Unwanted Daughter

"Stay away, Wizard! Witch! Demon.. whoever you are!"

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Kyria Thornvale grew up on the road, born into the restless rhythm of the Thornstride Caravan, a nomadic clan led by her distant, iron-willed father, Morgan Thornvale. With no homeland to claim and no walls to hide behind, the caravan survived through movement — slipping between borders, trading what they could, and fighting only when the road offered no other choice. Life taught them to be quick, quiet, and sharper than whatever waited in the dark.

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Wystan Thornvale

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For Kyria, childhood was a blur of dust trails and shifting camps, shaped more by absence than affection. Morgan trained her when duty demanded it, but his expectations belonged to her younger brother, Wystan — the heir he actually seemed to want. Kyria’s real grounding came from Valora Valehart, the caravan’s elusive swordmaster who taught her not just how to fight, but how to stand when no one else believed she could. Valora's sudden disappearance a year ago left a wound Kyria never let anyone see.

Morgan Thornvale

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Now nineteen, Kyria has grown into one of the caravan’s fastest scouts, fierce in temperament and unafraid to talk back to anyone, even her father. But skill never softened Morgan’s indifference. When the Thornstride prepared for a dangerous patrol into Elderwood, and Morgan volunteered her without hesitation — even after being warned she might not return — Kyria understood the message clearly enough.

The patrol began under bright daylight, with Wystan proudly sparring her into a rare, accidental loss. She praised him with a grin, masking the sting, before Morgan arrived to pull her away and send her brother to rest. Moments later, she was marching with the others toward Elderwood, the ancient forest whispered to mislead even seasoned trackers.

Deep beneath its shadowed canopy, Kyria caught a glimpse of someone impossible — a figure moving with Valora's gait, Valora’s presence, Valora's ghost. Ignoring warnings, she broke from formation and chased the silhouette through twisting roots and shifting fog, until the caravan’s voices vanished behind her.

Valora Valehart

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The forest closed