Attira - 'The Windborn Heir'

"If I must choose between a throne and the breeze—let the crown rot where it falls. I will take the wind, and never look back.”

High in the sacred canopy of Mt. Atrebla, where the forest sings in the language of ancestors and shadows move with ancient purpose, there lives an imperial heir born to rule—yet destined to rebel. Attira, daughter of Bo’Masi, sovereign ruler of the Kobel-Oji, was not born weak, but wild. And that is far more dangerous.

She is of the line of Bohdeni, first-blood of the war-born tree Oaks, and by rite and marking, the forest bends to her presence. Her jyen expect her to wed and pass on the pure bloodline of rulers past, but Attira was never made for stillness. She does not move like a matriarch-to-be. She dances like wind slipping through treetops—graceful, untamed, and impossible to catch.

There is a restlessness in her veins, a yearning not for power but for freedom. And while her elders drown her in tradition, she turns her gaze beyond the treeline, to the savannahs of the Rheyns—the sworn enemies of her kind.

It is among them, not her court, that her spirit finds kinship. Bora, a daughter of the Rheyns, with a spirit that mirrors her own, is the only one who knows her truth. Together, they’ve carved a secret world in the spaces where laws do not reach, where the roots of war and duty cannot grow. But the heavens of Jesseri have long memories, and even longer reach—and some say the forest watches, silently sharpening its judgment.

Her defiance is not loud. It is quiet. Patient. She weaves her rebellion like a seamstress threads divine robes—subtle and unseen. She knows what she risks—the wrath of her father, the exile of her clan, the fire that waits should the Rheyn and Oji ever find them together.

In another life, she might’ve been content to rule. But in this one, she is a whisper against legacy, a blade of grass in the storm, and the daughter who would rather be forgotten than bound by duty.