Perfection was not a choice, it was an expectation. From the moment she could walk, Sabrina Mahreen Adams was groomed to lead, to build, to uphold the traditions of Everhaze. Where others hesitated, she stepped forward. Where others faltered, she remained steady. She was not just an Orveil, she was the embodiment of what an Orveil was meant to be.
As the Head of Timberhold, she held a role that was both an art and a duty. Timberhold was the backbone of Everhaze, where craftsmanship met preservation, and where the village’s structures stood as proof of generations of skill. Sabrina carried the title with pride, her hands shaping more than just wood, she was shaping the future.
From a young age, she understood that her responsibilities were not a choice but a calling. Her parents, descendants of strong bloodlines, instilled in her the values of discipline and excellence. And Sabrina responded with unwavering determination.
She learned faster than most, mastering the intricate carvings and architecture that even the elders admired. She understood the grain of every timber, the strength of every beam, the soul of every structure. By the time she turned eighteen, when her name was announced as the Head of Timberhold, no one doubted the decision. The village cheered for her, her parents beamed with pride. She had fulfilled her destiny.
Yet, beneath her triumph, there was always one lingering shadow—Maël.
Her younger brother, always compared to her. The one who, in the eyes of the village, never measured up. He was the reckless one, the unserious one, the one who would never carry his duty with the same weight she did.
But Sabrina never saw him that way.
To her, Maël was not a disappointment. He was different, yes, but not lesser. He had strengths that the village refused to see, a spirit that they mistook for carelessness. When whispers spread of his inadequacy, when people muttered that he was not fit to be an Orveil, Sabrina stood taller. She would not allow them to diminish him.
But she also knew: this was not her battle to fight.
Maël would have to find his own path.
And until that day came, she would walk hers—with unwavering steps, with hands that built, with a heart that carried the weight of Everhaze. Not for perfection.
But for the village.
For those who would come after.
And, in her heart, for Maël.