Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. While it features the members of Stray kids, the plot, dialogue, and characterizations are entirely imaginary. It does not reflect the real lives, personalities, or actions of the individuals depicted. All places, events are entirely made-up. Please do not repost this story anywhere else without permission—sharing links is fine! Thanks for reading my story! Comments are welcome and appreciated. 😊

In this Magical AU, every person's Magic awakens by their 18th year, revealing traits often inherited from their bloodline and it's very rare for someone to possess more than one traits. Without proper training and disciplined mastery, these powers gradually fade, a phenomenon that affected many in older generations who attempted mastery and either failed or suffered side effects, choosing instead to live as ordinary people. Over time, this led to a serious imbalance in magical ability, sharply reducing the population of fully magical individuals. Even today, many who manifest magic choose to hide their traits rather than face the demands of training, causing the number of non‑magical people to grow even larger. Even those who do master their abilities find their magic weakening with age, making lifelong practice essential. Among the Royal families, mastering magic is not just expected it's mandatory, crucial for political power and maintaining their lineage's magical legacy. There is also a strict moral code: Magic‑users must never intentionally harm another, whether Master or Ordinary. Their powers are viewed as divine, a gift from Nature deities, binding magic to spiritual respect for the Natural world. 

Long ago, the Virellis family fought against a dark witch who had powerful magic. Now, that witch's danger is coming back. Eldrin, a kind mage who can fly, saves a baby from the witch. The baby holds a secret that could change everything. As old secrets wake up, the future of the land depends on what happens next.

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👑 Main Characters

Christopher Chan Virellis ("Chris")
Age: 25 | Gender: Male
Role: Crown Prince of Solara, heir to elemental dominion, descendant of ancient Pact bearers
Magic Trait(s): Triple Elementalist (Fire, Water, Wind)
Personality: Powerful, charming, restless—searching for purpose beyond his royal legacy.

Minho Dravenhall ("Min")
Age: 25 | Gender: Male
Role: Commander-in-training; future Chief Military Commander from a respected military lineage
Magic Trait(s): Earthbound Strength (Physical power drawn from the Earth)
Personality: Cold-eyed, disciplined, fiercely strategic—loyal to the core.

Prince Hyunjin Seraphyne
Age: 24 | Gender: Male
Role: Acting ruler of the North Kingdom; distant cousin of the royal line
Magic Trait(s): Gravitational Pull (Manipulates gravity, movement, and weight)
Personality: Wise, loyal, and commanding—upholds tradition with quiet power.

Changbin Fauren ("Binnie")
Age: 24 | Gender: Male
Role: Protective friend; a quiet catalyst for emotional change
Magic Trait(s): Teleportation
Personality: Strong, emotionally intense, secretly in love with Lix.

Jeongin Alvaryn ("Innie")
Age: 24 | Gender: Female
Role: Noble heiress raised by the royal family
Magic Trait(s): Sonic Magic (Manipulates sound waves)
Personality: Charismatic, joyful, warm-hearted—with hidden power behind her smile.

Jisung Serin ("Ji")
Age: 22 | Gender: Female
Role: Protective childhood friend; daughter of the village’s Head Family
Magic Trait(s): Foresight
Personality: Wise beyond her years, cautious, the steady voice in chaos.

Felix ("Lix")
Age: 22 | Gender: Female
Role: Raised by Eldrin after being saved from the Dark Witch
Magic Trait(s): Unknown (Unawakened)
Personality: Thoughtful, emotionally grounded, cautious—feels isolated by her hidden past.

Seugmin Elwin
Age: 22 | Gender: Female
Role: Mysterious scout and protector
Magic Trait(s): Invisibility
Personality: Playful yet deadly serious when it matters—a quiet savior in shadows.

Eldrin
Age: ~50s | Gender: Male
Role: Guardian mage of the forest village
Magic Trait(s): Flight Magic (Ethereal wings)
Personality: Wise and gentle, a father figure to Lix, living in secrecy.

The Dark Witch
Age: Centuries old | Gender: Male
Role: Antagonist seeking immortality through pure magic
Magic Trait(s): Dark Magic (Implied)
Personality: Ancient and dangerous, a rising threat from forgotten lore.

Chapter Text

The wind howled like a restless spirit through the towering trees of the Ice Forest. Snow fell in thick, swirling sheets, blanketing the frozen ground in a suffocating silence. But beneath the cold white veil, a desperate chase unfolded—breath ragged, heart pounding fiercely.

Eldrin, the mage with wings of shimmering light, darted low between frost-coated pines, clutching a fragile bundle swathed in thick cloth close to his chest. The baby’s soft cries, muffled beneath the heavy cloak, urged him onward through the biting cold.

Behind him, the dark witch stalked relentlessly—a shadow among shadows, eyes burning with ancient malice. His very presence bent the ice beneath his feet, a chilling force long thought vanished from the world.

Far away, in a bustling kingdom, the royal palace stood proud among sprawling gardens and cobblestone streets. Inside, the royal couple watched snowflakes drift softly past the tall windows. Their lively three-year-old son pressed his small hands against the cold glass, giggling at the swirling flakes—until suddenly, his laughter faltered, and frustration tightened his tiny fists. With a sharp slam against the windowpane, the air seemed to shudder.

Outside, an unexpected storm gathered swiftly. Thunder rumbled low on the horizon, and fierce winds swept through the trees of the distant Ice Forest, bending branches and stirring the snow into wild flurries.

The queen’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of unease crossing her face. “The signs,” she whispered. “Something’s stirring.”

The king’s gaze lingered on their son, who now watched the swirling snow with wide, quiet eyes. There was something in the air—a tension they both felt but couldn’t name—a stirring of power, wild and unfamiliar, woven tightly with the boy’s restless spirit.

Far from the palace, the witch’s dark riders struggled against the sudden tempest. Horses reared in panic, ropes snapped like brittle twigs, and the witch’s carriage lurched violently toward the edge of a deep valley. With a furious snarl, the witch tumbled from his seat, swallowed by the swirling snow and crashing rocks below.

Neither the witch, nor Eldrin fleeing through the frozen woods, understood then what had truly sparked the storm. But the winds whispered a secret—a power awakening in the royal child, wild and untamed, whose fierce emotions shaped the very sky.

When he emerged—breathing heavily, furious—Eldrin was already gone, vanished into the cold night air with the child cradled close.

Hours turned to days as Eldrin fled the icy wilderness, pushing himself beyond exhaustion. The landscape slowly shifted—the stark white of snow giving way to dense forests rich with green, alive with the scent of pine and earth. The chill of the Ice Forest faded behind him, replaced by the gentle warmth of a growing dawn.

At last, Eldrin reached the edge of a village nestled among towering trees and meandering streams—no ice in sight. Exhausted and wary, he approached the village borders.

Before he could step further, armed guards intercepted him, their eyes sharp and suspicious.

“Who are you? What brings you here?” one demanded.

Eldrin’s voice was steady but urgent. “I seek shelter—for this child. I cannot protect her alone.”

The guards exchanged wary glances but decided to bring him to the village leaders. They led Eldrin through winding paths to a sturdy stone house where —the village heads—stay.

At the heart of the village stood a sturdy stone house, its windows glowing softly against the night. This was the home of Aron Serin and Lira, the village’s leaders—respected for their kindness and unwavering strength. They were new parents themselves, their newborn child wrapped in soft blankets, a living symbol of hope for the community.

Inside, Eldrin fell to one knee, presenting the baby still hidden beneath his cloak. “Please,” he said quietly, “I beg your hospitality—not for myself, but for this child. Her parents... were lost to the floods and storms that came with the recent tempest. My livelihood was destroyed by the same storm, and I have nowhere else to turn. She is all I have now.”

Lira’s eyes softened as she looked at the small bundle. Aron’s expression was cautious but kind.

Murmurs spread among the villagers—some afraid of bringing danger upon their home, others moved by the child’s vulnerability. But the Serins stood firm.

“Bring her inside,” Lira said softly.

In the weeks that followed, Eldrin worked alongside the villagers. His gift of flight helped scout the surrounding forests, finding food and safe paths. The baby’s soft cries became a part of the village’s quiet rhythm, and Lira often sang lullabies as she rocked her nearly adopted child.

Though suspicion lingered in some eyes, Eldrin became a guardian in their midst—a quiet protector whose past remained a mystery, but whose loyalty was clear.

And in the stillness of night, beneath the canopy of trees, the promise of hope grew ever stronger.

Chapter Text

Twenty-two years had passed since Eldrin first carried the baby through the howling Ice Forest, fleeing the witch’s pursuit and the collapse of everything he once knew.

Now, far from that frozen danger, nestled in a lush basin hidden by miles of tall, whispering forest, the village of Aelburn had grown into a quiet but sturdy community. Time had shaped it — not through expansion or conquest, but through connection. Here, life moved gently. The homes, carved from stone and timber, bore creeping ivy and wind-chimes woven from shells and bone. Flowerbeds spilled freely into paths, and children raced through tall grass that was taller than some of them in spring.

Smoke curled from chimneys in the early evening, and the scent of baked root pies, wild herbs, and fresh linens lingered in the breeze. Bees hummed lazily between flowering vines strung across wooden fences. Nothing in Aelburn hurried — and that was just how its people liked it.

It had taken years for the villagers to fully trust the stranger who had arrived from the storm-torn north, wings trailing frost and fear. But the child he carried — small, golden-haired, with wide eyes and a silent softness to her — had slowly become their own.

She had been fed at many hearths, tucked into many arms. Mothers with grown children cooed over her as if she were theirs. Fathers carved her toys from leftover wood scraps. She grew not in one house, but in all of them. In time, Felix became Aelburn’s own — the kind of soul people smiled about even when she wasn’t in the room.

And Eldrin, once guarded and silent, became something rare to the village — a protector. The only one among them with the gift of magic still active, he never sought reverence or titles. While others had once practiced the old ways, they had since let those arts fade. Even the Serins, the village heads, had laid down their arcane studies long ago, choosing instead the path of earth and governance.

But Eldrin? He remained a student of the sky — and a steward of something deeper.

He helped when sickness swept through in cold seasons, flying swift and tireless to distant healers. He soared above the woods during wild wolf migrations, warning the shepherds and shielding the herds. When the forest grew restless — and sometimes it did — it was Eldrin’s quiet presence that calmed its edges.

Still, despite the respect he had earned, he remained deeply humble — bowing not only to the Serins but to every villager who offered him a kindness, no matter how small.

On one such sunset evening, the soft hum of crickets filled the air as four elders gathered on the wide veranda of the Serin household. The woven roof above them cast shifting patterns of light on the wooden floor, and the breeze brought the smell of ripe fruit and loamy soil.

Aron Serin, tall and silver-haired now, leaned with familiar weight on the wide wooden railing of the veranda, watching the last light spill across the golden edges of the fields. His posture, though worn by time, still carried quiet authority — the kind earned, not demanded. Beside him, Lira, ever graceful despite the years, gently tucked a cloth around a basket of fresh-cut apples, her fingers moving with practiced care.

Seated comfortably around a low, round table nearby were two other longtime couples — both pillars in the village in their own ways.

The first, Daro and Mira, were soft-spoken and thoughtful, their lives steeped in quiet rhythms. Daro, with his patient eyes and weathered hands, was often found tending their hives at sunrise, while Mira, gentle and perceptive, kept track of moon cycles in a worn leather notebook, guiding the planting of herbs and harvests for the whole community.

The second couple brought a different energy — Thane and Irel. Thane, broad-shouldered and gruff in speech, had a warmth to him like an ever-burning hearth, especially when little children came racing through the gardens. Irel, ever radiant, had a laugh that could light up even the cloudiest day, and a sharp wit that kept Thane — and everyone else — on their toes.

Together, the six of them shared more than age and history. They shared seasons, storms, festivals, loss, laughter — and the bond that only comes from building something together with bare hands and open hearts.

Between them, Eldrin sat with his wings loosely folded, a bundle of dried herbs in his lap. He looked peaceful, but his eyes still searched the horizon like he never quite stopped listening.

They were in the middle of what Thane called “evening chitchat” — which mostly meant trading stories and complaints until the stars came out.

“So,” Irel said suddenly, leaning forward with her chin in her palm, “you never did find out anything more about her family, did you?” Her tone was gentle, curious. Not unkind.

The others quieted, their attention slowly turning toward Eldrin.

He didn’t respond right away.

Instead, he glanced toward the edge of the fields — where the forest met the light — and his voice, when it came, was low and thoughtful.

“No,” he said.

He paused, his hands working slowly over the dried herbs, binding them with a practiced motion.

“The rains swallowed their home. The storm that night — it wasn’t natural. I know that now more than ever. I’ve asked through old contacts and followed whispers in winter towns... I’ve found nothing.”

His gaze lowered to his hands, then lifted again to the forest beyond.

“Sometimes I wonder if they were meant to disappear. Not by cruelty, but by... timing. Fate, maybe. The child — Felix — she survived because something in this world wanted her to. Not just to live, but to live here.”

Lira's expression softened, understanding the weight behind Eldrin's words. "She is part of us now, like the forest that shelters her." 

Aron nodded, "Our community may be small, hidden from the outside world, but it has weathered storms both seen and unseen."

From the far end of the field, three young riders emerged, galloping skillfully between trees and fence posts. Even from a distance, Eldrin knew them — and yet, he said nothing. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Jisung, sharp-eyed and graceful, led the way, guiding the horses like the wind followed her command. Just behind her, Changbin, strong-backed and steady, urged his steed forward with practiced ease. Last came Seungmin, bright-eyed and quick with a grin, laughing as her horse surged forward to catch the others.

Their mission was simple: find Felix.

As they crested the low hill above the orchard, sunlight flashed against something ahead.

“There she is!” Minnie called, reining in his horse.

Just beyond the ridge, the young woman stood with her back to them — Felix. Her soft blonde curls shimmered like waves in the low light, and her cloak caught the breeze like leaves caught in a stream. Her eyes — a rare hue that mingled the soft gold of sunrise with the calm green of forest moss — scanned the trees ahead. She didn’t need to turn to know they were coming.

Minnie opened her mouth to call out but Lix had already turned. She brought one finger gently to her lips, eyes alert, signaling them to stay quiet. The gesture was calm but urgent, and without a word, the three of them pulled back their horses, falling still. 

A second later, Minnie — being Minnie — called once again, louder this time..

Chapter Text

The forest lay still, bathed in the soft hues of sunset that painted the sky in violet and gold. Lix crouched low behind a moss-covered log, her breath steady and eyes sharp. Just ahead, a small rabbit hopped cautiously through the brush, pausing to nibble at the tender moss between the gnarled roots of ancient trees. Something was wrong. One of its hind legs trembled ever so slightly, barely noticeable to anyone but Lix.

She held her breath, moving with quiet patience. Her fingers hovered just above the forest floor, inching closer—just one more inch—and she would brush the rabbit’s soft fur. The rabbit froze, its nose twitching, alert to the stillness around it. Lix shifted her weight imperceptibly, and then, gently, her fingers brushed against the rabbit’s ear.

“LIX-ah!” Minnie'svoice shattered the quiet like a bell ringing through the woods. “There you are! You little forest ghost—”

Startled, the rabbit bolted in a flash of brown and white, disappearing into the thick undergrowth. Lix stumbled backward with a sharp breath, leaves rustling beneath her feet. A few strands of her silky blonde hair drifted over her face as she looked up toward the approaching voices. “I was so close,” she muttered under her breath.

Minnie came bounding into the clearing, golden sparks of leftover light magic flickering faintly on her fingertips. Ji followed more quietly, graceful as ever, her eyes calm and steady. Changbin came last, his coat damp from teleportation practice by the river stones earlier that afternoon.

Lix crossed her arms with mock offense. “You three really can’t keep quiet for five minutes, can you?”

Minnie flopped dramatically onto the log beside her, tilting her head. “Don’t look so serious. Was it a wild boar or something?”

“Rabbit,” Lix replied with a sigh, brushing a leaf off her tunic.

“Oh, the fierce and mighty beast of the trees,” Minnie teased with a smirk.

Changbin looked puzzled. “But, why were you chasing a rabbit?”

Lix dusted her palms, avoiding their eyes. “It was injured.”

Minnie laughed softly, stepping closer. “No way. That thing took off like it was training for a race.”

A brief silence settled, thick enough to feel. Minnie’s laughter faded as she realized her words had landed heavier than intended. She shifted awkwardly.

Minnie gave a small, apologetic smile and nudged her gently. “I’m sorry for yelling — I didn’t mean to scare it away. But don’t worry, you’ll get the next one. Or maybe... the forest will come to you when the time’s right.”

Lix looked at her friend and felt a small warmth in her chest. She knew Minnie didn’t mean to hurt or upset her — it was just Minnie's way, full of energy and heart. She managed a faint smile.

The mood lightened as the four fell into an easy rhythm, their footsteps soft on the forest floor as they made their way slowly back toward the village. They traded stories of scraped knees, tired muscles, and the stubborn scars earned from their recent practice sessions — playful complaints mingling with laughter.

But Lix walked quietly beside them, her gaze fixed on the ground. Her eyes flicked down to her hands — smooth and unmarked. No singes, no bruises, no signs of magic’s touch. Just her.

I wish I were as exhausted as you three, she thought, a sharp bitterness tightening in her chest.

Ji stepped closer, her gaze softening as she noticed Lix’s silence. She was never one to fill quiet moments with noise; she listened first, seeing even what others tried to hide.

Changbin fell in beside them, arms crossed, voice steady. “You would’ve caught it, if Minnie hadn’t yelled like a storm cloud bursting.”

“Rude!” Minnie shot back, her tone dramatic but touched with guilt. “You stomped through the trees like a troll in boots.”

Lix laughed quietly, the sound fragile but genuine.

Ji smiled warmly. “You’ll know your magic when it’s time, Lix.”

“Or it’ll know you first,” Changbin added softly, his voice gentler than before.

Minnie swung an arm around Lix’s shoulders. “And until then, we’re not letting anything—rabbit or boar—get the better of you. That’s the rule.”

Lix tried to keep her expression light, but their words settled deep and warm in her chest. They never pitied her. They never rushed her. But they were always watching, always shielding her in the ways they knew. Because these three—who had known her since they were barely walking—felt her silence like others felt sound. They were magic in motion. And until she found her own, their love—quiet and fierce—was enough to hold her steady.

Chapter Text

The soft rhythm of hooves echoed along the narrow forest path as the four friends made their way home. The canopy above was painted with streaks of violet and rose-gold, casting shadows that danced gently over the mossy trail.

Minnie and Changbin rode ahead, half-arguing, half-laughing over whose spell had drained more energy that morning.

“I nearly passed out after that second phase,” Minnie groaned, flopping forward over her horse’s neck dramatically.

Changbin scoffed. “You tripped over your own shadow, Min. That doesn’t count as spell exhaustion.”

“I tripped because I was exhausted! From magic. So technically, I still win,” she shot back, sticking out her tongue.

Behind them, Ji held her reins with calm ease, her gaze flicking between the shifting leaves as if expecting something unseen. Lix sat behind her, her arms loosely wrapped around Jisung’s waist. She didn’t speak, but the rhythm of the ride and the quiet hum of crickets had begun to ease something heavy inside her.

The breeze had cooled, scented with pine, smoke, and the faint sweetness of baked root pies. Up ahead, the warm glow of lanterns glimmered like fireflies between the trees, and the familiar clearing of Aelburn slowly opened before them. Warmth, voices, and the comfort of home reached out to greet them.

At the edge of the gathering space, several adults stood in soft conversation outside the Serin household — among them, Eldrin. His wings, folded and glowing faintly in the dusk, caught the flickering lantern light as he spoke with familiar ease to the other elders.

As the four riders neared, voices lifted in recognition.

“Look who’s finally back,” Thane called out, hands on his hips, his booming laugh echoing across the clearing.

Minnie groaned dramatically as she slid off her horse. “Are we late or just fashionably heroic?”

“You’re late,” Irel said, hurrying toward her with a wide smile. “But still my little hero.” She pulled Minnie into a hug before the girl could dodge it — not that she tried very hard.

“You’ve got twigs in your hair again,” Thane grumbled, brushing them off with a fatherly huff. “What were you doing? Wrestling trees?”

“She was invisible for half of it,” Changbin muttered as he tied off the reins. “Probably wrestled herself.”

“Ha! Wouldn’t be the first time,” Thane chuckled, tousling his daughter’s hair as Minnie squealed, “Appa—!”

Across the clearing, Daro and Mira approached more quietly, their presence like a calm breeze following the laughter.

Changbin bowed slightly toward his parents, though the gesture was relaxed — respectful, but familiar. Mira reached up and gently cupped his cheek.

“You’ve been practicing near the river again,” she said, spotting the faint dampness along his sleeves.

“Teleportation range improved,” he replied simply, with the proud but quiet tone he reserved only for his mother.

Daro gave him a firm nod of approval. “Well done, son. Mind the river stones next time — your footing’s still a bit heavy.”

“I’m working on it,” Changbin replied, his grin tugging at one side of his face.

Daro gave him a playful nudge with his elbow. “Just try not to teleport into tree trunks again, yeah?”

Mira chuckled, shaking her head. “He came home yesterday with bark in his hair.”

Changbin laughed under his breath, clearly used to the teasing. “It was one time.”

Still, he didn’t pull away when Mira gently fixed his collar or when Daro gave his shoulder a brief, proud squeeze. The warmth between them didn’t need to be loud — it was the kind built over years of laughter, training mishaps, and shared stew bowls at the end of long days.

Nearby, Ji was already stepping down from her horse when her mother, Lira Serin, approached, her expression a blend of grace and firm leadership. “Anything unusual out there today?” Lira asked, eyes already scanning her daughter for injury.

“Nothing serious,” Ji replied calmly. “One minor shift near the north path. But I noted it.”

Aron Serin joined his wife, arms crossed. “We’ll have to check that before the next frost. You’ll join the scouts this week?”

Ji nodded. “Of course.”

Despite the formality, there was warmth beneath their exchange — not often spoken aloud, but always there. Lira reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her daughter’s temple with a rare softness.

“You did well,” she said, and that was enough.

And through it all — between hugs and quiet pride and warmth laced with teasing — Lix watched the familiar scene. This was home. Not built from stone or spell, but from voices, laughter, scolding, and the way hands reached out to pull you into it.

That’s when Eldrin’s gaze found her, and his voice lifted with playful mischief.

“Well, well,” he called out, wings folding neatly behind his back as he stepped forward. “My little Princess returns. Tell me — what does Her Royal Grace desire for dinner tonight?”

Lix flushed immediately glowering at him. “Samchon,” she hissed, half-whining, “Don’t call me that.”

Her friends snickered behind her, clearly enjoying the moment, while Eldrin only chuckled, entirely unfazed.

“What?” he said, eyes twinkling with mischief. “You’ll always be my little snow-drop. Royal or not.”

Despite herself, Lix smiled — just a little — and let him pull her into a side hug. His arm came around her shoulder with ease, a shield against the rest of the world. The rest of the village faded behind the warmth of that gesture.

They walked together toward the house, step for step, and for a moment, she didn’t feel like someone missing magic. She just felt... safe.

Eldrin wasn’t her father — not by blood. But in every way that mattered, he was hers.

He had never lied to her, not even when she was young. He had told her gently that her real parents had vanished in a great storm. That the only thing left was her — and the sky, crying with thunder and wind.

But Eldrin had held her through her first night. Through fevers. Through every heartbreak, scraped knee, and sleepless dream. He’d sat at the foot of her bed when she had nightmares, lit soft-glow lanterns with whispered spells, and told her stories about winged guardians and wild stars.

He was the one who had taught her how to listen to the rustle of the trees before the rains came. Who brought her the first blossom from the top of the highest birch every spring. Who never once looked at her like she lacked anything.

To her, Eldrin was everything good and warm in a world that had once been dark and cold.

But now… the years were catching up with him.

His wings — once luminous and swift — no longer soared as high. His steps slowed more often. And sometimes, Lix would catch him staring into the distance with a heaviness that hadn’t been there before.

She feared the day she might need to care for him. The day he would no longer be her guardian from above, and she would have to be the one shielding him.

But that day hadn’t come yet.

That night, the stars peeked through a velvet sky. The forest was quiet — holding its breath, as it often did when the winds changed.

Inside her room, Lix curled beneath her quilt, facing the window. The moonlight cut soft lines across her bed, catching in the golden strands of her hair. She looked peaceful, but Eldrin knew better.

He stood just inside her doorway, silent.

Her brow was furrowed — slightly — even in sleep. That same little line she used to get as a child when she felt lost or unwanted. Eldrin exhaled softly and crossed the room.

He sat on the edge of the bed, brushing her hair away from her cheek with a trembling hand.

“I don’t know why your magic hasn’t come,” he whispered, more to the night than to her. “And I don’t know why the witch would search for you… or why he’s tied to your path.”

His voice cracked slightly, too soft to stir her.

“But I do know this…” His eyes shimmered faintly, even in the dark. “I made a promise. Over twenty years ago. And I intend to keep it. I will protect you, no matter how long it takes. From anything. From anyone.”

He leaned down and kissed her forehead — lightly, like the wingbeat of a promise.

His own wings, folded now and dim with age, fluttered slightly, betraying the emotion he still carried like armor.

Then, with a steadying breath, Eldrin stood, pulled his cloak tighter around him, and stepped back into the starlight.

He looked up at the sky — stars flickering like scattered runes.

Because he knew — the darkness wasn’t done yet.

And neither was he.

Chapter Text

In the sun-drenched heart of the capital, where silver banners fluttered against marble towers and laughter spilled like music through cobbled marketplaces, the royal crest of House Virellis soared high and proud.

The Virellis line had ruled Solara for generations — not through fear or fire, but through balance. Born from an ancient covenant between elemental houses, they were stewards of harmony, defenders of magic's sacred order. And of all the noble bloodlines, theirs was the only one known to carry Tri-Magic — power over fire, water, and wind — nature’s fiercest forces mastered through discipline, sacrifice, and divine grace.

King Thalen and Queen Valerya were the heart of that legacy. Stoic but kind, fair but unflinching. They didn’t rule from above but among their people. They were seen walking hand-in-hand through the city gardens, stopping to speak to elderly shopkeepers, bowing in thanks to musicians, nodding quietly to bakers as if their crowns weighed nothing at all.

But no one — no one — was loved like their son.

Prince Christopher Chan Virellis, now twenty-five, walked the capital like light cutting through clouds.

He had his mother’s piercing steadiness, his father’s quiet strength, and something all his own — a kind of magnetic warmth that made people forget to bow. The city knew him not by titles, but by laughter. The baker’s son remembered the day Chris patched his broken toy with a simple water spell. A guard swore he once saw him charm a street thief into returning a purse — and then invite him to train with the palace guards.

The nobles whispered: “He was born with a crown.”

The common folk insisted: “He was born like one of us.”

And both were right.

Though born to power, Christopher never wore it heavily. Most days, he wasn’t in court — he was in the city, sleeves rolled up, shoes dusty, surrounded by a mismatched trio of his closest companions:

Minho Dravenhall — cold-eyed and disciplined, a future commander forged in the fires of duty. His loyalty runs deep, silent but unshakable, like a stone carved by time. Behind his deadpan sharpness lies a mind always calculating, always watching — a guardian in shadow more than in light.
Jeongin Alvaryn, raised in the palace, voice like chimes and laughter, with magic that could shatter mountains when provoked.

Jeongin Alvaryn — born and raised within palace walls, her voice rings clear like chimes in the dawn, full of laughter that can warm a room or shatter mountains when she wills it. Beneath her joyful facade hides a power fierce and untamed, a noble spirit with a heart both tender and relentless.

And Chris himself — windswept, mischief-eyed, heart-first in all things.

They weren’t royal. They were real.

But beneath the laughter and effortless charm, there was a story few truly knew.

When his magic first bloomed, it was chaos. Fire that scorched his skin. Water that wouldn’t flow — only crash. Wind that knocked over statues and sometimes people. His control came late, and painfully. Behind the palace’s marble smiles, there were bruised palms, sleepless nights, tears spilled in silence on balcony floors.

But he endured. Not with arrogance — with compassion. He treated magic like a wild creature — not to be conquered, but to be understood. Befriended.

He never let his pain turn to bitterness. Never let fear root into pride.

Still, there were days when Queen Valerya watched her son with quiet worry. He would smile, nod, say the right words — but his eyes would drift… toward the clouds, the wind, the gates. As if the palace wasn’t enough. As if he was waiting for something not yet arrived.

Even King Thalen, proud as he was, caught it sometimes — that pause after a perfect duel, when Chris stood too long without speaking. As though winning was the easy part — and existing inside a role not fully his was harder.

Even Innie, who teased him mercilessly, would fall uncharacteristically quiet if she saw the weariness in his expression when no one else was looking. She had once whispered to Minho: "He jokes like the world’s light, but there’s something heavy in him orabeoni. Something he doesn’t show."

And Minho had only replied: “He’ll carry it until it breaks him, Innie-ya. Unless someone takes it first.”

But Christopher never showed the cracks. Not to his people. Not to the nobles. And certainly not to himself.

He was Prince of the People, after all.

The boy with three magics, a thousand smiles, and a heart so warm that even the coldest councilman eventually softened around him.

He bore the weight of legacy. Of prophecy, perhaps. Of a future not yet written — one that might ask more of him than anyone could guess.

And though no one knew it yet...

Fate was already moving.
Far from the capital, in forests untouched by time and memory, something stirred.
A whisper.
A name.
A forgotten bond between light and shadow, crown and storm.

And when it reached the capital — as all things do — the prince would face a choice not between duty or desire, but how to carry both.

For Christopher Chan Virellis never neglected his duty —
but what if there was something deeper calling him beyond even the crown?

Chapter Text

The garden behind Virellis Palace stretched wide and open, dappled with sunlight filtering through the silverthorns. The air buzzed faintly with dragonflies, and the scent of blooming flowers hung soft and sweet.

On the training field, steel clashed in rhythm — Prince Christopher moved with practiced ease, sword flashing. Minho Dravenhall stood firm, sharp and focused, his stance a perfect balance of power and control. Nearby, Innie spun through the air, landing with a triumphant whoop and a grin that threatened to shatter the calm.

Innie spun around, landing lightly on the grass. “Channie Orabeoni, you’re moving too slow today! Did the royal prince forget how to keep up?”

Chris laughed, raising his sword in mock offense. “Says the girl who nearly face-planted after that last jump.”

Minho’s lips twitched, the closest thing he offered to a smile. “Innie-ya, focus. If you let up, you’ll be the first to fall.”

Innie threw Chris a playful glare. “And you’re just mad because Chan Orabeoni’s catching up.”

Minho smirked from the side, arms crossed. “Keep dreaming, Innie-ya. You both move like you’re stuck in molasses compared to me.”

Chris rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah, yeah, Lino-ya. Don’t let all that speed get to your head.”

Just then, a soft wave of giggles echoed from the edge of the garden path.

Innie turned toward the sound — a group of noble ladies strolling past the hedge, pretending not to watch but clearly doing a terrible job of hiding it. One even dropped her handkerchief. Another gasped a little too loudly when Minho spun, sweat glinting off his jawline, posture like a marble statue come to life.

“Oh no,” Innie whispered dramatically, eyes wide. “They’re going to riot if Lino Orabeoni takes off his coat.”

Chris bit his lip, barely holding back a laugh.

Minho, without turning, muttered, “You two done?”

Innie smirked. “Not even close, Orabeoni. But if you start flexing, I will throw my sword.”

Minho finally turned to face them, stepping between the two with that trademark cold calm that made palace guards go quiet mid-step. “Enough fooling around,” he said flatly, eyes flicking toward the hedge. “We’re not here to entertain the palace.”

Innie and Chris shared a look — equal parts mischief and admiration.

Chris leaned slightly toward her. “They’ll never believe me when I say he’s actually the dramatic one.”

Minho didn’t respond. But the edge of his mouth twitched again.

Innie sighed dramatically but complied, circling back into position.

The three moved together again — sword strikes and parries flowing like a silent conversation. Underneath the teasing and sharp glances was something deeper: trust forged in years of shared battles and quiet moments.

As the sun dipped lower, their laughter softened, but the bond between them remained unmistakable — unspoken but unbreakable.

High above them, watching from the curved balcony of her private quarters, Queen Valerya leaned into the stone rail — arms folded, a soft smile painting her lips. The way her son's laughter rose between the clang of blades... it lifted the weight on her heart, even if just for a moment.

There was a time — a small, fleeting chapter in her mind — when she had imagined Innie not just as part of Christopher’s world… but as his world. She had adored Lino’s loyalty, yes. He was the kind of man who would walk into fire for Christopher and say nothing of it afterward. But Innie, with her bright noise and warm storms, had caught Valerya’s affection early. Perhaps selfishly, she once dreamed the spirited girl would be her daughter in truth — a match for her son’s fire and wind, someone who could challenge him, tease him, lift the weight from his shoulders.

But days turned into months. Years passed. And the Queen saw something different unfold. The three of them — Chris, Minho, Innie — were not puzzles missing their final pieces.

They were already whole — together.

Not lovers. Not even meant to be. But irreplaceable, just the same. The rhythm of their bond was quiet and unshakable. Each of them strong on their own, yet stronger still in each other's presence. The soldier, the wind-bright noble girl, the prince who laughed like he wasn’t carrying half the kingdom’s expectations on his back.

So now, once in a while, as she watched them spar and shout and throw stones into the lake like children, Valerya would chuckle quietly to herself.

A quiet, knowing laugh. And the trio, without fail, would pause and look up at her — confused but smiling.

"She’s laughing again," Innie would whisper, wiping sweat from her brow.

"We must’ve looked ridiculous," Minho would mutter, his tone flat — but not annoyed.

"Maybe she's just proud," Chris would say, softer than the others.

Valerya never explained it. Not because it was a secret, but because it was a memory in motion — something she held in her chest like a kept flower. A vision not of duty, but of love. Of three young lives dancing, clashing, laughing — still untouched by what the future would demand of them.

A soft laugh escaped Valerya’s lips. The trio paused in their sparring, looking up, confused but smiling.

"She's laughing again," Innie would whisper. 

"We must've looked ridiculous," Minho would mutter, frowning.

"Maybe she's just proud," Chris would say softly.

None of them ever knew why. She never told. But as the sun curved toward evening and the sparring slowed, the Queen's smile thinned — her fingers tightening slightly on the stone of the railing.

"He's grown strong," she murmured to herself. "And still, he carries it all."

She saw it now, clearer than ever: the light in her son's eyes when he looked at others... but rarely when he looked inward. She remembered the boy who smiled at bruises and whispered "I'm fine" through sleepless nights. The boy who wielded fire without burning, water without drowning — and still looked as though none of it had touched him. But she knew. She was his mother. And no mother would leave a soul like that to carry fate alone.

Later that evening, as the torches lit and the palace glowed golden through the windows, Queen Valerya sat beside King Thalen beneath the inner balcony arch — their fingers gently intertwined.

Valerya continued, her voice barely louder than the breeze, “But still… I want him to have someone. Not for politics. Not to secure the bloodline or please the court. Not for heirs.”

She turned to her husband then — fully, deliberately. “I want him to have someone who sees him. Who understands the strength behind his strength. Who challenges him when he’s drifting. Who steadies him when he starts to rise too far. Someone who doesn’t just walk beside him…” Her voice faltered for a breath, then steadied again. “But also leads. When he needs it.”

Thalen looked at her, really looked — this woman who had ruled beside him, mothered a kingdom and a son with the same fierce love.

“Someone like you,” he said quietly.

Valerya gave a soft, sad smile. “Someone who won’t be afraid to match him stride for stride… even if it means walking into fire.”

There was a pause then Thalen nodded, his fingers curling gently around hers. “If such a person exists… fate won’t let them pass him by.”

"But", he didn’t look away. His deep-set eyes stayed on hers, thoughtful and kind. “What if he doesn’t know what he needs yet?” he asked quietly.

Valerya’s gaze softened, but her resolve didn’t waver. “Then I’ll find her,” she whispered. “Or fate will, like you said. But I’ll help it along.”

That night, in Christopher’s quiet study, the Queen stepped in softly. Her son sat near the tall window, a heavy book open across his lap — a worn leather-bound volume on regional treaties and trade routes. A half-empty teacup rested beside him, untouched, long gone cold. His brow was furrowed, but not from confusion — from restraint, as though his mind was somewhere else entirely.

The Queen stepped in without knocking.

Not as a monarch. As a mother.

Christopher didn’t look up right away — his eyes were fixed on the open ledger in his lap, half-filled with notes on border negotiations and court petitions. A candle flickered beside him, casting golden light across his thoughtful features. He looked every bit the prince — composed, focused — but Valerya saw past it, as she always had.

He glanced up when he finally sensed her presence, an easy smile tugging at his lips. “Didn’t expect you tonight.”

Her lips curved warmly. "And what if I find someone for you?"

He met her eyes with quiet sincerity. "If you believe there’s someone out there for me, then I trust you to find her."

The softness in his voice and the trust in his gaze made her heart swell with pride. She nodded once, quietly, then walked away — her mind already circling like the breeze outside. 

By morning, Queen Valerya's resolve was sealed. She would search. Not in the high courts or noble balls. Not among royal titles or forged alliances.

She would find someone worthy of Christopher Virellis. Someone who wouldn't just love the prince — ...but see the boy who learned to smile before he knew he had the right to cry.

Chapter Text

The first rays of dawn spilled over the polished spires of Virellis capital, casting the rooftops in a shimmering veil of gold. The city was already stirring—market vendors setting up their stalls, children chasing shadows along cobbled streets, and servants bustling through palace corridors with practiced urgency. Above all, a restless excitement buzzed through the air, like electricity before a storm.

In the great hall of the palace, beneath the grand dome etched with constellations and ancient runes, the assembly gathered in solemn anticipation. Officials, scholars, nobles, and envoys from distant realms murmured softly among themselves, their voices weaving through the echoes like threads of silk. All eyes were drawn toward the ornate dais where the Sunfire Emblem blazed—an eternal symbol of the Virellis dynasty’s power over fire, water, and wind.

The Grand Councilor of Magic stepped forward, his robe heavy with golden embroidery that caught the light with each deliberate movement. The air seemed to hold its breath as he unfurled the ancient scroll, its edges worn by centuries of reverence. The royal seal glistened at the top—three elemental sigils intertwined, a testament to the kingdom’s legacy and hope.

With a nod from King Thalen, who sat rigid and regal upon the throne, the councilor’s voice rose, clear and commanding.

“By decree of Their Majesties, King Thalen and Queen Valerya Virellis, we call forth the lands of Lumora, Asterwilde, Cindrath, and every blessed village in the realm to attend the Festival of First Light. Let the gifted walk with the gifted, Let the unseen be seen. Let all who carry the spark of magic gather under the open skies of Velmora Vale to celebrate, to witness, and to unite in peace.”

The chamber rippled with gasps and quiet cheers. Whispers of hope and curiosity fluttered through the crowd like the wings of a thousand birds.

Outside, bells tolled from every tower and steeple, their clear notes ringing across the city and beyond. Doves were released from the palace courtyard, their white wings carrying messages of invitation and promise to every corner of the kingdom.

Far above the hustle, on the upper balcony draped in morning light, three figures stood in quiet companionship. Their eyes traced the rising sun, their faces calm yet charged with the weight of the day ahead.

Christopher Virellis leaned casually against the stone rail, a rare grin flickering on his lips. Beside him, Minho Dravenhall stood with arms crossed—his expression unreadable but fierce, a pillar of silent strength. Jeongin Alvaryn—shifted her stance, eyes sparkling with her usual spark of mischief and fire.

“Festival missions,” Chris muttered, cracking his knuckles like he was gearing up for battle. “Guess it’s time to dust off the ‘act like a royal’ face. No more sneaking onto rooftops or stealing snacks from market stalls.”

Minho’s voice cut in, flat and dry—half-teasing, half-reminding him of an inconvenient truth. “You are royalty. Whether you like it or not.”

Innie grinned, elbowing Chris playfully. “Yeah, yeah—royalty who eats grilled meat with street kids and calls it a diplomatic mission.”

Chris groaned. “I just hope this festival doesn’t mean endless awkward smiling and juggling fruit for the nobles’ amusement.”

Minho smirked, crossing his arms. “Try not to embarrass the family name, Wangja-nim.”

Chris shot him a mock glare. “Easy for you to say, Lino-ya, with your ‘too cool for fun’ act.”

Innie laughed. “Don’t worry, Channie Orabeoni. We’ll survive. Probably.”

Before either could respond, Queen Valerya’s soft footsteps approached from behind. She didn’t startle them—her presence was a constant, like the warm sun itself. She shook her head, a fond smile playing on her lips.

“It’s not all swordplay and showmanship,” she said gently. “There’s a deeper purpose to this festival.”

From the folds of her gown, she produced a sealed parchment—the royal crest stamped with gold leaf, but also marked personally by the King and Queen’s sigils intertwined.

She handed it to Chris. “You’re not attending as heirs,” she said quietly. “You’re attending as guardians. As symbols. And if fate wills it, as witnesses to the magic that is awakening in this new age.”

A silence fell over the trio, the weight of her words settling around them like a shroud.

Valerya’s gaze softened, her eyes fixed on her son. “Somewhere out there, magic is changing. It’s becoming something we have never known. There are whispers—gifts too rare to name, abilities that defy history and expectation.”

Chris’s brow furrowed slightly. “You mean.?”

She nodded. “You were born of such change, Christopher. There may be others like you. Others who will change the course of our world.”

Together, the three shared a look — not just of camaraderie, but of quiet resolve. The Festival of First Light was more than tradition. It was a turning point. A signal fire for whatever the next era of magic would bring.

Before they turned to leave, Queen Valerya’s gaze lingered on Minho. Her voice was soft, but purposeful.

“Lino-ya.”

He paused.

“If anything happens… if choices must be made before we can reach him—” she nodded toward Chris, who was already distracted by a hawk circling in the sky, “—I trust you to act.”

Minho inclined his head, expression unreadable. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

She didn’t need more. He didn’t offer more. But it was enough.

A silent promise passed between them — not bound by crown or duty, but something older, something forged in the kind of loyalty that didn’t waver, didn’t wait for permission.

Whatever came, they would face it. Together.

Chapter Text

Morning in Aelburn came not with fanfare, but with a slow bloom of warmth across shuttered windows and dew-kissed fields. The Festival of First Light had been announced, and though it was still days away, the air in the quiet village pulsed with something new — not fear, not quite excitement. A kind of hum, like something waiting to begin.

In a modest stone cottage near the edge of the woods, Lix sat perched on the edge of her bed. Her hands were clasped tight in her lap, nails pressed into her palms, knuckles pale. She hadn't slept. Her eyes were red-rimmed but dry — the kind of tired that didn’t come from lack of rest, but from thinking too long and too hard.

Behind her, the door creaked open, soft and familiar.

Changbin stepped in with two mugs of herbal tea, steam curling from their rims. One was for her — always the way she liked it: warm, with a touch of honey. He didn’t say a word. Just sat beside her on the bed, letting their shoulders barely touch.

For a long while, there was only silence.

Then, quietly, “I shouldn’t go.”

Changbin didn’t look at her. He just waited, giving her the space to say more.

“I don’t have magic,” she said at last, her voice flat. “I’ll go there and see people conjure light and bend the sky, and I’ll just be… some girl from a cottage. Someone who watches everyone else shine.”

That made him turn. Slowly.

His voice was low, even. “You ever think... maybe you won’t see nothing. Maybe you’ll see something.”

Lix frowned, not looking at him.

“Magic doesn’t always roar, Lix,” he continued. “Sometimes it hums. Sometimes it hides in places you’ve never looked before.” A small pause. “You’ve been afraid of what you’ll find. What if, this time… you’re just as afraid of what you might become?”

Her throat tightened. “You think if I stand close enough to real magic, I’ll suddenly find mine?” she asked, voice tinged with disbelief.

“No,” Changbin said gently. “But I think if you never go, you’ll never know.”

That landed harder than she expected.

He glanced down at her hands — curled into fists now — then back up, expression softening. “You’ve always been more than you think. Maybe it’s time you saw it too.”

Lix let the silence return. But now, it was different. Less heavy. Less cold. She leaned into his shoulder — not entirely, just enough that he’d feel it — and whispered, “I’m scared.”

“I know,” he said. “That’s how you know it’s real.”

They sat in silence again, but a gentler one. Lix, overwhelmed by the thought of crowds, strangers, powerful magics, found herself inching closer — not consciously. Just leaning toward the stillness Changbin carried with him.

He had always been that for her.

When her thoughts became too loud...

When the world around her felt like a river rushing too fast...

When the ache of not knowing her place grew too sharp...

Changbin was there. Without needing to ask. Without trying to fix it. Today was no different.

“I want to go,” she said quietly. “Even if it scares me.”

He smiled — a little too brightly. “Then let’s ask Ahjussi. Together.”

Eldrin stood in the garden, trimming morning herbs when the two of them approached. The morning sun caught the silver in his hair, and the scent of rosemary clung to his sleeves. He didn’t look up right away — he had sensed them before he heard them. And he already knew what they had come to ask.

When he did raise his eyes, they went straight to Lix.

She was half-hidden behind Changbin’s shoulder, fingers curled into the back of his shirt, knuckles white. She didn’t speak. Didn’t smile. Just stood there, eyes lowered like she was bracing herself for the weight of being told no.

Eldrin's jaw tightened. “No,” he said at first — not sharply, but firmly. Instinctively. “It’s not safe for her. Not with the festival stirring powers we don’t yet understand.”

Changbin didn’t flinch. He didn’t argue, either. He only stepped slightly forward, steady and quiet — the way he always did when it mattered most. “She wants to go,” he said simply. “And I think it’s good.”

Eldrin studied him — not just his words, but the way he stood, the quiet certainty in his voice. Then he looked again at Lix, at how tightly she clung to the one person who never asked her to be anything more than herself.

For a flicker of a second, something shifted in Eldrin’s chest. A thought he wasn’t proud of passed through him: If she’s going to face the world… better it be with him beside her.

And then, quietly, almost as if surrendering to that thought, Eldrin let out a long breath. His gaze softened. “Take care of her,” he said, this time not as a condition — but a charge. A trust passed from old hands to young ones.

Changbin nodded once. “I will.”

And Lix — for the first time that morning — lifted her eyes. Not all the way. But just enough to meet Eldrin’s. And in that glance, he saw it: not recklessness, not rebellion — but a quiet, aching kind of courage.

Maybe Hope.

The next morning, the four of them stood at the edge of Eldmere — where the cobbled path met the forest trail that would lead them to Velmora Vale.

Just before mounting her horse, Minnie crossed over to Lix and gave her an unmistakably mischievous smile. “You sure you’re ready to face a crowd that size?” she asked, looping her reins with ease.

Lix hesitated, then sighed. “No.”

Minnie’s grin widened. “Perfect. That’s when the good stories start.”

A few steps away, Ji was already helping saddle the dusky mare she rode each spring. Lix approached with small steps. She’d never ridden alone. Never had her own horse. That part of their world had always felt just out of reach — one of many things she didn’t yet deserve.

Ji noticed.

She reached down without hesitation and held out a hand. “Come on,” she said, gently. “You belong with me. Always.”

Lix climbed up behind her, holding tight, heart thudding like it wasn’t quite sure if it was afraid… or excited.

The village, small and often overlooked on royal maps, had gathered as if to send off heroes.

Fences creaked under the weight of leaning elbows. Stoops filled with watchful eyes. Children peered from behind laundry lines, and elders who rarely left their hearths now stood wrapped in shawls, hands folded in silent well-wishes.

Because it had been years — decades, perhaps — since anyone from Eldmere had walked the path toward the heart of magic. And now, not one, but four of their own would ride into the unknown. It stirred something in them. Not fear. Not jealousy. But pride.

Quiet, blooming pride.

“Safe travels!” called the village baker, tossing a small pouch of sweet-roasted nuts toward Minnie, who caught it midair with a laugh.

A weaver pressed a hand-knit scarf into Ji’s arms. “For luck,” she said softly. “And warmth.”

Lix blinked when a small child ran up to her — wide-eyed, barefoot, holding a single violet blossom like it was treasure. She knelt instinctively as the child placed it gently in her hand and whispered, “Come back with stars.”

She looked at the flower, her throat tight. She didn’t have stars — not yet. But maybe, for once, she wanted to believe she could find some.

Ji pulled and then twisted slightly in the saddle. “We’ll be back before they even notice we’re gone.”

“I think they’ll notice,” Minnie muttered, nodding toward the growing crowd, her voice laced with affection.

Lix didn’t say much. She couldn’t. Her heart was too full. But she tucked the violet behind her ear and gave a small, grateful smile.

And from the steps of the cottage, Eldrin watched — arms folded, lips pressed thin. Not worried. Not afraid. Just still. Until the moment they rode off, and he finally let himself whisper into the morning breeze: “May the road rise gently beneath you.”

Changbin swung easily into his saddle, adjusting the reins with practiced fingers, and looked back only once, just to make sure Lix was smiling.

She was.

It pierced something in him.

He turned forward again, gripping the reins a little tighter.

He didn’t know when he’d started memorizing the way her hands curled when nervous, or how her shoulders tensed just before she said something brave. But he knew he’d burn down the entire world before letting her be swallowed by it.

And if the world didn’t see her magic yet…

Well.

He’d hold the light steady until it did.

You'll find your magic, he thought, but until you do... you already have mine.

Chapter Text

The journey had stretched across a day and a half, winding its way from the dense, ancient forest cradle of Aelburn to the expansive, shimmering heart of Velmora Vale. The path itself seemed to grow wider not only in distance but in something more intangible — a swelling of anticipation, tension, and possibility beneath Lix’s skin. It wasn’t fear she felt, not quite, but a subtle thrum, like a low pulse that whispered of change. The sun dipped low, casting the world in warm amber and gold. Horses slowed, their breaths misting softly in the cooling air.

Ahead, the vast valley of Velmora Vale spread wide, a cradle nestled between gentle mountain arms. Here the sky hung low, almost within reach, and the grass shimmered faintly as if dusted with stardust. Everywhere, tents and carriages formed a sprawling, vibrant mosaic of colors — flags fluttered with guild insignias, regional banners, and sigils of ancient bloodlines long revered. Lanterns hung suspended from branches, glowing softly like captured stars frozen in time.

Magic was not hidden here. It was celebrated. It breathed through the air, danced in the light, and lived in every movement.

Some walked through flames that parted like mist around their feet, others traced invisible currents of wind with effortless grace. Water leapt playfully between fingers, and time itself bent and twisted through friendly duels and delicate enchantments. Lix stood wordless, overwhelmed.

“It’s like…” she began, searching for the right words, but no phrase could capture the wonder.

“Like the world grew too big for what we knew,” Minnie said quietly beside her, voice full of awe.

They were assigned to the Outer Arc, a crescent-shaped enclave fringed by flowering trees and glowing protective runes, reserved for free magic-bearers and independent villagers. Jisung’s family crest granted them a comfortable patch beneath boughs heavy with late blossoms, protected by shimmering wards.

But Lix hardly noticed. She stood at the edge of their tent, eyes drifting over the kaleidoscope of magic all around her. So many kinds of power, so many colors and rhythms of strength, pulsing like a heartbeat she had only just begun to feel.

Far beyond the Vale, in a fortress carved from obsidian and shadow, the dark witch stirred. The cold stone walls drank the pale moonlight, silencing the night. He sat alone in the center of his sanctum, runes swirling in a half-forgotten language suspended around him. His skin was deathly pale, eyes closed, but his mind roamed far and wide — watching, waiting.

Whispers curled through his chambers, twisting and weaving in the flickering flame and fractured glass of ancient mirrors.

“A child of invisibility...”

“A mind that pierces time...”

“A voice that fractures sound itself...”

“A boy who bends the earth with his will...”

“And one who can foresee...”

A rare constellation of gifts. A boon not only for the realm, but for him. Bound together, these threads could unravel what he alone could not touch.

His eyes snapped open — dark pools burning with cold fire.

“So he exists,” the witch whispered.

Rising, he moved like a shadow cast in stone. “The fire... the sea... the wind... all within one boy.”

“The time to move has come.”

Back in the Vale, a quiet brook sang beneath a tapestry of leaves. Jisung knelt by the water, fingertips grazing the surface, sending ripples outward. The coolness was sharp against her skin, grounding her for a moment in the present — before the stillness shattered.

A sudden crack tore through the silence — not a sound, but a presence. Something ancient and heavy reached toward her, a claw brushing through mist, grazing her very spirit. Her breath caught in her throat.

Then, a whisper. Not in words, but a crushing pressure that pressed at her temples, sharp and unrelenting.

Jisung gasped, staggering backward, fingers clutching at the grass to steady herself. The world spun and fractured before her eyes — images flaring bright and then fading, like a broken prism scattering shards of light.

A shadow stretched over a broken body, dragging long and dark.
Blood spilled against golden armor, shining wet and stark.
A figure slumped, breaths shallow, eyes half-lidded in pain.
And then — a thread of glowing white, fragile and flickering, tethered that body to something — no, someone — far away, across unseen miles.

Her chest tightened, heart hammering, a cold tremor running through her.

“Ji!” Minnie’s voice cut through the vision’s hold, sharp and urgent.

Jisung blinked hard, forcing herself back to the moment. She steadied her breath, though the echoes of the images pulsed beneath her skin.

Behind her, Lix’s eyes narrowed, sensing the tension crackling in the air.

Before anyone else could react, a figure emerged from the shadowed path beyond the trees.

Tall. Silent. Controlled.

A soldier moved with the quiet assurance of someone born to command, his dark eyes sharp and unyielding like hammered dusk. He was on patrol, but the moment he saw Ji falter, he paused — a stillness settling over the space between them, as if time itself held its breath.

Ji's gaze locked with his — a long, weighty moment that stretched too far and not far enough all at once. It was the kind of silence charged with a thousand unspoken words.

She felt nothing and everything at once — an odd calm swelling beneath a sudden rush of heat in her chest.

Ji’s eyes met his, and for a fleeting moment, she caught a spark she couldn’t quite name—a quiet radiance, a glow that wasn’t just in his sharp features or the way the fading light softened his gaze. It was a subtle brilliance, like a steady flame burning just beneath the surface, calm but impossible to ignore.

There was something like a gentle light shining from within him, a strength wrapped in stillness that pulled at her without words. His presence was both grounding and mysterious, like a beacon cutting softly through the dusk.

Just as her friends began reaching out toward her, with the faintest nod—an unspoken question, a silent check if she was alright—he turned and disappeared down the winding path, leaving behind a soft echo of that inner light lingering in the quiet air.

Bin crouched beside her, concern etched in his face. “What was that? Are you okay?”

Ji swallowed hard, blinking away the lingering shards of the vision. “A shadow,” she said, voice tight but steady. “Something’s coming. Someone’s going to bleed.”

Lix’s breath caught behind them. She wrapped a shawl tighter around her shoulders, lighting enchanted candles around their tent. The soft flames flickered, casting dancing shadows on the canvas walls.

Lix didn’t speak. She watched the sky, stars twinkling faintly like a melody only she could hear.

She didn’t know who the boy in Ji’s vision was. Didn’t know that he carried three powerful magics in his veins — fire, water, and wind — or that a kingdom lay heavy on his shoulders.

She didn’t know that the threads of fate were already weaving their stories together, taut and trembling across the endless sky.

But she felt it, deep in her bones.

A whisper.

A thread pulled tight across the stars.

And somewhere far beyond the Vale, the dark witch stirred once more.

Chapter Text

The sun had barely crested the jagged peaks when Ji stood at the edge of the camp, her eyes fixed on the dense line of trees guarding the forest’s edge. The morning light filtered weakly through heavy mist, casting ghostly shadows on the underbrush. Something in the air felt wrong—like a breath held too long, waiting to be released.

“You saw something,” Changbin said quietly, stepping beside her.

Ji turned, shadows darkening the rims of her eyes. “It wasn’t clear. A man, bloodied and struggling… but I couldn’t see who he was. Just trees… and something pulling at me. Something wrong.”

Minnie’s voice cut through the hush. “I know what you’re thinking. But you’re not going alone.”

Lix’s tone was soft but unyielding. “And I’m not staying behind either.”

Changbin’s jaw tightened. “We all go back.”

Ji’s eyes dropped, guilt threading through her voice. “We came all this way—to the festival. You should be here, enjoying the lights, the music… not following me into shadows. This might be nothing.”

Lix shook her head. “We came as a group. We leave as one.”

Minnie’s voice was quiet but sure. “If something’s wrong back home, that’s where we need to be.”

Changbin offered a small smile. “Besides, it’s not really a celebration if you’re not in it.”

A breath escaped Ji’s lips—half a laugh, half a sigh. “You’re all impossible.”

Lix leaned just a little closer. “That’s why we’re family.”

And just like that, the weight in her chest loosened. The quiet pact between them needed no sealing words. They would face whatever was waiting—together.

They left the vale before the sun had risen fully, slipping down back trails while the festival still dreamed. Laughter faded behind them like a memory already dissolving. The forest rose ahead, cool and shadowed, its hush wrapped in moss and early light.

The air was colder now. Heavier. The scent of damp earth and pine lingered thick in their lungs. Sunlight filtered through the trees in broken strands, patterns shifting like restless ghosts.

Ji’s vision clung to her like a bruise beneath the ribs. Her fingers trembled where they held the reins. Her magic stirred, uncertain and unsettled. The edges of her senses buzzed—everything too loud, too sharp. Each step of the horse jarred something in her spine, and the world tilted slightly under her weight.

They rode slowly.

Minnie, usually a fountain of sharp remarks and sarcasm, had gone quiet. Changbin rode ahead but kept looking back, eyes flicking to Ji with worry every few minutes.

When she reached for her horse’s harness, her hands shook.

“Lix,” Changbin said, low but firm. “Switch to Minnie’s horse. Ji needs to—”

“No.” Lix didn’t even pause. Her arms tightened around Ji from behind. “I’m not letting go.”

Ji blinked, surprised by the sudden certainty in her voice.

“If she’s going to faint,” Lix said with a small, dry smile, “she might as well fall into me.”

Minnie sighed but didn’t argue.

As the morning stretched and the woods grew dense around them, the world softened into quiet. Wildflowers bloomed beneath broad-leaved trees. The buzzing of golden insects drifted like sparks in lazy spirals. Somewhere overhead, a hawk cried and was gone.

Ji’s breathing stayed uneven. Sweat clung to her hairline. Her skin had taken on that pale, drawn look Lix knew too well. She didn’t say she was in pain. She never did.

But Lix saw it.

She saw it in the twitch of Ji’s fingers. In the slight wince every time the horse shifted. In the way her magic—normally so precise—buzzed unfocused just beneath her skin.

Every vision left Ji like this: emptied out, raw-edged, reeling.

And when the vision brought danger? It drained her deeper.

Lix brushed her fingers lightly across Ji’s forearm, drawing soft shapes—soothing ones. Not spells. Just… closeness.

“You never told us,” Lix whispered, voice like a thread. “How much this is breaking you.”

Ji didn’t answer at first. Then, her voice was low. “You think I’m strong, but I’m not brave like Minnie. Or calm like Binnie. Or bright like you.”

Lix didn’t laugh. Didn’t deny it. She just leaned in closer, her words steady. “You’re stronger than all of us. You see what’s coming, and still… you choose to stay.”

Ji turned her face slightly. Her cheek brushed Lix’s shoulder. Her voice cracked on the next words. “If something happens to the village… if someone comes for it … I’m not a warrior, Lix. But I’ve trained enough. I’ll do whatever it takes to stop it.”

Lix wrapped both arms tighter around her. “You’re the reason I still believe there’s good left in magic,” she said, fierce and low. “Whatever path you take—no matter how dark—I’ll walk it with you. If you fall, I won’t just catch you. I’ll go with you. And if you rise, we rise together.”

Ji’s voice was barely a breath. “I knew you’d say that. I just… I needed to hear it anyway.”

The horse moved steadily beneath them, hooves soft on the moss-lined path. Around them, the forest stood ancient and watchful.

They didn’t need blood to know they were sisters.

From the very beginning—before memory—Lix had belonged to Ji’s family like breath. Not through blood. But through choice.

Because Ji’s mother had nursed them both.

One born of her body. The other wrapped into her arms and fed just the same.

Side by side, they had grown. Cradled by the same lullabies, fed by the same hands, soothed by the same voice in the night.

Raised in different homes. But only in structure. Never in spirit.

Lix had no memory of a time when Ji’s mother hadn’t been hers in some quiet way. And Ji had never drawn a line between them.

She was not her best friend.

She was her sister.

When one cried, the other stirred.

When one stumbled, the other reached.

Their hearts had known each other before language.

Soul-twinship, the elders called it. A rare kind of bond.

But to Ji and Lix, it was simply how life had always been.

Their magic didn’t match. Their strengths were different. But their loyalty was absolute.

Whatever came next, whatever storm brewed beyond the trees—Lix would be there.

Not because she had to.

But because there was no world in which she wouldn’t be.

By the time the sun dipped behind the hills, Ji’s fever had broken. Her cheeks regained their color. Her voice steadied. Around the small fire, Changbin and Minnie set up a quiet camp for the night—just enough to rest before returning home.

Ji sat upright, the firelight glinting against the edge of her old ceremonial dagger as she sharpened it slowly.

Lix returned with a warm bowl of root stew and settled beside her.

Ji took it, fingers brushing Lix’s hand in thanks. “I feel like myself again,” she whispered.

Lix brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead. “Maybe you’re not just yourself again,” she murmured. “Maybe you’re becoming more of who you’ve always been.”

Ji smiled—not the bright, laughing kind, but something quieter. Rooted. Real.

In the trees, the wind shifted—soft and aware.

The darkness hadn’t reached them yet.

But it was coming.

Chapter Text

"Where are they?" Jeongin Alvaryn's boots clacked sharply against the polished stone steps, impatience tightening her every movement as she reread the attendance scroll for the third time. Her dark brows furrowed deeper with every missing name. "Four of them. Four!" she hissed, voice sharp as a blade. "They passed the entrance gate—it's noted here—but now they're nowhere. Not a single message. Not even a falcon." She waved the parchment, frustration radiating off her in waves.

Christopher Virellis stood a few steps away, hands casually folded behind his back, watching the small storm that was Innie with an amused but gentle smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Maybe," he ventured softly, "they had urgent work. Something... important."

Innie whipped around so fast her braid nearly lashed him across the face. "What could possibly be more important than this festival, orabeoni? The convergence of all southern clans? We don't get a chance like this every year!"

Minho, standing quietly nearby with his arms crossed, suddenly stepped in, his usually calm voice sharper than expected. "What if someone fell ill? Or worse... their families? Do you still think it's stupid?"

His words cracked sharply through the air, dropping an uneasy silence between them.

Innie blinked, a flicker of hurt flashing in her eyes before she stiffened, turning away with a softer voice but a bitter edge. "You didn't have to shout."

Minho's face faltered—he hadn't meant to sound so harsh. "I—Innie-ya, I didn't mean—"

But she was already walking off, the sting of his raised voice settling deep in her chest. Her shoulders tightened, and though her steps were brisk, the usual fire in her eyes was dimmed, replaced by something fragile.

Chris exchanged a worried glance with Minho, then stepped forward, resting a gentle hand on Minho's shoulder. "Hey, everything alright?"

Minho exhaled quietly, voice low and guarded. "I'm just tired."

Chris said nothing more, understanding that some silences deserved respect. "It's okay. She's just worried about them. You know how she is—she took responsibility for everyone who came and their well-being."

He shot Minho a grin. "Let me go talk to her. You know Innie—she might walk away like a storm, but deep down, she just wants us to follow her and beg for forgiveness."

Minho's shoulders sagged slightly, regret clouding his eyes. "Yeah... I didn't mean to shout. Chan-ah, please—could you stay with her for a bit? I just need a moment. I'll come back as soon as I can."

"Of course, take your time," Chris said softly, his gaze lingering on Minho. He saw the storm raging behind his friend's eyes—a heaviness born of things unsaid. Without another word, Chris turned and moved after Innie.

Earlier, near the edge of the camp, a girl had collapsed. Pale and trembling, her voice barely more than a breath, she spoke of a shadow pressing close, of something wrong lurking just beyond sight. Minho didn't know her name, didn't know anything about her—but that small, desperate image clung to him, sharp as a thorn beneath his skin.

He found himself thinking of her more than he expected—the way her hands shook, the fear flickering behind her eyes. Who was she? What had she seen? And why had no one else seemed to notice? The questions looped through his mind, unsettled and insistent, threading like a restless current beneath his calm exterior.

That weight clung to him, sharpening his temper more than he realized.

Far from the grandeur of the capital, in the gentle embrace of the forest village, the fading sound of hooves stirred the quiet evening air. The group returned, weary and subdued, slipping back into the rhythms of home. The village welcomed them with its usual chorus: farmers gathering tools in the fading light, elders puffing contemplative smoke under ancient archways, children darting between drying sheets like flickering shadows.

Minnie was the first to dismount, her usual spark dimmed but still flickering beneath her steady gaze. Changbin moved quickly to Ji's side, offering silent support. Lix lingered, descending slowly, each step heavy with the weight of a strange, lingering calm that still hummed beneath her skin.

"Back so soon?" called a villager from nearby, curiosity woven into the friendly tone.

Minnie offered a quick, easy smile. "We actually stayed at the festival until late. It was wonderful—the music, the lights... We just decided to come back a little earlier than planned."

Changbin nodded in agreement. "We wanted to rest before the next day. Festivals can wear you out, even the good ones."

From the edge of the group, a sharp-eyed villager glanced toward Ji, noting the faint paleness and slight slump in her posture. "Ji looks tired. Is she alright?"

Minnie caught the glance and stepped in smoothly, voice light but protective. "Oh, just a small headache. You know how Ji gets if she misses her evening brew. Nothing to worry about."

A few chuckles rose among the townsfolk, their smiles warming with familiarity. The small lie settled easily into the fabric of home, wrapping around them like a well-worn cloak.

But Eldrin, standing beneath the low awning of the cottage, wasn't so easily reassured. His sharp eyes caught the subtle pallor of Lix's cheeks and the faint drag in her step as she moved slowly toward the house.

"Lix," he said gently as she approached, "are you alright?"

She managed a soft, automatic smile. "Just tired. It's been a long journey."

He said no more, but when night fell and the stars blinked down from the dark velvet sky, Eldrin brewed a special tea—the same one he had given her as a child after restless nights or quiet tears. She sipped it in silence, leaning her head briefly on his shoulder, a small moment treasured between them.

Later, as the fire's glow faded to embers, Eldrin carefully covered her with a woolen comforter, tucking the edges as though shielding her from unseen dangers.

"I'll protect you," he whispered, the same promise he'd made twenty-two years ago. "No matter what."

Lix didn't stir. She slept through much of the following day, waking with clearer eyes and softer breath. 

For now, the storm had passed.

Chapter Text

The final dusk of the festival painted the capital with soft gold, the once-lively grounds now settling into a calm buzz of tired goodbyes and the occasional clatter of carts being packed. The scent of roasted meat and cider lingered faintly in the air, a gentle reminder of the day’s celebrations.

Among the festival-goers, many young women lingered with shy glances and hushed giggles, attempting to steal the attention of the two tall figures who seemed almost carved from legend — the golden prince and the cold-eyed commander. But neither spared more than a nod or a courteous glance. Their eyes stayed on duty, their minds already shifting to the horizon.

Christopher Virellis, Minho Dravenhall, and Jeongin Alvaryn moved through the quiet crowds, making sure everyone was accounted for and well on their way. Their efforts hadn’t gone unnoticed—whispers of praise followed them like shadows.

Yet, despite the day’s duties being almost done, a thick tension still hung between Minho and Innie.

Minho cleared his throat and edged closer, breaking the silence. “I said I’m sorry, alright?” His voice was low but steady, though his usual stoic mask showed a crack.

Innie didn’t respond. She folded the map slowly, deliberately, and turned her back on him, arms crossed like a fortress.

Chris, standing nearby with a knowing smirk, leaned in with a teasing grin. “Oof. The silent treatment already? Innie-ya, you’re brutal.”

Innie gave a sharp glance over her shoulder. “I’m not angry. Just... thinking.”

Minho raised an eyebrow. “Sure, thinking.”

She didn’t reply.

After a beat, Minho tried again. “Look, I know I was rude. But you don’t have to give me the cold shoulder like I’m some kind of rock.”

Innie gave a lazy smile. “Well, I do like having you be my rock orabeoni… just not this cold, stubborn one.”

Minho blinked, caught off guard. “Well, that’s not the kind of response I thought I’d get!”

Innie rolled her eyes with a grin. “Surprise! I’m full of unexpected disappointments.”

Innie’s eyes softened, a flicker of emotion passing through them. “okay, I wasn’t exactly graceful either,” she said quietly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I know you worry now.”

Minho’s lips twitched, barely holding back a smile. “That doesn’t mean I should’ve lost my temper with you.”

Christopher, watching from a distance, felt the warmth of the moment and stepped in. “See? Even the coldest winters can thaw.” He nudged Innie lightly. “Come on, Innie-ya, give Lino some credit.”

Innie rolled her eyes but didn’t protest. “Fine. But only because I’m tired of being the storm all the time. But you two should listen to everything i say from now.”

Minho’s lips twitched into a rare, genuine smile. “I’ll happily do that.”

Chris clapped both of them on the shoulders. “There! Crisis averted. Now, how about we all get some rest before tomorrow wrecks us?”

Innie shook her head with a grin. “You’re lucky you’re charming, orabeoni.”

Minho muttered something under his breath, but it was lost beneath their laughter as the three of them moved together into the twilight.

The three shared a quiet laugh, the kind that mended cracks and built bridges. The weight of responsibility still hung over them, but for a moment, friendship—and something softer—bloomed.

When the trio finally returned to the palace grounds, the royal flags waving high and proud above the towers, Innie was already mid-rant.

“I swear,” she huffed, walking ahead of the two men with her arms crossed, “it’s like I’m talking to two very tall, very emotionally stunted statues.”

Christopher exchanged a helpless glance with Minho, lips twitching.

“I am listening,” Chris offered, holding up both hands in defense.

“Oh really?” Innie whirled around mid-step, eyes narrowing dramatically. “Then what did I just say five seconds ago?”

Chris blinked. “Uhh… something about our height…?”

“Wah!” she wondered, as if proving a point. “You’re both useless!”

Minho, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke. “I heard everything. You said we’re statues. Emotionally stunted.”

Chris chuckled under his breath. “To be fair, Innie, you’ve said that exact sentence at least twelve times this week.”

“That’s because it keeps being true!” she shot back, exasperated.

Minho let out a long, patient sigh. “Okay. So what would you like us to say?”

Innie stopped walking, turned dramatically, and threw her hands in the air. “I don’t know! Ask me how my day was! Tell me you liked my hair braid! Act like I’m not a walking scroll of complaints!”

Chris grinned. “I do like your braid. It’s very… braided.”

Minho gave a small nod. “Symmetrical. Impressive structural integrity.”

She stared at them both. “You two are the worst.”

“You three could turn a strategy council into a drama.” The voice came light and teasing.

King Theron Virellis approached with a knowing smile, his presence calm but commanding as ever.

At once, all three straightened—not out of fear, but respect. It was instinct, woven into years of knowing when to switch from banter to decorum.

Christopher turned first, dipping his head with easy grace. “Father.”

Innie, ever the sharp one, gave a crisp nod, her earlier sass tucked neatly behind a composed smile. “Your Majesty.”

Minho inclined his head, calm and courteous. “Your Grace.”

Theron chuckled, clearly amused by how quickly the energy shifted. “I didn’t mean to interrupt the performance. Please—carry on. Just make sure no one mistakes it for an actual council dispute.”

Innie’s lips twitched, fighting a grin. Chris folded his arms, giving her a look that said, Don’t you dare, while Minho stared straight ahead like he hadn’t been bickering with her two minutes ago.

The king just shook his head fondly and moved on, leaving behind the quiet echo of his laughter.

“You’ve done the realm proud—each of you,” King Theron said warmly, his voice carrying the weight of both authority and quiet pride. He placed a firm hand on Christopher’s shoulder, then gave a nod to Innie and Minho in turn. “Your efforts didn’t go unnoticed. The people are safe, and the alliances stronger for it.”

A pause. Then his tone softened, almost fatherly. “Now go. Rest. Let your horses breathe… and your bodies remember sleep.”

And rest they did. Chris and Innie collapsed into slumber like travelers returning from battle, each in their own chambers, the exhaustion of the day pulling them under quickly.

But Minho remained by the window long into the night, the moonlight casting silver across his untouched armor. The vision weighed heavy on his mind.

She had seen something—in the forest, perhaps. Did she make it home safely? Where had she gone, and what was it that had alarmed her so deeply? And why am I still concerned?

The questions lingered, twisting in his mind, fueling a gnawing worry he couldn’t shake.

The sun had barely stretched its arms over the forest when Lix jolted upright in her bed, breath caught halfway through a dream she couldn’t remember.

Her chest rose and fell too fast.

She sat still, hand pressed to her ribs, trying to hear past the blood in her ears. Nothing stirred beyond her walls. Not a whisper of wind. Not a crack of branch. But something was wrong.

Not outside.

Not around.

Inside.

It wasn’t pain, but it wasn’t peace either. Her bones felt… alert. Like they’d been woken before the rest of her. She pressed a palm to her heart, but it only beat faster. Her eyes flicked to the wall — thin wood and silence on the other side, where Eldrin slept lightly. She knew he was awake now, listening. He always knew when something shifted in her.

But she said nothing.

Because she didn’t know what to say.

Chapter Text

The first light of dawn barely touched the palace towers when a sharp, frantic knocking echoed through the quiet halls. The usual morning calm, still heavy with the night's shadows, shattered under the urgent rhythm.

Moments later, Chris, Minho, and Innie found themselves summoned to the royal hall. The grandeur of the chamber felt strangely distant, overshadowed by the tense murmurs drifting through the air.

As they entered, the scene before them froze the breath in their lungs. Wounded citizens, bloodied, disoriented, and shaking leaned against pillars and guards for support. Their clothes were torn, their eyes wide with unspeakable terror.

Chris's voice rang, calm but commanding. "What happened?" 

An older man with dried blood across his cheek finally croaked, "We were... returning from the festival. Through the south trail. Then... a shadow came."

"What kind of shadow?" Innie asked quickly.

"I... we don't remember," whispered a woman, holding her injured son close. "We were walking. The birds stopped singing. Then screams. And pain. And nothing else."

"No memories?" Minho asked sharply. "Not even of what it looked like?"

Heads shook all around. But fear lingered in every eye. 

Without another word, the trio exchanged glances. Chris gave the smallest nod, the silent command passed. Moments later, their horses thundered across the bridge, hooves clashing like a warning bell. 

They rode fast. Toward the forest...

Toward the thing that left no memory, only bruises.

Toward the place where silence had just broken.

The horses picked their way through thick underbrush, hooves muffled by moss and roots. The air hung heavy — a quiet too deep to be natural, like the forest was holding its breath.

They searched all morning. And then all afternoon. From the broken fence by the south trail to the riverbend that cut through the trees, they traced every path, every clearing, every deer trail that could have seen the passage of an attacker. Chris marked spots with cloth. Minho checked for blood, for tracks, for drag marks in the dirt. Innie rode further than the rest, doubling back and checking angles.

But there was nothing. No blood. No signs of a scuffle.

Not a single torn piece of fabric, not even a misplaced footprint.

Just the remains of a broken branch here. A patch of trampled grass there. It was like the forest had eaten the truth and left behind a perfect lie.

They kept riding anyway. Hour after hour. 

Tension climbed like mist rising from the roots. Even the trees seemed to lean in closer as the sun sank lower. 

Chris reined in his horse near the old river turn. "We've covered everything from the north bend to the hollowed cliffs." His voice was low. Sharp. "We split now. Take separate routes. Meet back here before nightfall."

Innie barely nodded, eyes already scanning the trees.

Minho looked around — at the trees, at the sky, at nothing in particular. But something had shifted. The stillness felt wrong. Pressed in too close.

"Wait," Minho said, voice low but firm. "Stay in your quadrant. Don't push past your markers. If you see anything strange—"

Chris and Innie turned toward him. There was no command in his voice, only concern. 

Chris looked between them, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "We've done this before Lino."

Minho didn't respond his lips pressed into a line, his instincts loud inside his head. He kept thinking about the girl. Her vision. Her voice. The haze she'd slipped into.

'A shadow, Something's coming. Someone's going to bleed.'

Minho's jaw tightened. "Not like this, I don't feel right about this," he said. I don't know what it is... but stay close. Don't go too far. And promise me—we meet back here before night sky."

"Okay, If you we anything strange. We'll ride straight back," Innie said.

There was no argument. Only the creak of saddles as they turned away from each other, and the whisper of hooves vanishing into distance. 

The golden light had turned rusted by the time Chris began his return. It brushed the treetops in streaks of orange and ash, casting long, jagged shadows across the underbrush. The unease he'd been carrying all day had grown heavier, sinking deeper into his chest with every step of his horse. Something was wrong. More than wrong — off, in a way he couldn't explain.

He was nearly back to the meeting point when a scream tore through the quiet.

High. Sharp. Innie's.

Chris froze in the saddle. A second scream followed — lower, broken. Minho. 

Both voices echoed through the trees, but the direction was impossible to place. They seemed to come from everywhere at once.

He drew his sword halfway and turned sharply. "I'm coming!" he shouted, digging his heels in. The horse surged forward, hooves pounding against moss and dirt as branches whipped past. 

His heart thundered. His grip tightened. The forest blurred by in streaks of green and shadow.

Then came the sound — a branch snapping. 

A crack of pressure, followed by a sharp, slicing whistle through the air.

He turned but too slow. A massive branch — thick, solid, and fast — was falling with impossible force.

It slammed into his side before he could react. The impact knocked the air from his lungs. His horse reared and screamed. 

The world tilted. Chris was flung sideways from the saddle, his body crashing through brittle limbs as gravity took hold.

He didn't have time to brace or scream. He hit nothing. 

And then he was gone—over the cliff's edge.

Chapter Text

The forest held its breath.

At the edge of the southern woods, where the trees grew twisted and low, Minho was the first to arrive at the meeting point, his heart still pounding with unease, The sky had deepened into a bruised blue, the last light of day folding into the shadows like a shroud. His eyes scanned the dusky shadows cast by the twisted trees lining the edge of the southern woods. Then, just as his breath hitched, he saw her.

She appeared—Innie, riding hard, eyes wide and wild as she pulled up beside him. She was safe. That was the first thing Minho saw. Relief flooded through him, fierce and sudden. But then he caught the confusion in her eyes — the same baffled look that twisted his own thoughts.

“You screamed,” she gasped, sliding off her horse, her chest rising and falling in short, sharp bursts.

Minho shook his head, still blinking through the haze. “No, you screamed. And Chris answered.”

For a long moment, neither moved nor spoke. The silence between them was thick enough to drown in, a shared weight pressing down like the heavy, humid air.

And then the truth settled, slow and cold.

Chris.

They exchanged a glance, one that carried the silent acknowledgment of a danger far worse than any blade or beast. No more words were needed. The unspoken truth pressed between them like a physical force. Then, as if propelled by the same desperate urgency, they both wheeled their horses around and bolted toward the forest’s edge.

The trees stood like sentinels, gnarled and watchful under the dying light, their branches reaching out as if to catch the secrets the wind refused to carry. No birds sang. No leaves whispered. Nothing stirred but the pounding of Minho’s heart.

Far away, in a quiet room heavy with night, Lix sat by her window. Her legs curled beneath a threadbare blanket, arms wrapped tight around her knees. The moon hung low and distant, its pale glow casting ghostly shadows over her face.

There was a gnawing inside her chest—a hollow she couldn’t name, a pain that felt less like her own and more like a distant echo. Her fingers trembled against the worn quilt, eyes tracing the faint pulse of stars beyond the glass.

She didn’t understand what was coming. But she could feel it—like a quiet scream beneath the calm, a shadow stretching long and thin across the edges of her thoughts.

Somewhere beyond the forest’s grasp, Chris lay still.

The cold water had long passed, leaving his clothes soaked and heavy, but his skin burned with a fire that water could not quench. His body was battered and bruised, but those were merely shadows on the surface. What weighed him down was something darker—the sharp, gnawing ache of failure that pressed relentlessly on his chest.

His mind spiraled through fragments of memory like leaves caught in a storm.

Min… Innie… are they safe? Did they call out to me? I told them… I promised.

He saw himself as a boy again, standing tall in the palace courtyard, fists clenched and eyes blazing.

“As long as I breathe, I will protect those beside me. Even if I burn for it.”

His friends had laughed then—Minho and Innie—telling him three magics were too much pressure for one boy.

“You’re the heir,” his father had said once, voice low but firm.

“That’s not enough,” Chris had answered, grinning through the weight of it all. “I want to be their shield, too.”

His mother’s face hovered in his mind—a flicker of pride, a flash of worry.

“Promise me, Chris,” her voice echoed soft and steady, “no matter your magic, your burden… never break from love.”

He had sworn to that promise.

Now, it lay bleeding beside him.

He tried to call out—his throat raw—but no sound came. Just a rasp that echoed into the void. The world tilted on its axis, blurring at the edges, and through the haze, something shifted.

A presence hovered just beyond his vision—a figure, faceless and dark, grinning in the shadows. Watching.

The air around him dropped cold, pressing down like the weight of unseen eyes.

Then the figure slipped away, swallowed by the trees and mist.

Around him, unfamiliar sounds whispered—names he did not know, voices lost to time.

And then, softer… gentler… came the touch of footsteps wrapped in quiet concern.

Arms, small but steady, lifted him with the care of someone cradling glass.

He did not see the face, could not tell if it was real or another trick of the fading light.

But the pain ebbed away for a moment.

He sighed, eyes still closed.

“Min… Innie…” he whispered.

And then, he let himself drift into sleep.

Chapter Text

The forest held its silence, but their hearts did not.

Minho’s gloved fist struck the side of a pine tree, the bark rough beneath his knuckles. Pine needles scattered, tumbling to the forest floor like brittle confessions. His breath came hard, and his voice was sharp.

“We should’ve never split up.”

Behind him, Innie stood with her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her eyes didn’t leave him. Worry etched the corners of her mouth, her lips pale from cold and fear.

“Orabeoni,” she said, her voice calm, deliberate. “We made a choice. All of us. Together.”

Minho turned, jaw locked, shoulders tense. “And I shouldn't have let him go. I should’ve stopped him. I heard him scream, Innie.”

She met his gaze without flinching. “And I didn’t stop him either. So don’t try to take all the blame for yourself.”

The space between them stilled—heavy and full of what couldn’t be undone.

Minho broke the silence. “We need to send word. Just to the King. Not the Queen… not yet.”

Innie nodded, the line between her brows deepening. “If she hears what’s happened, she’ll come herself. And we need her calm. Not her fury.”

He reached into the satchel tied to his horse and pulled out a sealed messenger orb—sleek, glassy, threaded with runes. One whisper later, it shimmered and vanished into the wind.

And then, just like that, the weight came rushing back. Grief had only paused; it hadn’t left.

“…You should go back,” Minho murmured, still staring at the spot where the orb disappeared. “If something happens to you—”

Innie stepped forward, her voice tightening. “What if I said that to you? Would you have left?”

He opened his mouth but had no answer.

She exhaled sharply. “Don’t give me that noble act. You don’t get to carry this alone, Orabeoni. We’re here. Together. We’ll either find him together… or fall trying.”

Minho’s hands curled into fists again. “We let him go alone.”

She watched him, then spoke—quietly, carefully.

“Do you remember the first time his magic calmed?”

It wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t meant to jolt. It was her way of guiding him back—away from the guilt, toward something steadier.

Minho’s expression flickered. “He couldn’t hold it. Burned half the courtyard.”

“And we stayed,” she said. “Held his hands until they stopped shaking.”

His voice lowered. “We promised not to let him fall alone.”

Innie stepped closer. “We don’t break our promises, Orabeoni.”

Her voice cracked on the last word. A tear rolled down her cheek. Then another.

Minho’s shoulders fell, and his breath hitched. And when he reached for her, it wasn’t out of impulse. It was the only thing that made sense.

They folded into each other’s arms—no pride, no titles. Just fear and hope, and the ghost of a boy they weren’t ready to lose.

No more words were needed.

Across the valley, two horses raced through mist and mud, their hooves pounding the ground like distant drums.

“We’re almost there,” Minnie said, teeth clenched as the wind whipped at her face.

Behind her, Lix held tight to the back of Minnie’s coat, fingers curled into the fabric. Her face was pale, eyes wide, pulled by a feeling she couldn’t explain. It wasn’t logic that guided her—it was something older, stranger. Something that lived in her bones.

They reached a ledge, half-hidden by thick ivy and moss-covered stone. The path narrowed, curling toward a wooden door carved into the side of the hill.

The Safehome.

A quiet refuge, used for travelers, wild animals... and tonight, a boy trying not to die.

Minnie dismounted first and rushed forward, knocking hard on the door—sharp, anxious.

It creaked open.

Ji stood there, thinner than before but stronger somehow. Her eyes brightened with relief as soon as she saw them.

“You’re okay—” Minnie pulled her into a hug before the words finished. “I was so scared.”

“I’m fine,” Ji whispered, returning the hug weakly. “He’s inside.”

From behind her, Changbin stepped into view, leaning against the doorframe. His voice was gentle.

“I’m here too,” he added, quiet but clear—as if reminding them not to forget.

Minnie reached out and pulled him into the embrace without hesitation. For a heartbeat, the four of them were tangled together—relief, exhaustion, fear all binding them tight. Together. Breathing the same air, surviving the same night.

Then Ji stepped back, guiding them inside.

The Safehome was small, warm, and dimly lit with flickering lanterns. The scent of herbs clung to the air—burned salve, boiled root, dried moss. At the far end of the room, beneath a nest of blankets and bandages, a figure lay still.

His chest rose and fell in shallow rhythm. His face was pale, jaw bruised, hands wrapped in linen. Even covered, his injuries were impossible to ignore.

Lix’s heart slammed against her ribs. She didn’t know his name. Had never spoken to him. And yet something pulled at her with a force she didn’t understand.

Binnie stepped closer, voice quiet.

“She found him near the cliff. Barely breathing. If Ji hadn’t gotten there when she did…”

He stopped, the words catching.

Ji stepped forward. “He was torn up. Like something attacked him before he fell. His whole body’s a mess. He shouldn’t be alive.”

Silence filled the space.

Lix stood frozen. Her eyes didn’t leave him. She couldn’t explain it—this invisible cord stretching from her chest to his. Something ancient. Something real.

She didn’t understand it.

Couldn’t name it.

But she felt it.

A thought echoed through her—clearer than fear, sharper than any magic.

'Thank you for holding on. And please… hold on for a bit more.'

And across the room, beneath layers of pain and cloth and care, he stirred.

Chapter Text

The Safehouse flickered with low firelight, casting warm shadows over the stone walls. The air was quiet but heavy—something unsaid hanging between them. Ji leaned against the cold archway, arms crossed, eyes tired but alert. Minnie sat cross-legged nearby, watching. Changbin tending the injured man,  the crease between his brows deepening with every step.

Finally, Ji broke the silence. “I’ve been coming here every day since the vision.” All eyes turned to her.

“It was vague at first,” she said, voice low. “Just blood, stone... a body near water. But I couldn’t shake it. I kept going back—climbing from the cliff down to the riverbed—trying to feel if it was real or just my magic playing tricks.”

Minnie frowned. “You did all that... alone?”

Ji nodded, eyes downcast. “I didn’t want to scare anyone. Not until yesterday. The pull was stronger, and when I came here…” She glanced toward the far corner of the room, where the figure lay wrapped and still.

“The creature from the vision was already there,” she whispered. A shiver ran through her. “Reaching for him. He was covered in blood, barely breathing.”

She looked to Changbin, her voice softer, filled with something close to awe. “Binnie, you arrived just in time—when I couldn’t scream.”

Flashback

The night air was sharp, biting against Ji’s soaked cloak and slipping boots. Alone at the riverbank’s edge, she faced the shadowed creature blocking the limp body, blood trailing into the dark current.

The creature’s tall, black form reached out with twisting fingers, ready to claim the body. Then, a sudden crack tore through the stillness.

Changbin burst forward, a streak of warped space and furious light. “Get away!” His eyes blazed with fierce protectiveness as he tackled the shadow.

The dark shape hissed—a distorted snarl—then vanished into the trees.

Changbin ran to Ji’s side, where she pulled the unconscious figure from the water, trembling and soaked through. He grabbed her shoulders. “Are you mad?”

His gaze caught the faint pulse fluttering beneath the man's pale skin. Without another word, he carried the figure back to the Safehouse, gently laying him down and beginning to remove the soaked clothes.

“You could’ve told someone,” Changbin muttered, shaking his head as he wrapped bandages around bruised limbs. “Told me.”

Ji looked away, voice small. “I didn’t want to drag anyone else into it.”

“So you drag yourself in alone?” His tone was sharp, but not angry just worried. “What if I’d arrived a minute too late? Ji...”

She whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Changbin turned back to tend the wounds, his hands steady but his mind elsewhere. When he finally looked up, Ji was still sitting, eyes rimmed red, lips trembling.

“Don’t you believe me?” he asked quietly.

Ji snapped her head up, surprised. “What?”

He took a slow step closer, voice catching. “Do you think I wouldn’t listen if you’d told me about your vision? Or that I wouldn’t come with you? That I’d let you walk into danger alone?”

Ji said nothing. She couldn’t.

“You’ve been walking into the forest alone every night these last few days,” Changbin said quietly. “Climbing cliffs, searching riverbeds. Do you even know how that looked?”

Ji blinked, confusion clear on her face.

He exhaled, voice heavy. “I thought you were trying to… to—” He stopped. “I know you weren’t going to hurt yourself, but it felt like—”

Ji’s eyes widened as realization dawned. “No, Binnie. No. It was never that. I wasn’t trying to give up. I was just trying to find him. That’s all.”

Changbin’s guilt softened his features. “I thought I was going to loose you.”

Ji’s voice broke, gentle. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

She stood and wrapped her arms around him. “I didn’t think you’d see. I just… I wanted to check. To make sure it wasn’t real. Not because I was giving up.”

Changbin closed his eyes, holding her tight. They stayed like that a long while—both trembling, both crying, both somehow whole again.

“You’re my responsibility,” he whispered, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. “Just like I am yours.”

Ji nodded, wiping away tears with the back of her hand.

“Promise me, Ji. Never again. Never alone.”

“I promise,” she said firmly, meaning every word.

They settled back down, and Changbin handed her a water can. She took a slow sip, then grinned, the flicker of her usual sharp wit returning.

“You know,” she said, passing it back, “I always knew you were older than me and loved taking care of me.”

Changbin blinked. “Uh… yes?”

“But I didn’t know you’d cry and sweet-talk me,” she teased.

Changbin nearly choked on the water, sputtering. “What?!”

“I thought that kind of gentle vulnerability was only reserved for Lix,” she smirked, eyes glinting.

“Wh-what are you implying?” Changbin turned bright red, coughing.

Ji shrugged with a wide grin. “Nothing.”

Before he could answer, a knock came at the door. Changbin shot up, thankful for the interruption.

“That’ll be Minnie and Lix,” he muttered, getting up quickly to open the door, cheeks still flushed.

Ji watched him with a quiet smile. “No, wait—I’ll get it.”

She had known Changbin all her life—from mud fights as toddlers to late-night map studies. Rash, impulsive, loud… but loyal, safe, and true heart. Their bond was more than friendship—it was built on sleepless nights, unspoken fears, and quiet bravery. She was glad he saw her, believed in her, even when she stumbled.

Chapter Text

Minnie’s eyes drifted between Ji and Changbin, lingering just a little longer than usual. There was a softness in her gaze, distant and watching—like someone peering into a snow globe from the outside, feeling the warmth but not quite inside it. As the weight in the room slowly eased, she blinked, shook herself free of the quiet swirl in her chest, took a deep breath, and lightly brushed her sleeve.

Changbin rolled his eyes with an amused smile. Ji’s tired eyes softened as she returned Minnie’s quiet gesture.

Minnie glanced between Ji and Changbin, noting the exhaustion in their eyes and the way they slouched against the walls. “You two look like you’re about to collapse,” she said with a half-smile, stretching her arms. “Come on, I’ll take you both home before you start wandering around like lost spirits.”

She paused, narrowing her eyes at Changbin and smirking. “Especially you, Commander Heartache. You look like a wet cat that just lost a fight.”

“Very flattering,” Changbin muttered under his breath, a faint flush coloring his cheeks.

Minnie shot a playful glance at Ji and Changbin. “I’m taking you both home before you turn into wandering spirits.”

But then, as she started to turn away, her eyes landed on Lix, standing quietly by the bed. A flicker of hesitation softened her teasing smile.

She stepped closer and reached out, resting a gentle hand on Lix’s arm. “You’ll be okay here?”

Lix nodded softly. “Yeah... please take them home.”

Minnie studied her a moment longer, her voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “Just... don’t give the poor guy a heart attack if he wakes up and finds you staring at him like a ghost, alright?”

Lix stepped to the door as Minnie guided Ji and Changbin out, their footsteps fading softly down the path. She offered a small, tired wave, her voice barely above a whisper. “Take care of each other.”

Minnie glanced back with a reassuring smile. “We will. Don’t worry.”

Once the last footsteps disappeared, Lix turned, closing the heavy wooden door behind them. She paused for a moment, the soft click of the lock echoing in the quiet cottage. The stillness settled around her like a weight.

Once the last of their footsteps faded, Lix turned and closed the heavy wooden door behind them. She paused for a moment, the soft click of the lock echoing through the quiet cottage. The stillness settled around her like a weight.

Now alone with him—a stranger, yet somehow not a stranger at all. That was the part that puzzled her. He lay there, covered in cloth and bandages, faceless and still. But there was something about his presence—his stillness wasn’t frightening. It was... familiar, like a lullaby she couldn’t place.

She sat beside him, wrapping her arms around her knees, the weight of the silence settling in her chest.

“Who are you?” she whispered, barely hoping for an answer.

His face was swallowed by the thick bandages, a mystery wrapped in cloth.

Still, the gentle curve of his bandaged hand resting at his side caught her attention—fingers half-curled, as if clutching something invisible, fragile.

Without fully understanding why, a gentle voice inside her whispered, Hold on… heal slowly, but surely. Don’t give up.

Then—a flicker. His fingers twitched just a little, breaking the heavy stillness. Her breath caught, sudden and sharp. Her heart quickened, beating louder in the quiet room.

Was it real? Or just her imagination, longing for a sign? Instinctively, she glanced around, as if someone else might have seen it too—but the room was empty, silent, holding only her quiet hope.

Slowly, she reached out, her fingers trembling slightly as they hovered above his. She didn’t dare blink—afraid that if she did, his movement might slip away unnoticed. Time seemed to hold its breath, fragile and uncertain, balanced on that small, hopeful twitch.

Her hand closed gently around his faintly warm fingers. She didn’t know his name, didn’t know why he was here, or why she was the one beside him now. But in the quiet stillness, he seemed unbearably lonely. And something in her chest ached—a quiet longing to stay with him.

Then, a soft knock at the door stirred her gently, the sound delicate but insistent enough to pull her fully back from the hazy edge of sleep. She knows it's Minnie .

Her eyes fluttered open wider, adjusting to the dim light as she pushed herself upright. The quiet cottage suddenly felt less empty. When she opened the door, her breath caught—framed in the doorway stood not just Minnie, but Ji and Changbin as well.

She blinked slowly, expecting only Minnie to return with the basket, thinking Ji and Changbin had gone ahead to rest.

For a moment, surprise and relief mingled quietly in her chest. They had all come back—unexpected, but deeply welcome.

Lix sweetly pouted, a teasing edge to her voice. "You're late."

"I know, I know," Minnie groaned, sweeping inside, her hair slightly messy and her cheeks flushed. She was carrying a covered basket and looked more chaotic than usual.

"Mom wasn’t home, and I tried my best to cook lamb stew like a responsible adult, but apparently lambs don’t obey timers." She sniffed dramatically. "So here it is. Accept my offering."

She glanced at Ji and Changbin trailing behind her with amused exasperation. "And don’t even get me started on these two idiots. I told them to stay home and rest, but no—they had to tag along with me anyway. Honestly, I don’t know why I bother playing mom to a pair of stubborn children."

Lix laughed softly, shaking her head. Ji and Changbin exchanged quiet murmurs.

"We were just worried about him," Ji said softly. She looked calmer now, the edges of her earlier storm smoothed by time — but still sharp in her eyes.

“Yeah,” Changbin added, rubbing the back of his neck. “Couldn’t just leave him alone.”

He glanced at the low shelf near the wall where bundles of dried herbs hung, noticeably thinner than before. His brow furrowed.

“Looks like we’re running low on the good stuff,” he said, half to himself. Then louder, “I’ll go grab more. Shouldn’t take long.”

He gave a quick nod to no one in particular. “Be back in a flash.”

Minnie noticed Lix barely touched the lunch box, her gaze distant. She set the basket down carefully and said softly, “You’re not really eating, are you? What’s on your mind?”

Lix blinked, caught off guard, and glanced down at the untouched food.

“Now don’t waste my culinary struggle, Lix,” Minnie declared, pulling out bowls with practiced ease. “Sit and eat before I have to force-feed you like I did with Ji.”

With no strength left to protest, a half-smile blossomed on Lix’s lips. She sat down carefully, adjusting herself before lifting her spoon. Just as the warm stew touched the edge of her lips—

A sudden voice cut through the quiet room.

“Oh my god...”

A sharp gasp, followed by a trembling whisper.

“How are you...?”

Ji’s eyes were wide, her voice barely steady as she stared past Lix—not at her, but at the bed behind.

Lix slowly turned her eyes toward the bed and the spoon slipped silently from her fingers.

Chapter Text

I am— Where?

Am I— Alive?

The ground beneath me is water. 

No... not water. It's soft. 

Something holds me. No, someone?

Voices. Muffled. As if under the surface of water. 

I can't breathe. 

No, I am breathing. 

But the world is... thick. Heavy.

A sob. Another. 

A woman? A man?

Minho? Innie?  Are they crying?

Why are they crying?

Did something happen to them? Are they here? Did I fail them?

I try to move. My fingers twitch, maybe. Maybe not.

Was I found?

Or am I gone?

The cries fade, and then— Dark again.

A flash of heat. Then cool.

Noise. Loud. So loud. 

Too many people. Too many voices. 

Someone is saying a name."Isu?" No... "sung?" 

No. it's "Ji." 

Yes. Jisungie!!!

I've been hearing it for a while now. Whispered gently... 

Urgently...

Often.

She sits beside me. That much I'm certain. 

She hums when she thinks I'm gone. 

I think her presence is keeping me here. 

Yes, she's the reason I'm not drifting away completely.

She's the tether. 

Then, one voice. Soft. Sweet. Curious. 

"Who are you?" 

She thinks I'm asleep.  But I hear it. 

I feel her voice against the edge of my ribs. So close. 

I want to answer.  But my mouth is made of stone. 

So I sink again. 

Sleep. 

Time passed. 

Maybe a day?  Maybe more.

Something in me stirs again. 

The cliff. The branch. The fall. The scream. 

I jolt inside my body, but it doesn't move. 

I think, I want to hold on to something.. anything. 

And then—A hand. Warm. Gentle. Holding my fingers. 

Mine. She's holding my hand.

I don't know how long she held on, but I slept. I slept like I hadn't in years. 

Then, I woke. And her hand... was still there. I didn't want her to let go. 

But she did.  A soft knock on wood. 

Footsteps. Her hand slipped from mine. 

I wanted to reach out, say don't go. My fingers moved? I think. 

Wait—why can't I move properly? 

What in the seven kingdoms—"Why am I mummified?" I look down, slowly, carefully. 

Bandages. 

Everywhere.

On my chest. Arms. Hands. Even face?! 

"Am I even wearing pants?" 

Before the panic could fully manifest, I caught a flicker of movement. 

She was here again. 

The girl.

She turned—eyes wide, filling too fast with tears she probably didn't mean to let go.

And then "Oh my god... how are you?" 

Her voice cracked at the end.

My throat was dry, my lips cracked, but I managed something. A hoarse whisper, almost like it wasn't mine.

"...Hi" I whispered.

So she's Jisung.

The girl who saved me.

Chapter Text

Ji’s POV

He looked at me.

His eyes were cloudy with exhaustion, rimmed with pain and the weight of too many sleepless hours—but they were open. Aware. And they were looking right at me.

“Hi,” he whispered.

Just one word. Fragile. Soft. It cut through everything.

And I broke.

The tears came before I could stop them, blurring his face into light and shadow. My hands flew to my mouth to muffle a sob—small, sharp, and utterly unexpected. A sound I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying in my lungs for days. Maybe longer.

He’s alive.

He’s really here.

He woke up.

I didn’t say hi back. My voice couldn’t move through the wave rising inside me. Instead, I moved toward him—instinctively, as if drawn by a thread spun between us long before this moment.

He reached out, his fingers trembling like leaves in a soft wind. I caught his hand without hesitation. His skin was warm. Real. Alive. My own fingers wrapped around his like a promise.

“Would you like some water?” I asked, voice catching despite myself.

He nodded. The movement was slight, but certain.

I helped him sit up gently, cradling his back with one hand, careful not to disturb the fresh bandages. The scent of herbal salves still clung faintly to his skin. His breath was shallow, like someone relearning how to be in their body.

I brought the cup to his lips and tilted it slowly. He drank in small sips, each swallow steady but fragile. I watched every movement—watched his throat work, his hand tremble against mine—as if witnessing a miracle unfold inch by inch.

When he leaned back, eyes fluttering closed for a moment, I felt the pressure in my chest ease. It had been there for so long I’d stopped noticing. Now it lifted. Like coming up for air.

The sounds around us—soft shuffling, distant voices, even the creak of wood underfoot—faded into nothing. There was only this moment. Him. Me. The quiet in between.

He opened his eyes again and looked at me. This time, clearer. Brighter.

“Did… did you save me?” His voice was hoarse, like wind brushing over stone.

I nodded. A small, aching smile found my lips.

“Yes.”

I hesitated, then added, “I have a gift. Visions. I saw you—caught in that space between sleep and waking. I saw your pain… and I couldn’t look away.”

His brows drew together faintly, as if recalling something distant but familiar.

“You… saw me?” His voice lowered, almost reverent. “Even before I was here?”

“Yes,” I said softly. “It was my magic. And something more.”

Something I couldn’t name. A pull that had drawn me to him across time and space. As if the moment we met was always meant to happen.

He exhaled—a deep, trembling breath that seemed to carry something out of him. Grief, maybe. Or fear. Then he tightened his fingers around mine, just slightly.

“Thank you, Ji.”

I shook my head, the motion gentle.

“No,” I whispered. “Thank you. For waking up.”

I gave his hand a small squeeze. He held on.

Lix’s POV

He’s awake.

My heart should be bursting with relief. And part of it is. But another part—a smaller, quieter part—aches.

Ji is sitting beside him, her hand in his, their voices soft like whispers meant only for the space between them. There’s something glowing in her. In both of them. Like they’re tethered by something ancient. Something I can’t touch.

He looked at her first. Reached for her hand. His eyes never even glanced toward me.

And why would they?

She saved him. She pulled him back from whatever edge he’d been teetering on. And he—he looks at her like she’s the only star in the room.

I stand at the edge, unnoticed. Like a piece of the background, faded by their light.

I gather the lunch containers I brought earlier. My fingers work automatically. The lids click closed. Crumbs brushed away. Movements small, mechanical.

I need air.

I head for the door, pulse rising with something I don’t want to name—don’t want to feel.

“So, uh,” Minnie’s voice cuts through the hush, warm and unmistakably her, “welcome back to the land of the breathing. How’s the view?”

She stepped forward with her usual confidence, slipping into the space like she’d always belonged there. And maybe she had. Minnie read rooms with instinct more than logic—always knowing when to speak, when to laugh, and when to anchor the rest of us with her strange, brilliant heart.

The stranger blinked at her, dazed, but his lips twitched.

“Like someone wrapped me in a rice bundle and forgot the sauce.”

Minnie grinned. “Hey, you’re pulling it off. Healer’s wrappings with a dash of battlefield drama? It’s the look this season. If you start craving steamed roots and herbal broth, let me know. I’ve got connections.”

His tired smirk bloomed slowly, like a sliver of dawn creeping through storm clouds.

“And here I thought I’d woken up in a royal infirmary.”

“Oh, it is,” Minnie said with a mock bow. “But we’re all out of silk bedsheets and wine-soaked pears. You’ll have to settle for boiled herbs and questionable company.”

He let out a dry cough—sharp, but not pained. The smile that followed was quiet, but real.

“I can already tell.”

And just like that, the air in the room softens. The heaviness doesn’t vanish, but it lightens. Like someone opened a window.

That’s Minnie’s gift—not just humor, but offering. A lifeline in moments when the weight gets too much.

And him? He fits. Like he’s always belonged here.

I watch them laugh. Watch the way his eyes drift back to Ji between each breath. Watch the way she glows under his gaze.

I’m not unhappy.

But I ache, just a little.

A quiet, invisible ache. Like being on the outside of a window, looking in.

I reach for the door. Fingers on the handle.

And then I freeze.

Because standing just outside—blocking the threshold—are three figures.

Binnie… and two strangers.

They’re tall. Elegant. Everything about them radiates power and precision. Their cloaks hang clean and perfect. Their boots untouched by dust. The man in front has storm-grey eyes—sharp as flint, cold as lightning held in glass.

His gaze moves past me. Past Minnie.

Then it lands on Ji—and lingers.

Just a second too long. Or maybe I imagined it.

Then his eyes shift—slowly, deliberately—to the figure lying beneath the blankets and bandages.

And that’s when his breath hitches.

Not with surprise.

But with recognition.

Chapter Text

The soft quiet of the room was broken by the rhythmic clatter of hooves outside. The door swung open, and two travel-worn figures stepped inside, cloaks dusted with the road. Their expressions tightened the moment their eyes landed on the bandaged figure resting in the bed.

“There you are,” the taller man said. His voice was low and taut, like it had been stretched thin over hours of worry.

The woman beside him took two hurried steps forward but stopped short. Her gaze caught something neither Chris nor Ji had yet realized—their hands, resting together, fingers lightly intertwined in a way that seemed casual, unthinking. Familiar.

Minho saw it immediately. His eyes flicked to their joined hands, then to the space between them, noting how comfortably they stayed near each other. There was nothing dramatic in his reaction, but something in his posture adjusted, a slight stiffening of the shoulders. He said nothing.

“You scared the hell out of us,” Jeongin muttered, quickly pulling herself together. “One day, we’re putting you in a bubble. You’re not allowed out unsupervised.”

Chris gave a tired smile. “I’d still find a way to trip.”

He leaned back against the pillows. His hand began to slip from Ji’s, just barely brushing away, but instead of letting go, he instinctively tightened it again. The silence that followed wasn't awkward—but it wasn’t empty, either. There was something in it. Something waiting.

Ji, still unaware of their closeness, turned toward the taller man. Her voice was soft but curious. “Are you all… family? How did you find us?”

“The guest ledger at the festival,” Minho replied. His voice was calm, but his eyes hadn’t missed a thing. “You listed your community’s name. That was enough.”

Something in the air shifted. Ji straightened slightly. Realization moved across her face.

She looked to Minnie. Then Changbin. Then Lix. And one by one, the others reacted.

Changbin turned his head sharply toward her. Minnie’s mouth opened in disbelief, her face pale before color rushed to her cheeks. Lix, quiet near the back, subtly straightened. Her posture sharpened—alert, focused, like she’d just put together a puzzle she hadn’t realized she was solving.

He wasn’t just some stranger they'd found by the river.

He was Prince Christopher Virellis. The Crowned Flame. The heir to the royal triad. Fire-blooded, trained in three magics, his name etched into war songs and children’s storybooks alike. Ji had seen him once, from far off during a state parade—untouchable, almost mythical.

And now he was here. In their care. In their home. Holding her hand.

Standing beside him were two more names from the empire’s stories: Commander Minho Dravenhall, son of the empire’s war general, and Jeongin Alvaryn, a federal princess in her own right.

The weight of who they were settled heavily in the room. And the group, instinctively, responded.

Ji's hand slipped away from Chris's as she bowed deeply, the others following. Minnie tripped over her bow, her face burning with embarrassment.

Chris met Ji’s eyes with a tired, gentle look. “No bows,” he said quietly. “Not here. Not now.”

Ji hesitated. Her respect warred with the softness in his voice. A glance at Changbin—calm, reassuring—helped her straighten. She didn’t quite drop the bow completely, but she lifted her head, eyes steady.

Minnie lingered awkwardly near the wall, twisting a bit of cloth between her fingers. Chris looked her way and offered a small nod. She tried to smile in return but looked away almost immediately.

Chris scanned the room, gaze brushing across their faces—these strangers who had saved him. “I’d like to know your names,” he said, voice more formal now. “If you’re willing to share them.”

“Changbin Fauren,” said Changbin, stepping forward with quiet confidence.

“Seungmin Elwin,” Minnie said, giving a small wave and a nervous smile.

Finally, Lix spoke. “Felix.” Her voice was soft but clear.

Changbin, still beside her, placed a hand lightly at the small of her back. It was a subtle gesture, protective and familiar. Chris noticed it—and for a brief moment, something in his expression changed. Not visibly. Just… stilled.

From the side, Jeongin leaned toward Chris and murmured behind her hand, “You really were rescued by some interesting women.”

Chris gave her a sideways look and muttered, “I must have a face for it.”

A laugh spread through the room, warm and genuine, cutting through the tension like sunlight through mist. But underneath it, there was something else now—awareness. Their identities were no longer hidden, and nothing could go back to what it was.

The laughter faded, and Minho’s voice broke the quiet.

“What exactly happened?”

He wasn’t accusatory, but the question was sharp, focused. The soldier in him was already working.

Chris blinked slowly. “I… don’t remember all of it,” he admitted. His brow creased faintly. “I remember shouting. I think I heard you call out. I tried to reach you. Then I… slipped? I think. It’s all jumbled. Just cold. And the fall.”

His words trailed off, and something flickered in his expression—confusion, frustration, maybe something deeper. Ji, seated beside him, filled the silence.

“When I got there, something was watching him,” she said. “I couldn’t see it clearly, but it was there. I stood between it and—” she paused, correcting herself, “—the Prince. Then Binnie arrived and chased it off before it could come closer.”

Minho’s jaw tensed slightly. Jeongin’s brows furrowed.

“We carried him back here,” Ji continued. “We’ve been taking care of him since. I couldn’t understand how he survived the water at all—until now. I suppose that’s what being a triple elemental Master does.”

Chris lowered his eyes, his expression unreadable. Across the room, Lix watched him closely. She hadn’t said much, but her gaze often lingered too long on Chris—her thoughts turning in quiet circles, uncertain but unmistakable.

Minho and Jeongin exchanged a long glance, wordless. Something passed between them. When Minho looked back at Chris, there was something new in his expression—tighter, more guarded.

And just like that, the warmth of the room faded a degree.

Because this wasn’t just about a rescue anymore.

This was the beginning of something else. Something bigger. Something watching them from the edges.

And none of them were ready.

Chapter Text

For a day, the king carried the secret in silent torment, withholding the truth of the prince's disappearance until assured of his safety. The weight of the wait pressed heavily upon him, but when Minho's second message arrived, confirming the prince was unharmed, the king finally laid bare the truth before the queen.

The royal family could wait no longer. By dusk, a falcon soared into Minho's hands, bearing a reply from the queen herself, her words penned in urgent gold:

                                   "We are coming. The King and I will arrive at first light to thank those brave souls ourselves."

As soon as Minho received the queen's message, he wasted no time. He penned his reply confirming their location to the queen and sealed it with practiced care. 

With the prince's identity no longer a secret, he turned to Ji. "We must tell your parents — and then the village. They need to know the truth."

Ji nodded, understanding the weight of the moment, and led Minho to her parents' home. When Aron, her father and the village head, opened the door, his eyes narrowed in quiet curiosity at the stranger standing beside his daughter.

Ji stepped forward and spoke softly, "Father, this is Minho."

Aron regarded the young man carefully, still unsure.

"Minho Dravenhall," Ji continued. "The future comman—"

Aron's brow furrowed as he processed the name, a slow breath escaping him. Recognition dawned in his eyes, mingled with surprise and respect. For a moment, he simply stared,  Aron's eyes widened, clearly taken aback. It wasn't every day that a figure of such stature stood before him in their humble village.

Finally, he bowed deeply before Minho, voice low and reverent. "The future commander of Solara..."

But Minho stepped forward, his posture composed, his voice calm — yet laced with quiet reverence. "This village gave shelter to the Crowned Prince of Solara. he said. "You kept him safe. For that, the realm owes you a debt."

Aron's expression faltered — surprise giving way to disbelief. "The prince?" he breathed. "Here? In our village?" His eyes searched Minho's face, as if needing to confirm the words were real.

Minho nodded and bowed his head. "On behalf of the Royal House, and from me personally — thank you."

With a breath that trembled just slightly, Aron stepped back and bowed low. "It has been our honor," he said quietly. "Truly."

Minho met his gaze. "It's Ji and Changbin," he said. "It was their courage that saved the heir."

Ji's parents, as village leaders, had long held the heart of the community. But in that moment, Aron was no longer a leader — he was simply a father, struck silent by the magnitude of what his children had done. 

Then slowly, his face broke into a radiant smile, eyes shining with pride and wonder. "My daughter and Binnie... saved the heir?" he repeated, voice thick with awe.

Minho gave a solemn nod. "Yes. And word has already reached the palace."He let the moment hang, then added, his voice lowering just slightly, 

"The Royal Couple will arrive at dawn — to see the prince with their own eyes... and to thank those who saved him."

Aron simply stared, as if the words needed time to settle in his bones. Then his grin widened, and the spark of a host ignited in his eyes.

"Where is our prince?" he asked, straightening his posture. "This is no small thing. Truly, it is a blessing. We must prepare the hall, clear the orchard path, and ready the village for what is to come."

The news swept through the village like wildfire, lighting hearts and minds with a rare mixture of joy, pride, and nerves. It was nearly unheard of for the royal couple to visit a village unannounced — much less one nestled quietly at the forest's edge. And yet, they were coming.

The villagers moved quickly, some in silence, others humming in disbelief. Paths were swept. Lanterns were hung. The old hall was cleared and polished, and the finest linens were pulled from forgotten trunks. 

Ji's parents saw to it that the prince was moved to the safest, warmest, most comfortable place in the village — treated with a reverence reserved for those destined to wear a crown. Between Ji's healing herbs and Minnie's attentive fussing, it was the best care they could offer.

The story they told the world was straightforward—believable even. A fierce storm rolled in, a panicked horse stumbled, and the prince fell into the river. A timely vision of Ji's led to his rescue. There was no mention of magic runes, no whisper of shadowy threats hiding in the forest's breath. Such truths were kept carefully hidden beneath layers of silence. It was Chris's order: raise no suspicion, invite no questions.

As Innie's fingers moved deftly, peeling away Chris's dressings with practiced care, her eyes lifted—bright, sharp, always watching with a playful spark.

"So," she teased, voice light as a breeze yet carrying a knowing edge, "Ji, huh? You've said her name more times today than you've ever said mine."

Chris didn't shy away. No laughter. No deflection.

Only a quiet truth, settling like a soft shadow between them. 

"She's more than the one who saved me," he said, voice low and steady. "Innie, she's the reason I'm still here." 

He paused—breath caught in the quiet space. "I don't know why yet... only that she matters."

Innie's brow lifted, the teasing gone, replaced by a thoughtful stillness. Her fingers moved faster now, gentle beneath the weight of unspoken words. 

Across from them, Minho peeled back the gauze, eyes downcast, calm waters hiding a current beneath. He heard it too. The confession, whispered not in words, but in the silence between. Unspoken, yet echoing loud enough to fill the space. A silent confession — fragile, fierce, and utterly real.

That afternoon, despite the exhaustion clawing at her from sleepless nights, Ji made her way toward Chris. She had promised her father she would help prepare for the royal visit, yet part of her longed to see how Chris was faring. As she stepped into the hallway, she slowed.

Chris was sitting up, a blanket draped around his shoulders, a cup of something warm in his hands. 

When he spotted her, his face changed—just slightly. A quiet relief passed over him, as if he'd been waiting for her.

"You've been working all day," he said. "You look tired."

"A little," Ji admitted, stopping at a respectful distance. "My father needs help preparing for tomorrow... and I haven't had much sleep."

Chris shifted, gesturing toward the room. "You can rest here."

It came out simple, almost casual—but Ji didn't move. Instead, she offered a graceful nod, hands folded politely in front of her. 

"I appreciate the offer, Your Highness, but I should return shortly." Chris blinked. The title made him falter for a breath.

"Okay," he said, then after a pause, gave a small smile. "It's... quieter when you're not around."

Ji's expression softened, but she kept her posture straight. "I won't be long next time."

He looked into his cup, then back at her. "Hurry back, then."

She didn't promise—only bowed with quiet precision, a gesture full of respect and distance. Then she turned and slipped away, before he could ask her not to bow at all.

As the sky turned gold with evening, the village stirred with a kind of energy it hadn't known in years. Banners were unfurled. Stalls scrubbed clean. Aron's courtyard swept twice over. Preparations moved quickly, hands busy and hearts full of something between nerves and wonder. 

Yet, within all that movement, two hearts remained still.

Lix stood at the orchard's edge, the dying light catching in her hair, her pale form quiet against the trees. She had barely spoken since the prince woke. Something in her had gone still—watchful, inward—like she was holding her breath in a world that had suddenly shifted.

Minho lingered near the doorway of Chris's chamber, arms folded, gaze distant. His eyes drifted to Chris, asleep in the warmest corner of the room, then to the others quietly preparing for what dawn would bring.

His thoughts moved in slow, tangled circles—duty, secrecy... and something heavier. He'd seen it in Chris's eyes. In the way the girl's hand still half-held his when they first arrived. He didn't speak of it, but he hadn't forgotten. They both told themselves it meant nothing. But deep down, they knew—It meant everything.

Meanwhile, far away in the shadows of his dark castle, the witch seethed with rage. His plans thwarted by the prince's unexpected survival—and that meddlesome teleporter who had driven him away—his fury burned like wildfire. 

"They will all be mine," he hissed through clenched teeth, eyes blazing with a cruel fire.

His focus shifted sharply from Chris to Ji—the one whose visions had disrupted his schemes. "She is the key," he whispered, voice dripping with venom. 

"I will find her. I will break her. And then, everything will fall into my hands." 

The dark castle trembled as his power surged, his shadowy presence spreading like a plague across the lands. The hunt had only just begun.