The hum lingered, soft and haunting, like a lullaby pulled from beneath her skin. Victoria Valessai sat alone in the courtyard garden, her hands resting atop her knees, eyes closed, as moonlight painted pale rivers across the obsidian tiles.
She wasn't singing.
She was remembering.
No, not even that.
She was feeling.
That presence—the one that mirrored hers. The hum that answered her own. Always distant, never gone.
It had been there since she was a child. Before her core. Before her name meant anything.
A resonance.
A tether.
A thread across the void.
Tonight, it hummed back.
"Victoria," came her mother's voice, sharp and scented with rose wine.
She did not flinch. Victoria opened her eyes slowly, turning only when Seraphine stepped fully into the moonlight.
"I've let you indulge this... meditation long enough," the Empress said, folding her arms beneath her crimson and gold cloak. "But we must speak of practical matters."
"I am listening," Victoria said, her voice calm.
Seraphine's brow lifted, but she did not comment. Instead, she stepped closer and extended a scroll, sealed in gold wax.
"A proposal from the crown prince of Rhadamer," she said. "And three others have arrived in the last week."
Victoria took the scroll, but she did not open it.
"Do they also hum?" she asked.
Seraphine stared. "What?"
"I said," Victoria repeated, "do they hum?"
Her mother's lips tightened. "This again."
"They don't, do they?"
Seraphine turned from her, looking instead to the moonlit gardens.
"You are a Valessai. A Nephilim of power, prestige, and vision. You are being groomed to lead, not to chase childhood fancies and whispers from dreams. This hum, this imaginary tether—"
"It's not imaginary."
"It is a longing," Seraphine said sharply. "And longing is not legacy. You cannot build an empire on sentiment. You build it with allies. With bloodlines. And with control."
Victoria rose now, the scroll still untouched in her hand.
"I've mastered control," she said. "I've studied more than any child your court has ever raised. I've beaten your guards. I've mastered spellcraft that I shouldn't even have access to. And still, none of it answers me the way he does."
Seraphine turned back, her voice quieter. "There is no he. You were born alone."
"No," Victoria said softly. "I was born with someone. We just haven't met yet."
Court sessions were held every third morning. Victoria arrived in full regalia, her crimson-trimmed mirrorsteel circlet glinting atop her silver hair. Around her, the nobles of Kael-Terun postured and gossiped.
The topic of the day, as always, was alliances.
And engagements.
"The prince of Dareth has a rare fire affinity. He scorched four royal challengers last month alone," said Duke Halvar.
"A hot temper," murmured Lady Mirenne. "More likely to burn our palace than win a war."
Seraphine raised a hand.
"The Valessai line needs vision," she said. "Not tantrums. Not arrogance. We will choose our allies wisely."
She turned to Victoria.
"You've ignored every letter from noble suitors. I cannot shield you from tradition forever. Choose, or I will choose for you."
"I've read their names," Victoria replied, voice measured. "They all want the crown, not me."
"Power is not a curse," Seraphine snapped. "It is your burden."
"I do not fear burden," Victoria said. "But I will not share it with someone who cannot hear the song."
Again, silence fell. No one in the court understood her words—but they felt the weight of them.
Lady Mirenne coughed politely. "If I may, there is one more potential suitor."
Victoria arched an eyebrow.
"The Elven Kingdom," Mirenne said. "They've remained silent since the war. No trade, no correspondence. But rumor says they've taken in a child of great promise. A boy of white hair and strange eyes who sings to the wind and reads at the base of the World Tree."
"The World Tree?" Seraphine's interest sharpened.
"They call him prince, though he has no noble blood. Adopted by the Elven King and Queen themselves."
"What is his name?" Victoria asked, something within her stirring.
"They haven't said. No envoy has seen him directly. But the Elves refer to him as The Dawnborn."
The hum inside her chest pulsed.
A single beat louder.
Seraphine pursed her lips. "It would mend old wounds. The Elves lost land in the last war. This child—if he's as brilliant as they say—might be the key to something lasting."
Victoria said nothing.
But her fingers twitched.
The hum was stronger now.
That night, in her chamber, Victoria stood before her mirror.
She did not see herself.
She saw possibilities.
A Victoria who had accepted Dareth's prince. Another who had fled the empire. One who became cruel, like Seraphine. One who died alone.
But beneath them all, humming through the glass, was one who stood at the edge of a forest—eyes closed, hand outstretched—and another hand meeting hers in the air.
White hair.
Ember eyes.
And the hum.
Her hum.
His hum.
Perfect harmony.
Victoria touched the glass. "Soon," she whispered.
And from the other side of the world, though neither could hear it aloud, the wind carried the same whisper back.
Soon.