Everhaze was not just a village—it was a legacy, a bond that ran deeper than blood. It was a place held together by The Orveil, the six chosen descendants of the Elders, bound by destiny to protect and preserve the land. They were not merely leaders; they were Everhaze itself.

 

Among them stood Sabrina, the eldest of two siblings, carrying her title with unwavering grace. She was chosen as Head of Timberhold, a role that suited her discipline and craftsmanship. A pride to her family, a symbol of perfection in the eyes of Everhaze.

 

And then there was Maël.

 

The younger sibling, four years behind Sabrina, but always measured against her. Unlike his sister, Maël never fit the mold of an ideal Orveil. He wasn’t reckless in the way people expected—he fulfilled his duties, showed up where he needed to be, and never outright defied tradition. But he carried himself differently: carefree, playful, refusing to take things as seriously as others. Where Sabrina walked with purpose, Maël strolled with defiance.

 

His parents had expected more. The blood of the Elders ran in his veins; he was destined for something greater. But when the time came, he was given the lowest—or at least, that’s what people thought of this role—of the six roles: Head of Inventory.

 

A glorified stockkeeper.

 

While his sister carved intricate woodwork and led the artisans, while others protected forests, waters, and land, Maël counted supplies in a warehouse. His parents were disappointed. The village muttered behind his back. "Not everyone is meant to be great," they said.

 

Maël laughed it off, as he always did. But deep inside, the resentment festered.

 

"They never saw me as enough."

 

The more they compared him to Sabrina, the more he refused to be like her. He made jokes in serious meetings, slouched when others stood straight, found trouble where there was none. It was easier to play the role of a fool than to prove himself and fail.

 

But amidst all the judgment, there was one voice that never wavered—Sabrina’s.

 

How could he ever hate her? It would have been easy to resent her, to blame her for being everything he was not. But Sabrina never acted like she was above him, never made him feel small. She was the only one who never looked at him with disappointment. She never used her success to diminish him; instead, she used it to shield him. When their parents scolded him, she defended him. When the village whispered, she spoke louder in his favor. She never asked him to be like her—she only wanted him to be himself.

 

And so, while the world saw him as Sabrina’s lesser shadow, Maël only saw her as his brightest light. The one person who never made him feel like a failure, the one who believed in him when he couldn’t believe in himself.

 

"You are more than what they say you are," she had told him once.

 

And maybe, just maybe, if Sabrina could believe in him—then perhaps, one day, he could believe in himself too.