Darkness.
There was nothing at first. No sound. No feeling. No air. Just the quiet thrum of silence wrapped around Lyra like a thick shroud.
Then "Lyra…"
A soft voice, as warm as sunlight, echoed through the void. Her name, spoken gently yet firmly.
"Lyra… Wake up."
Her lashes fluttered. A slow breath escaped her lips. And then, her eyes opened.
She found herself standing—not on stone or grass, but water. Still, crystal-clear water that shimmered beneath her feet. It didn't splash. It didn't ripple. It simply held her, like a quiet mirror of the sky above. And what a sky it was.
An endless ocean of pale blue stretched above, streaked with long, lazy clouds that glowed white and gold. The air was warm but not heavy, scented with something faint—like blooming lilies after rain.
Lyra blinked, looking down at herself. Her body was whole. Her pain was gone. She was clothed in a single flowing garment, seamless and pure white, clinging gently to her frame like a second skin. It covered her from shoulder to ankle, soft as silk, yet glowing faintly at the seams.
She turned slowly, confusion overtaking awe. Her voice cracked.
"…Where am I?"
Then the light came.
From high above, a beam of golden-white radiance broke through the clouds and descended like a slow-falling feather. It spiraled down with grace, coalescing before her. The water did not stir. The air did not shift. It simply was.
From the light, a shape began to form. First, tall and cloaked in gold. Then it settled—into the figure of a man. An old man. Handsome, with sharp, wise eyes of pale silver, and long white hair that flowed behind him like a river of moonlight. He wore the same cloth as Lyra, but more regal, glowing ever so slightly.
Lyra staggered back. Her heart raced.
"Who—who are you?!" she demanded, voice tight. "Why do you know my name? Where is this place?!"
The man smiled softly. "I am glad to finally see you, Lyra."
He stepped forward, slowly, as though trying not to scare her.
"I am what many call a Celestial," he said calmly. "But among your people, I am known as the Mage King."
Lyra froze, eyes wide. Her mouth parted in disbelief.
"C…Celestial? The Mage King? That's impossible. You're just a story—a myth! You… I shouldn't be here. Did I die?" Her voice cracked near the end, and her fists trembled. "Am I dead?"
The Mage King shook his head. "No. You are alive, child. Barely, yes—but alive. Your body sleeps in your world. But your soul… has returned to its center."
He raised his arm and gestured to the boundless water and sky. "This is your core, Lyra. The heart of your spirit. A place only you may enter. And now, me—for I dwell within it."
Her breathing slowed, but her eyes shimmered with fear and confusion. "Why? Why are you here? What do you want from me?"
"I want nothing from you," he said, walking gently across the water toward her. "I have already given to you."
He stopped just a step away and raised his hand—not in threat, but like a father calming a frightened child. "May I?"
Lyra hesitated. Then, with slow motion, she nodded.
His fingertips touched her forehead.
A surge of light flared through her vision. Images flooded her mind—of fire, blood, the demon's claws lashing toward her sister. Of her standing tall, broken but burning with light. Of the spell she cast. Of Miya in her arms.
Tears welled up in her eyes.
"I… I remember now," she whispered, gripping her arms. "I thought I died… but I protected her. I protected Miya."
"You did," the Mage King said. "You chose strength not to destroy, but to shield. That is why I chose you."
"Chose me?" Her voice quivered. "For what?"
He stepped back and extended his hand. In it, a staff formed—tall and graceful, shaped of silver and white-gold, with a crystal that shimmered with shifting stars.
"This," he said, "is the Staff of Celestia. A weapon, yes. But also a symbol. You are the first to wield it. You are the first I have ever chosen to bear such power."
"Why me?" she asked, stunned. "I'm not special. I lived in a forgotten village. I'm not brave. I'm just…"
"You are more than you think," he interrupted gently. "You are pure. You feel pain and still choose mercy. You were powerless, and yet chose to protect. Power does not corrupt you, Lyra—it awakens you."
She stared at the staff as it faded from view.
"And now?" she asked. "What happens now?"
He smiled again—soft, sad, knowing. "Now you return. But you must carry a burden. This power—this bond between you and me—must remain secret. Tell no one. Not of your staff, not of this place, not even of me."
"But why?" she asked. "Why hide it?"
"Because not all hearts are as kind as yours," he replied, his gaze distant now. "Some will seek to use you. Others will fear you. But I will be with you. Always."
His body shimmered, light breaking away from him like wind-blown ash. He began to fade.
"Wait!" she called, stepping forward. "Don't go!"
"I never left," he said, voice already distant. "I am with you… in here."
His hand touched her chest, just over her heart—then vanished.
A quiet hum filled the air, soft and steady like a whispered lullaby. Lyra stirred.
She blinked slowly, eyes adjusting to the dim violet glow of the room. She was in a large bed layered with silken sheets, the mattress thick and comfortable, as though built for someone of noble blood. Strange glass tubes pulsed with soft blue light, connected to thin magical threads that disappeared into her skin. Circles of runes floated gently around her, rotating like constellations, each one pulsing in time with her heartbeat.
She was not in her village.
She was not in the dirt or ash or blood-soaked ground.
She was in Velharest.
It was night—the kind of night stories whispered about but she had never seen with her own eyes. The only light in the room came from across the chamber, where two massive doors stood open, letting in a soft, pale glow. A breeze slipped through the entrance, carrying the scent of blossoms and cold stone.
Lyra sat up, wincing slightly. Her muscles ached, but she was alive.
She looked at the magical devices around her and gently tried to remove one of the glowing threads. It sparked faintly, resisting her touch. She tried again—fingers more firm this time—but the runes flared, and the thread snapped back into place.
She sighed, frustrated, and slowly shifted to the edge of the bed.
As her bare feet touched the marble floor, the magical devices shimmered and hovered alongside her, their cables extending and coiling neatly to keep up with her steps.
She walked slowly toward the balcony.
Each step was cautious, heavy with uncertainty—but also pulled by something quiet and invisible. She passed through the open doors and stepped out into the world beyond.
And then she saw it.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Below her, the capital of Velharest stretched out like a sea of lights—floating platforms, spires carved of crystal and gold, bridges wrapped in vines and illuminated sigils. Dazzling motes of magic flickered across the buildings like fireflies. Even in the night, the city breathed with life.
But it was the sky that took her soul.
Above her, an endless sky shimmered with color—deep blue veined with swirls of indigo, violet, and pale silver. Stars littered the heavens in a way she'd never thought possible—thousands, millions, some clustered in vast swirling bands like rivers of light.
The moons—three of them—drifted slowly in the sky, each a different color and shape. One was pale gold, cracked like ancient marble. Another was smooth and green, faintly glowing like jade. The third was massive and red, with swirling storm patterns across its face.
Among the stars, living creatures moved. Varn, they were called—magical beasts born from the mana of the world. Some flew like dragons, others glided like birds made of glass. One creature, far above, caught her gaze.
It was massive—twice the size of a castle—its form faint and translucent, like a blue whale made of stars. Its skin shimmered with galaxies, and beside it, a smaller calf swam through the sky with it, their bodies trailing sparkles like falling dust.
Tears welled up in Lyra's eyes without her realizing. One slipped down her cheek as she whispered, barely audible:
"…Beautiful…"
Then a voice came from behind her.
"Solomere?"
She turned, startled.
A woman stood by the balcony doors, her silhouette framed by the faint light of the room behind her. She was tall and graceful, with light silver hair pulled back tightly. She wore the elegant uniform of the Royal Knights—dark with silver lining and high collars—but her glasses and the clipboard in her hands gave her a scholarly air.
She was an elf. And her eyes, golden and calm, met Lyra's without judgment.
Lyra wiped her cheek quickly and nodded. "Yes… that's me."
The elf smiled faintly, stepping closer. "It's your first time seeing the night sky, isn't it?"
Lyra glanced back at the heavens, still dazed. "It is. It's more than I imagined."
The elf chuckled. "It looks best in Velharest. The nights here are something even nobles cry over. But the day? Hmph, too many clouds. You can't see anything."
Lyra let out a soft laugh. "At home… we could barely see the sky at all. At night or even in the day."
"Why?" the elf asked, tilting her head.
"There's too much sand," Lyra said quietly. "Dust storms. They come often—so thick it's like walking through fog made of ash. Sometimes we'd go weeks without a clear sky."
She turned again to the stars. "People always said the world was beautiful. But I never thought it could be like this. If the sky alone looks like this… then what must the rest of the world be like?"
The elf leaned on the balcony's edge beside her, her voice softer now. "The world's even more beautiful than this, kid. And bigger. Some folks spend their whole lives just traveling. They say you never really see the same sky twice."
Lyra nodded slowly. "Must be nice… to travel. To go everywhere. To see everything."
The elf smiled at that. "Heh. You sound like one of those dreamers."
"Aren't we all?" Lyra murmured. "Lucky are the ones who get to walk the entire world."
The elf chuckled again—this time with something bittersweet in her tone.
"Travel the entire world? Hah. That's the greatest myth of all. No one has done it. Not yet. Not even close. Most maps are incomplete. Beyond our own continent? Unknown. It took thousands of years just for Zarion to discover and connect with two more continents."
Lyra turned, eyes wide. "Really? I thought the world was more… connected."
"Not even close. Kingdoms try. Families try. Many die. But… one family did something different."
The elf paused, adjusting her glasses.
"The Zinck family. They went further than anyone ever had. They didn't just visit other continents. They walked them. They marked their presence. They changed the world in their own quiet, terrifying way."
Lyra blinked. "Zinck family? Never heard of them. Are they important?"
The elf's smile faded. Her voice became firm, almost cold. "No. Not important. And you don't need to know about them."
There was a long silence.
Lyra looked back up at the sky, her voice soft again.
"Well… they're lucky. Traveling this world… that would take millennia. They must really enjoy what they're doing."
The elf looked at her for a long moment, then gave a small nod.
"They did. In their own way."
She straightened and tapped her clipboard.
"Well, dreamer, we can talk about that later. For now, your family is waiting for you. And they're eager to see you awake."
Lyra turned to follow, but not before stealing one last look at the sky—at the whale and its calf, still gliding slowly through the cosmos.
Something had awakened in her.
Wonder.