DRAGONBORN SORCERER-Chapter 32: Will Of Royalty: A Destined Path

Rosaline Del Heathway had always been a gentle child, much like her older brother, Michael Rosevill Del Heathway. Together, they were the shining stars of the royal palace— beloved by the people and cherished by those who served them.

Since childhood, they had devoted their prayers to the Goddess of Creation, and offered their faith with pure hearts and unwavering loyalty. They listened intently to their mentors and never once strayed into mischief. They embodied the virtues of nobility with grace. However, the warmth of their innocent world would not last forever.

While their father, King Makarov, remained engrossed in governing the vast lands of Rosevill, their mother’s health began to decline. Queen Silica Del Heathway, once a vision of elegance and wisdom, grew weaker with each passing day. Her once-radiant skin turned pale, her voice softened into whispers, and her once-determined gaze became hollow.

Despite the presence of the finest healers in the kingdom, nothing could halt the inevitable. Her body and soul waned, and slipped away like sand through the fingers of time. In her final days, it was Rosaline and Michael who took care of her, watching helplessly as their mother— once a pillar of strength— faded before their eyes.

When they were at age ten, their mother— the queen of the nation, Silica Del Heathway, took her final breath as Rosaline and Michael clung to their mother’s beside. The last thing they heard was a soft, loving whisper...

"My dear children... Always walk in the light."

And then, she was gone.

The palace fell into chaos, mourning the loss of its queen. Servants wept in silence. The nobles spoke in hushed voices. And the people of the kingdom prayed for their beloved ruler’s soul.

Yet amidst the grief, King Makarov remained unmoved. He saw it not as a tragedy, but as the will of the Goddess. His expression remained unreadable. His cold demeanour remained unshaken. He did not weep, nor did he attend the funeral.

For Rosaline, this indifference shattered something deep within her.

While Michael, ever the resilient son of Rosevill, recovered from the sorrow over time, Rosaline found herself consumed by that grief. She locked herself away in her chambers, refusing visitors, refusing to eat, and sinking into despair.

And then in the blink of an eye two years passed.

For these past two long years Rosaline felt nothing but utter despair.

Her body weakened unimaginably. Her once-vibrant eyes dulled. The world outside her chamber ceased to exist for her. Even the time itself appeared to be frozen for her.

Then, on one fateful night, as she lay motionless in the darkness of her room, something extraordinary occurred, out of her anticipation.

A divine light— radiant and pure— descended upon her.

At first, she thought it was a mere illusion. But the warmth that embraced her was unlike anything she had ever felt. It was as though the heavens themselves had parted, allowing the light of the Goddess to reach her directly. She could not help herself but to mesmerized by the warmth.

And then, a voice— ethereal, powerful, and filled with divine authority— spoke to her..

"Rise... O heir of Rosevill. Soon, a shadow of calamity shall befall on this land. A great hindrance will rise against the devoted. Chaos shall spread, yet you shall be the one to guide the people toward the light of truth."

The words echoed through her very soul, igniting something that had long been buried beneath her grief. The despair that had imprisoned her heart for two years—vanished with wiping her tears.

A newfound purpose surged through her veins. The divine revelation had bestowed upon her an incredible gift— a class ascension.

Rosaline, who had once been a mere Stage-3 Tanker, had now awakened as a Guardian—a warrior blessed by the Goddess to protect the faithful. Her sorrow had transformed into unwavering determination.

With newfound strength, she rose to her feet. The frail girl who had once drowned in grief was now gone. In her place stood Rosaline Del Heathway, and her heart blazed with purpose. Her face radiated nothing but confidence.

Overjoyed, she left her chamber for the first time in years, walking with steady steps through the palace halls. The guards who had long grown accustomed to her absence stood in stunned silence as she passed them by.

She had but one destination— the Audience Chamber, where her father, the King, resided.

The guards, though given strict orders never to allow her in without permission, did not stop her. Not after seeing the fire in her eyes.

The grand doors swung open, and revealed the vast chamber.

At the far end of the room, seated upon a gold-crimson throne, was King Makarov. His posture was composed, yet his expression held a rare hint of concern.

A young man clad in the robes of the church before him knelt.

Rosaline’s arrival disrupted the heavy atmosphere, causing both men to turn toward her. The king’s eyes briefly flickered with recognition before his gaze hardened.

"Rosaline." His voice, deep and commanding, filled the chamber. "Is there something of importance?"

She bowed her head slightly, choosing her words carefully. "No, Father. I did not come here to trouble you. Though, may I ask... who is this man? And why do you seem so troubled?"

The young priest lifted his head, as he revealed sharp features that bore an uncanny resemblance to someone she had seen before.

At first, she mistook him for High Priest Hyndall Wiseman. However, upon closer inspection, she realized he was not the same man.

But his appearance, attire, hair even the piercing gaze— everything resembled to Hyndall. The only this that was exception, was the concerning impression he had on his face. As if he was stunned with worry or rather shock.

"This?" the King gestured to the kneeling figure, "This man is Fredric Wiseman, the current High Priest of Rosevill Grand Church."

"High Priest?" Rosaline tilted her head in confusion. "But... wasn’t Father Hyndall the High Priest?"

A sorrowful expression crossed Fredric’s face as he spoke. "Your Highness, your assumption is correct. However, Father Hyndall has passed away— or rather he was assassinated."

Rosaline’s eyes widened in shock. She could not belief whether she heard him right or not. So she repeated the phrase.

"Assassinated? But how? Wasn’t he... immortal?"

"That is a misunderstanding, Your Highness." Fredric shook his head solemnly. "While he was indeed blessed with eternal youth, he was not immortal. No being is free from the shackles of death. And yet, the way in which he was taken away from us..." He clenched his fists. "It was beyond our expectations. The revolutionaries are responsible. And for this sin, they shall not be forgiven."

King Makarov leaned forward slightly, and his expression turned unreadable. He sifted his gaze back at Fredric.

"Father Fredric, what do you require from us? If you need military support, I can arrange it."

"No, Your Majesty." Fredric shook his head. "For now, I only ask that your forces remain on guard. If the rebellion reaches the palace, then, and only then, should the royal army intervene. Until then, we shall handle it ourselves."

"We?" Rosaline interjected. "Who is assisting you?"

Fredric’s gaze sharpened. "Leonardo Andrill, a Stage-10 Fighter, along with his fellow adventurers. They have agreed to aid us in quelling this rebellion and we are certain to achieve victory."

"Then I shall join them as well."

Without hesitation, Rosaline took a step forward. Her eyes filled with determination, fell upon Fredric.

Both he and the King looked at her in surprise. They could not believe how a twelve years mere child could express such strong presence.

Through out the silence, only Fredric’s voice sprouted as he whispered in low voice..

"What did you say, Your Highness? Your Majesty, please make your daughter comprehend the situation. It is not a game for her to play." 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚

But before the king could say anything, Rosaline’s dominating voice rose much to their surprise.

"I have received a revelation from the Goddess herself." She lifted her chin. Her confidence unaverred. "She also bestowed me with a gift— a class ascension. I am now a Guardian, chosen to protect the faithful."

"The Goddess... She has spoken to you?" Fredric’s eyes welled with tears.

"She has," Rosaline confirmed. "She told me that in these chaotic times, I am to guide the people toward the light of truth."

"Your Highness, if you reveal yourself in public, it may involve the nobles. Worse, it may turn the revolutionaries against the entire nation."

"Then I shall use an alias," she declared. "How does Rose sound?"

"It is wonderful!" Fredric clapped his hands together, nodding fervently, "A name blessed by the heavens themselves!" He turned to the King. "Your Majesty, do you object?"

The King closed his eyes, and his voice softened. "If the Goddess has chosen her, then who am I to stand in the way?" He exhaled deeply. "She must have been born for this purpose."

Fredric knelt before Rosaline— now Rose. "Then, Your Highness, allow me to offer my gratitude. With you by our side, the revolution shall not prevail."

And thus, Rose—the chosen protector of the faithful—stepped onto the battlefield, prepared to fight for the light of truth.

Her destiny had begun.