.

Isa didn’t even glance her way.

~ ~ ~

The courtyard shimmered in the mid-afternoon sun as the new recruits followed three commanders across the grey stone grounds toward the training quarter. Adora kept close to Isadora’s side, though the space between them might as well have been a chasm.

Isa moved with quiet authority, her shoulders square and her eyes fixed straight ahead. Not a flicker of acknowledgement. But when Adora stumbled slightly on the last step from the barracks, she could have sworn Isa’s hand twitched – just barely – as if to catch her.

Of the three commanders leading them, one moved with fluid confidence that was hard to ignore. Ignatius – moon fae, tall and lithe with dark, tousled hair tied at the nape of his neck and eyes that missed nothing. Definitely a ranger. Every movement showed control and purpose. Adora found herself standing a little taller.

“Eyes up,” he called, his voice clipped and firm. “You’ll need to know this place like the back of your hand.”

The group of wide-eyed recruits quieted as he led them up a low stone rise overlooking the open-air sparring grounds.

Flanking him were two more commanders: Angelina, a lean and hawk-eyed harpy, her gait as precise as her narrowed stare, and Seraphina, a sun fae with regal bearing whose golden braid gleamed in the sunlight.

“To the west,” the moon fae said, pointing, “that’s the novice quarters. You’ll live on the first floor. Upper levels are for second-, third- and fourth-years. Keep your noise down and your heads lower.”

Adora took in the neat grey stone buildings, functional and weathered. The Order had no time for glamour.

“To the east: the commander quarters. That’s where we live. Don’t come knocking unless you’re bleeding out or summoned.”

A few recruits chuckled nervously.

“South is the champion quarter for those in active service stationed here between missions. Most champions are posted to the outposts. Lock in and do the work and that’ll be you one day.”

He turned them northward. “And this is your new home.” He gestured to the wide sparring fields and towering classrooms of the training quarter. “Four disciplines: weaponry, alchemy, spellcraft and warcraft. You’ll study all four, but your faction determines your focus.”

Angelina stepped forward, her tone crisp. “There are three factions: healer, ranger and warrior. You’ll be sorted by your core strengths in the morning.”

A keen-eyed harpy near Adora spoke up. “Is it true some harpies don’t even get sorted until their reckoning?”

“Yes,” said Angelina. “Harpy affinities can be … delayed. But we’ll help guide you toward the right path.”

As they began walking again, the girl fell into step beside Adora. “I’m Franky, by the way,” she said. “From the Gladstone Coven.”

“I’m Adora.”

Franky smiled. “Yeah, I know. You and Isadora – kind of hard to miss. Harpy royalty and all that.”

Adora laughed. “Right.”

They crossed the training ground. Adora looked for her sister, but Isa was already moving away from her, deep in conversation with another recruit.

“Oh my fates,” the girl gushed. “You’re the harpy who trained with the Elite Guard, aren’t you?”

Isa nodded. “That’s right.”

“Can I walk with you? I’ve got so many questions …”

Adora watched them peel off together. The sting of Isa’s rejection was familiar now, but it still it hurt.

“Whoa there,” a deep voice boomed beside her as she bumped into a broad-chested tauran. “You good?”

Adora turned, her eyes widening. “Oh, I’m so sorry!”

The tauran grinned, his teeth flashing white against skin the colour of burnished bronze, warm and sun-dark with a faint earthen glow. “Nah, all good. Don’t sweat. I’m Chase Natorian.” He held out a hand twice the size of hers.

Adora’s breath caught. “That’s one of the oldest tauran tribes.” The Natorian Chief led all the tauran tribes.

“Sure is.” His grin widened, pride lighting his amber eyes. “My brother Nixon’s already a champion. Leads the Blood Ring quad.”

Franky raised an eyebrow. “No way. My aunt’s squad used to spar with them.”

“Small realm,” Chase said with a low laugh. His eyes twinkled, a flicker of wild earth magik moving behind them.

“I’m Franky.” She put her hand out to Chase as she introduced herself.

“You two sorted yet?” Chase asked.

“Ranger,” said Franky. “Harpy lineage. You?”

“Warrior, obviously.” Chase puffed his chest, then winked. He nodded to Adora. “You?”

Adora hesitated. “I … I don’t know yet.”

Franky nudged her. “That’s okay. You’ll figure it out.”

As they neared the edge of the sparring fields, Adora felt something unfamiliar – something warm and quietly good. For the first time since arriving, she didn’t feel alone.

~ ~ ~

Adora was settling into her new living quarters. They were each handed a simple meal to eat alone in their rooms before lights out – a chance to rest before their first communal meal in the morning, which would be followed by the much-anticipated faction sorting on the training grounds.

She nibbled on a handful of mixed nuts – the rest of her meal, a chunk of crusty hearth bread and a wedge of hard cheese, resting on a small plate beside her. As she chewed, she glanced around her space, taking in the modest furnishings with quiet appreciation.

She was mostly unpacked now. She’d brought her large wooden chest from the palace, the one with the iron heart on the lid. It was packed with her favourite books, her clothes and essentials and, most importantly, her journals – the ones she’d filled since she was seven as well as her current one and a small stack of spares she fully expected to use.

Her room was much smaller than she was used to. A timber-framed single bed sat neatly along the right-hand wall. A small desk and chair were tucked under the narrow window at the centre of the room, with just enough room for her chest along the opposite wall. Sparse, quiet, undistracted. In some ways, she liked it better than the opulence of the palace.

Sitting at the small desk under her window, she stared out at the early evening light, her fingers tracing the edge of the stone windowsill. She couldn’t believe she was finally at the Order of Octavia’s barracks. Her thoughts swirled with the possibilities of what the next four years would hold for her. The friends she would come to know. The commanders she would learn from. The skills she might finally acquire.

More than anything, she hoped this journey would make her strong enough to join the fight to save Octavia, and the mortal realm they called Earth, from the growing threat of Ragnarold and the Malefic.

Adora rubbed her right arm where the Heir Ring was yet to appear. She tried not to dwell on it, but she wished it had come before she arrived here. She might have felt more certain.

The Grand Highs bore thick black bands encircling their upper arms, displaying the markings of their sacred mantles. Her mother’s took the shape of a coiling floral vine, its tendrils looping the full circumference of her arm to form a living wreath with a single eye at its centre. Her aunt’s was marked by a heart bound in a twisting band of leaves. These were the High Rings.

The Heir Rings were different – thinner, more delicate. They only appeared when the Oracle had chosen a successor. A ring of flowers or leaves would encircle the heir’s upper arm, mirroring the mantle she was born to inherit.

She tried not to let the fact that she didn’t have her Heir Ring rattle her. But some nights, when the halls were quiet, the doubt crept in.

What if she wasn’t worthy?

What if she hadn’t done enough? What if the Oracle had seen inside her and decided she wasn’t enough?

She reminded herself that Isa didn’t have her Heir Ring either. Perhaps her sister wondered the same thing, though she never showed it. Isa never seemed fazed by anything.

Adora wished they were sharing this journey together as dearest friends, like they used to be. The divide between them began the morning after their seventh birthday – the day they were told their childhood was over and that their formal education would begin at dawn. With this came the loss of the one constant who had made everything feel safe: Winny.

A gentle harpy in her twilight years, Winny had cared for them since birth. She smelled faintly of honey and crushed petals. She’d always known how to soothe a scraped knee, how to braid their hair just the way they liked it, how to hold them when the world felt too loud.

But now, apparently, she was no longer ‘necessary’.

Adora could still hear her aunt’s voice echoing through the grey stone dining hall that evening. “It’s time. You’re to take your first step toward becoming who you were born to be.”

Adora had wept in secret, curled on the window seat in her room, trying not to make a sound. That was when Harriet had appeared, a butterfly with luminous wings, gliding through the open window like a whisper of moonlight and landing silently on the sill.

Something inside Adora had changed that night. She started to speak – to Harriet, to herself, to the sky. When the silence hurt too much, she’d imagined the butterfly answering back – playful, gentle, wise. It made the silence feel less lonely.

Adora still spoke to Harriet – sometimes aloud, sometimes in thought. The answers came to her instantly, like a conversation with someone who had always known her. Even if it was just her own inner voice, it always felt like Harriet helped her reach some deeper truth that lived quietly inside her.

Now, as if summoned by memory alone, the flutter of wings swept in through the open window and landed softly on the sill.

“Harri, you made it,” Adora whispered, her chest lifting. “I was starting to worry you’d gotten lost.”

Of course not! You know me better than that, Adi, she imagined Harri saying.

Adora smiled, brushing her fingertip gently across the silken wing. It shimmered like sunlight through water.

“Here we are,” she said. “Starting our next chapter.”

A breeze moved through the open window. She breathed it in – grass, stone and distant smoke from the training fires. It was the scent of something new.

She didn’t know if she was strong enough for what lay ahead.

She didn’t know if her sister would ever look at her the same way again or if anything she achieved here would make a difference.

But she was here.

Ready to give it everything she had.

And for now, that would have to be enough.

Another story is unfolding on Earth…