Fae Kingdom of Larethien – Twenty-Two Years Ago
The kingdom of Larethien had always glowed brightest under moonlight.
Twin moons hovered over the palace of silver spires, casting their glow upon walls woven with vines that bloomed year-round. The scent of starlilies drifted through air that hummed with soft magic. Laughter danced through the golden halls, echoing off mosaic floors and floating lanterns shaped like flowers. Music poured from crystal flutes. Everything pulsed with peace.
In the highest tower, Queen Elyria cradled her infant daughter, singing softly while the child's tiny hand clutched the queen's braid.
"She smiles even in her sleep," Elyria murmured.
"She dreams," King Caelen said, coming to her side. "Of things we can't yet see."
He brushed a curl from the child's brow. Baby Aeris cooed and blinked up at her parents, unaware that her birth had already changed the stars.
"She burns with starlight," Caelen said, voice low. "Even the seers felt it."
Elyria pressed a kiss to her daughter's forehead. "And so, we clipped her wings."
Caelen nodded grimly. "Until she is ready."
Wrapped in a soft wrap of sky-blue silk, the baby yawned and fell asleep against her mother's heart. Outside, bells rang gently across the gardens. Another festival night. More joy.
No one expected It would be the last.
—
The first explosion shattered the serenity.
The sky to the west lit up in crimson. A roar — ancient and unnatural — cracked through the wind. Cries echoed through the city. And in the kitchen below the tower, Maela froze, a pot of warm milk forgotten in her hand.
A second blast. Closer.
A scream.
Then the doors burst open and a bloodied guard fell at her feet. "Go!" he gasped. "Run, Lady Maela! They're—"
He never finished.
Maela didn't think. She snatched up a velvet blanket and raced for the nursery tower.
—
In the royal chambers, Queen Elyria was already strapping her daughter into a sling across her chest, her face carved from ice and fury.
"He's here," she told Caelen. "Malrec."
The king nodded grimly. His blade gleamed in his fist, already wet with blood.
"He came with warlocks. Shadow-born rogues. Gods help us—he made it inside."
"He wants the throne," Caelen growled. "He'll tear down the whole realm to wear a crown of ash."
"No," Elyria whispered, eyes gleaming. "He wants her."
As if sensing her name in the air, Aeris stirred in her wrap and whimpered.
"I won't let him touch her," Elyria said.
A sharp knock at the hidden side door—Maela stumbled in, breathless.
"My Queen—my King—"
"We need you," Caelen said immediately. "You must take her. Now."
Maela's eyes widened. "Me? But—"
"She trusts you," Elyria said, already placing the baby in her arms. "You were there the moment she was born. You've bathed her. Nursed her. Protected her. You will do it again. You are her guardian now."
Maela trembled. "Where will I take her?"
"Out the eastern passage. Through the weeping hollow. The old forest will hide you." Caelen gripped her shoulder. "Do not stop. Not for anyone. Do you hear me?"
A rumble shook the walls. Distant screams climbed higher.
Elyria pulled a silver pendant from around her neck — a soft-glowing crystal shaped like a tear. "This will mask her presence. It carries my seal. And—"
Her voice broke.
"Elyria," Caelen warned.
The queen nodded. "And it carries the last of my magic. To protect her."
Elyria reached out, palm glowing, and whispered a binding spell — a soft pulse of light sealing Aeris's magic. "This will hold until her twenty-second year. Until the prophecy ignites."
Maela wept silently as the baby slept peacefully in her arms.
"I swear," she whispered. "On my life."
Caelen opened the passage door. "Go now."
Maela ran.
—
The king and queen stood alone in their chamber, the firelight casting golden halos around their crowns.
When the door shattered and Malrec entered, he found them already waiting.
His robes were black, his arms marked with crawling red runes, and his golden eyes gleamed with cruelty. "Ah. My dearest brother. Sister." He bowed mockingly.
"Traitor," Caelen spat.
Elyria summoned light to her palms. "You'll never have her."
Malrec's smile faltered. "Her?"
Then realization flickered across his face.
"She's not here," he growled. "Where is she?!"
Caelen attacked.
The chamber exploded into violence—light, flame, and ash. But even kings and queens cannot stop destiny.
—
Outside the palace walls, Maela fled through the shadows, the baby close to her heart. Flames lit the skyline behind her. Her legs ached. Her lungs burned.
Then the rogues found her.
Three of them—shadowy, cloaked, blades gleaming with cursed silver.
Maela turned to shield the baby—
And the forest answered.
A gust of wind struck the rogues, lifting them like paper.
A shimmering figure stepped from the trees—her robes made of starlight and smoke.
"Maela," she said, voice like bells. "Come. Now."
Maela's breath caught. "Lysira?"
The High Priestess. Keeper of Prophecy. She had vanished years ago.
"Fate called me," Lysira said. "And now I answer."
She waved her staff — light flared, blinding — and when it faded, the rogues lay still.
Lysira led Maela and the baby deeper into the forest, into a secret grove that pulsed with warding runes.
"She is hidden," the priestess whispered. "But this won't last forever."
"Will he come?" Maela asked, clutching Aeris.
Lysira looked to the burning sky. "He believes she's dead. For now."
Maela clutched the baby tighter, tears hot on her cheeks. "And when she turns twenty-two?"
"Then the prophecy will awaken," Lysira said softly, "and the world will follow."
—
Far behind them, in the shattered throne room, Malrec stood over the bodies of King Caelen and Queen Elyria, their crowns broken beside them.
"The child is gone," one of his rogues reported. "We pursued someone into the woods… but they're dead. Both burned. It must have been her."
Malrec stared into the night and said nothing.
Then he smiled. "Then nothing stands in my way."
—
And beneath a moonless sky in the heart of a forest, a baby slept in a cradle of woven leaves — her magic locked, her past buried.
But her blood remembered.
And so did the stars.