They settled beneath the gentle glow of the Moon’s Veil, the soft luminescence wrapping them in a serene embrace. Queen Lissandra’s eyes grew distant, as if calling forth mories from the depths of ti.
"Long ago," she began, her voice weaving like a tiless lody, "there were many like you—multielental beings, children of the earth, sky, fire, and water. They were gifted with power unlike any seen today. These multielenters could command the forces of nature, bending wind, fla, stone, and wave as if they were part of their very souls. Creatures of all kinds—elves, spirits, and ancient guardians—walked the world, their magic vibrant and free."
Her gaze darkened with sorrow. "But peace is fragile, especially when power is feared. Centuries ago, a terrible war erupted. Fear and greed twisted hearts. Powerful factions rose, intent on controlling or destroying those who wielded many elents. The multielenters beca targets, hunted relentlessly. One by one, they were driven to the brink—the Death Door, as the old stories call it. Those who fell passed into shadow; those who survived did so only by hiding or by suppressing their true selves."
She paused, her eyes reflecting the pain of loss. "For a hundred years, the hunt went on. Few remained. Many who survived could only use a single elent, masking the fullness of their power for fear of discovery. The world grew quieter, smaller in magic and wonder."
"The wars ended, but the damage lingered. The scattered survivors gathered into enclaves—demon villages, elven hamlets, hidden refuges like ours, human towns, and more. So creatures wandered the wilds alone, but few survived the dangers born of war’s devastation. Magic twisted the lands, leaving behind pockets of peril and mystery."
Lira listened intently, the weight of the past settling deep in her chest.
"But your power..." Lissandra’s voice softened, lifting with hope, "it is ancient, awakened in you as the earth beneath your feet and the wind in your breath. Your connection to the earth grounds you; the wind calls to you like a forgotten song. To master the air, you must first guard it well. Hide this gift from others until you learn its true strength. Then, you must journey to the ancestral mountains, places where the winds sing their oldest songs. There, your bond will grow, and the air will beco your shield and your voice."
The queen’s wings shimred gently as she continued. "Fairies like us are born with our powers—our elents flow through our veins from the mont of our first breath. For you, it will be harder. But not impossible. I will give you a map to find these sacred mountains."
With a delicate gesture, she extended her hand. A scroll of pale light unfurled and grew, its soft glow brightening as it settled into Lira’s palm, warm and alive as if breathing.
"For this gift," Queen Lissandra said quietly, "I ask only one thing: promise you will keep our village a secret. And gather rare flowers for our Circle of Stones—those that resonate with our clan’s earth. Your power will guide you to them. We search the lands for those like us, for protection and unity."
Lira nodded solemnly, gripping the glowing scroll. "Thank you, Queen Lissandra. I promise to keep your village safe and to find and bring others of your clan if I can."
The queen smiled softly, a light of pride in her eyes. "Go now. I will send you back." Her wings fluttered once more, scattering golden motes of light around them. "If you seek more answers, you are always welco here. But beware—do not let anyone follow you. The path is not safe for those unprepared. Good luck, child of root and sky."
With those final words, the golden light swirled and deepened, and Lira felt herself being gently pulled back toward her own world, carrying with her the weight and hope of a destiny reborn.
The mossy clearing faded, replaced by the shadowed edge of the forest. The old wooden door lood ahead, half-swallowed by ivy and shadow. She hesitated, her fingers brushing the cool, ti-worn wood, as if it might dissolve into mist at her touch. With a slow push, the hinges groaned, and the familiar scent of dried herbs and parchnt greeted her.
Moonlight spilled across her small room, silvering the floorboards. She leaned against the door for a breath, the mory of the queen’s touch still warm on her hand.
A soft rustle ca from the bed. Fluffy, her little companion, padded over and curled against her side, purring in steady rhythm. Lira smiled faintly, stroking his fur as the tension lted from her shoulders.
Sleep took her swiftly.
In her dream, she saw a woman—tall, radiant, and aglow with the sa light she’d seen in Queen Lissandra’s wings. The woman’s face was her own, yet older, her presence both regal and warm. She stood among fairies who twirled and shimred, laughter like crystal chis filling the air. The woman—her other self—threw her head back and laughed, her joy boundless.
The vision dissolved into morning light. Lira woke with a soft gasp, Fluffy blinking at her from the pillow’s edge.
"That..." she whispered, "...was ."
A certainty blood in her chest. Not just a dream—sothing that had been. Sothing she had lived before.
The morning light spilled across her room in gentle threads of gold, warming the wooden floor and brushing her cheek. She rose slowly, her mind still lingering in the dream—of that older self, radiant and alive among the fairies, laughter like bells ringing in a sunlit glade. It had felt so real that her heart still carried a faint echo of joy.
Pulling on her robes, she slipped into the academy’s main hall, the hum of morning activity filling the air—students exchanging sleepy greetings, the scent of fresh bread and tea drifting from the kitchens. She walked through it all with a strange new calm, the dream’s warmth clinging to her like an invisible shawl.
When the lessons ended, instead of returning to her quarters, she made her way to the high, arched corridor that led to the Grandmaster’s chambers. The carved doors lood ahead—ancient oak inlaid with swirling silver patterns that shimred faintly as she approached. Her steps slowed, not from fear, but from the heavy sense that what she was about to say might change sothing deep in the fabric of her days.
She raised her hand and knocked, the sound echoing softly through the hall.
Inside, she heard the shifting of robes, the slow scrape of a chair.
"Enter," ca the Grandmaster’s voice—calm, deep, and threaded with that ageless patience only he seed to carry.
She pushed the door open, stepping into a chamber lit by streams of colored light from the stained glass windows. Shelves lined with books and scrolls stretched to the ceiling, and the scent of incense and old parchnt hung in the air. The Grandmaster was seated at his desk, quill still in hand, his eyes lifting to et hers with quiet curiosity.
She took a breath, steadying herself.
"Grandmaster," she began, her voice low but clear, "I saw sothing last night... and I think it was . But not now— as a woman, grown, standing among fairies, laughing as if I belonged there. It felt... real. Like it wasn’t just a dream."
The Grandmaster’s gaze deepened, as if peering into more than her words. He gestured for her to sit.
"My child," he said slowly, "there are dreams that are simply the wanderings of the mind... and there are dreams that rember what the waking self has forgotten. So things we need to explore by ourselfs."
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