Waltz of Shadow and Flame

[Servo]

OK guys I ma writing a Novel and here is the prologue

Prologue: The Ride and the Courtroom

The girl urged her horse forward, hooves clattering against the paved road as she rode briskly through the open fields. Her red hair streamed behind her, catching the golden light of the setting sun, a ribbon of fire against the sky. The wind tugged at her cloak and braided hair, and the steady rhythm of hooves beneath her seemed to echo the racing of her heart.

Ahead, the mansion rose from the fields like a dark silhouette, its spires and walls catching the last rays of sunlight. She rode with a purpose, every muscle tuned, every glance measuring the distance, the path, and the shadows that stretched across the lawns.

A servant appeared suddenly at the gate, waving his arms.
“Milady! You’re back! The Master awaits in the meeting room!”

She gave a small nod, reining her horse just enough to slow without losing momentum, then dismounted gracefully. The horse snorted, stamping once before she handed it off to the attendant. Dust rose in faint clouds behind them, catching the sunlight like scattered gold.

Blazing through the mansion’s corridor, she walked under tall windows that spilled slanting beams of afternoon light across the polished floor. Portraits hung along the walls — stern faces, old warriors, and forgotten heroes — their eyes seeming to follow her every step. One large portrait dominated the hall: a man with black hair, a thick black beard, and piercing black eyes that seemed almost alive in the glow of the sun. 

The corridor ended at a set of double doors. She paused for a heartbeat, inhaling, feeling the weight of the room beyond, and then pushed them open.

The courtroom was not grand, not a king’s hall, but it carried the quiet the authority. Chairs were arranged along both sides, facing each other, with a simple raised platform at the far end. The Chief sat there — red hair brushing his shoulders, blue eyes sharp and piercing, and a beard that framed the face of a warrior who had seen countless battles.

She approached, bowed, and stood beside him. Murmurs swept through the council members lining the walls — some skeptical, others curious, a few openly worried. A girl of twelve, standing here in such a place of judgment, was almost unthinkable.

A council member cleared his throat. “MiLord… is it true? Has a Double Black Denomino been confirmed?”

The room fell silent. Even the candles seemed to tremble.

The Chief’s voice rang out, calm and unwavering.
“The time is upon us. It is with great pleasure that I assure you: the Blazing Sword is ready to strike at any moment.”
The Chief’s intelligence lived up to his status. Rather than reacting with fear, he calmed the council’s nerves simply by mentioning the weapon that could counter the threat.
Whispers rippled through the room. Many sighed in relief, though a few still harbored doubts.
Another voice spoke, cautious. “Milord… the Blazing Sword alone may be enough for a black-haired Denomino, but a Double Black? Surely more will be required.”

Tension rippled through the room once more. Those who had sighed in relief now glanced nervously at their Chief, seeking reassurance to calm their frayed nerves.

The Chief’s gaze swept over the council, calm and commanding. “Time is on our side. The Denomino is only ten years old. He will not be able to challenge the sword’s might until he reaches twenty-two or twenty-three. Until then, we prepare.”

A worried council member pressed further. “But Milord! It has been over five hundred years since the last Double Black. While the House of Usher still stands, many other clans have fallen into obscurity. Even twelve or thirteen years may not be enough.”
The Chief’s gaze hardened, calm yet resolute.
“Fortune favors the brave. We once faced twins; a mere Double Black shall not trouble us.”

A wise choice of words — by comparing the current threat to a greater one, he made the smaller danger seem far less daunting. A collective sigh of relief swept through the room.

Yet one man still spoke, concern heavy in his voice.
“Milord… in twelve years or so, the sword will have drawn much of your strength. Without an heir, how can it ever reach its full potential?”

The Chief’s gaze shifted to the girl standing beside him.
“Are you forgetting her? The one who stands here?”

All eyes turned toward her. Whispers rippled through the room — a twelve-year-old standing in the center, chosen as the wielder of mankind’s mightiest weapon. Skepticism, doubt, and a faint sense of hopelessness mingled in every glance.

A shout rang out from the far end of the chamber.
“Silence! Such arrogance in the House of Usher is forbidden! Remember Usher the Great — male or female, all members are to be revered!”

The room fell silent, though doubts lingered. The girl remained calm, posture straight, gaze unwavering, radiating quiet authority beyond her years.
The Chief’s voice softened but held undeniable authority.
“Blaze.”

At her name, she lifted her  right arm. Light seemed to gather around her, golden and blinding, bathing the chamber in warmth. In her hands, a sharp shape began to form — a sword, radiating heat and power. The room’s temperature rose; even the air seemed alive.

“That is enough,” the Chief said, his voice calm but firm.

Before the sword fully manifested, it vanished. Every council member gasped, stunned. Even those who had spoken in her favor were caught unaware — few had truly believed it possible.

The Chief spoke with conviction.
“As you see, I am no longer the wielder of this Wonder. The Blazing Sword has chosen its master. The girl standing beside me.”

At twelve, she stood as the wielder of mankind’s mightiest weapon. A miracle, a beginning, and a destiny she had only just begun to comprehend.