Arastella doesn't walk into a room—she blooms into it. A dragon, 5'5, age 24.
She carries the kind of beauty that feels soft at first glance, almost delicate… until you realize it's the same kind of softness found in fire just before it burns.
There's a quiet confidence in the way she holds herself. Not loud. Not forceful. But undeniable.
She doesn't need to command attention—it naturally bends toward her.
Even in stillness, she feels alive with something deeper… something ancient. Like beneath the elegance and grace lies a creature capable of tearing through kingdoms without hesitation.
Her eyes are a striking, luminous violet, glowing faintly with something otherworldly. Soft when she's calm Piercing when she's focused Absolutely terrifying when she's angered
There's intelligence in them. Awareness. Power.And something else…
Inheritance.
The unmistakable mark of dragon blood.
Arastella's face is sculpted with elegance. Smooth, radiant deep-toned skin that glows under light Full, soft lips with a natural gloss High cheekbones that give her a regal structure. Her expression carries warmth—but it's controlled. Measured. Like she chooses when to be gentle.
Her hair is impossible to ignore.
A cascade of rich crimson waves, flowing past her shoulders like fire caught in motion. Each strand seems to carry heat and life, shifting between deep red and brighter ember tones depending on the light.
It doesn't just frame her face—it crowns her.
Her elongated, elven ears give her an ethereal quality, but paired with everything else… they don't make her look fragile.
They make her look other. A being not fully bound to the human world.Standing near Arastella feels like standing near something sacred. Warm. Beautiful. Almost comforting. But your instincts whisper something else: Do not forget what she is.
Because behind the elegance, the softness, the flowers and silk—
There is a dragon.
The air was already crushing when he noticed her.
Invisible hands pressed down upon the clans, Castel's telekinesis woven so deeply into the atmosphere that it felt alive—breathing, waiting. The closer one stood to the throne, the heavier it became. Lungs burned. Knees buckled. Sweat dripped freely down trembling faces.
Darkness clung to him like a second skin. Yet one woman did not kneel. Castel lifted a single finger.
The pressure intensified. The clansmen nearest to him dropped instantly, gasping, foreheads striking stone.
She remained standing. His eyes locked onto her.
"Who is she?" Castel asked, voice smooth—dangerously smooth. "Speak."
Krince swallowed. "A peasant from the mountains, sire. She comes to the market." Castel's lips curved slowly.
"There is nothing in the mountains," he said quietly, "but the Void." His gaze never left her.
"Bring her to me."
A guard stepped forward—then split into two, then four. His gift unfolding seamlessly. The duplicates surrounded her before she could retreat.
"Please," one of them said politely, extending a hand. "Our king wishes to see you."
She hesitated only a breath. Then stepped forward.
The crowd parted instantly. Fear carved a path.
When she reached the base of the throne, the guards merged back into one and returned to position as if nothing had happened. She set her basket down.
And bowed. She wore simple brown capri pants, an oversized white button-down, and a black hooded cape that swallowed her frame.
"Remove your hood," Castel ordered.
She obeyed. Fire spilled down her back. Bone-straight hair of blazing red tipped in molten orange caught the lantern light like living flame. Light purple eyes lifted calmly to meet his. Calmly. Scales shimmered faintly along her hands—red and white like embers beneath skin. Her ears were elongated, sharply pointed downward.
Gasps rippled through the square. Whispers ignited and died beneath Castel's glare. He alone noticed what mattered. The steadiness of her breathing. The lack of fear. "Greetings, Your Majesty," she said evenly. "I am grateful to stand before you."
"What is your name?"
A pause. I should have left instead of being nosy. She thought to herself. "I am Arastella Getis." Something shifted in him. He stood. The air tightened, reacting to his movement.
"Your name," he said softly, descending the steps, "is as beautiful as every part of you."
"Ouk," she muttered under her breath. (Men in Varack.) She rolled her eyes slightly.
So this is the king I'm meant to fear? "You speak Varack," Castel observed.
"Vaa." Their eyes met fully then. And for one suspended heartbeat. The pressure vanished. The crowd felt it. So did he. He felt caught. Not restrained.
But pulled. "Are we going to pretend," she said coolly, "that you don't know what I am?"
"I care little for what you are," Castel replied, stepping closer. "Only how I might make you mine." She straightened, unimpressed.
"You cannot covet what was never yours," she snapped. "Your people may fear you—but dragons do not. Not now. Not ever." The word rippled like a curse.
Dragons. Across the square, eyes from various clans flickered faintly. Castel's amusement vanished. He moved. Wine still in hand, he descended the final step. The air collapsed. A crushing force slammed down upon the square as his telekinesis surged unchecked. People shook violently under it. Sweat poured. Knees split against stone. All eyes turned to her.Arastella did not bend. Not an inch.
"Even now," Castel said, voice low, vibrating with something dangerously close to hunger, "my heart races." The pressure intensified.
"I crave you." The confession shocked even the twins beside his throne.
"You have ignited something in me that cannot be extinguished."
Her expression did not soften.
"I must go," she replied coolly, turning slightly. "Enjoy your festival." He caught her wrist. The contact burned. Up close, he saw it clearly now—rage mirrored in her violet eyes. Not fear. Hatred. Fire. Strength. He released her.
"Seer," Castel commanded without looking away from Arastella. "Come."
Relissa rushed forward, pale. "Your hand, child."
Arastella hesitated. Then allowed it. The moment Relissa touched her. The kingdom burned.
Walls collapsed in flame. Bodies littered the streets. Dragons filled the sky, wings blotting out the sun. Blood ran through Sof like a river. Relissa recoiled with a scream.
"Sire!" she gasped, trembling violently. "You must let her go. Marriage to her will destroy the kingdom."A slow smile touched Arastella's lips. Castel did not look at the seer.
"Silence."
"I know what I saw!" The pressure cracked stone.
Castel's jaw tightened. Then—slowly—he nodded once.
"For now," he said quietly, eyes still locked on Arastella, "you are spared." He turned to Relissa.
With deliberate calm, he sliced his finger and let the blood drip into his wine. It darkened instantly. He smeared it along the rim.
"Drink," he commanded Arastella. "Celebrate with me. Then go." The crowd froze. She hesitated. Then lifted the cup. Drank. He stepped closer and tucked a strand of fiery hair behind her ear. His thumb lingered.
He dragged it slowly across her lower lip, smearing the faint trace of blood there. The gesture was intimate.
Claiming. "You may go," he said, voice strained.
She bowed stiffly and turned running toward the forest, leaving her basket behind. The moment she disappeared into shadow. Castel's restraint snapped.
He summoned Krince and Cion instantly.
"Follow her," he ordered, eyes blazing. "My blood will awaken soon. You will retrieve her before it fades."
Krince stammered, "B-but the seer—"
Castel leaned forward slightly. "Did I grant you speech?" The invisible force crushed the words from Krince's lungs. "Go." They went. Walking over to the back entrance of the palace turning back toward the trembling crowd. A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face. He lifted his cup. "I have chosen my queen," he declared. "The First Choosing Festival has ended."
Relief exploded through the square as he vanished inside the castle. The pressure lifted. The darkness receded. But far beyond the walls. Fire had already begun to stir.