Chapter Text
This is a most unusual story—unorthodox by any standard. You have no doubt heard the familiar tales: of magical kingdoms and cutthroat pirates, of brave knights and fair folk, of wicked witches, cruel demons, and wretched monsters. This story contains all of those things... but not quite as you know them. There are many twists and deviations.
For centuries, philosophers have theorized that more than one universe exists. It is within one such universe that our story unfolds. Like your own, this universe has a single planet capable of sustaining life. It is called Earth. Its surface is dominated by water, yet unlike your world, it bears no true continents—only nations scattered across the seas. Some lie close together, nearly touching, while others stand isolated, separated by vast stretches of ocean.
This Earth has a sky, a sun, a moon, and stars as well. Yet its stars are... different. Many are merely astral stone and celestial fire, just as you would expect. But some are something more.
One such star fell into the nation of Windgate.
Windgate is a land of towering alps, dense forests, open sea plains, and a thriving city—one of the most prosperous and influential in this world. When the star fell, the year was 1835. Two young boys, Adam Brightman and Lucifer Morningstar, both training for military service, discovered the impact site and made a discovery that would change history.
From the ashes of the fallen star, they found strange crystals. From those crystals emerged two beings—forms shaped like human women, yet undeniably other. They would come to be known as Starlians. The boys, moved by compassion, took them in. They offered them shelter and vowed to help them find a place in the world, no matter how long it took. For even in this universe, a woman's place outside of marriage was difficult to claim. Yet for these women, belonging came far sooner than anyone expected.
It was quickly discovered that the Starlians—and the crystals from which they were born—possessed power far beyond mortal science or technology. They could heal grievous wounds, grant immense strength and knowledge, fly through the skies, and move faster than the wind itself. They could speak to nature and to machines. To the boys, such gifts seemed destined for the battlefield.
For at that time, Windgate stood on the brink of a Great War with the nation of Novoradsk. Novoradusk was not merely a nation, but a military empire—twice the size of Windgate in both land and force. Its ruler at the time, Mammon Cusack, was a dictator of boundless cruelty and insatiable greed. It was not enough for him to imprison his own people in labor camps or to bleed them dry of their wealth and resources. No—Cusack desired the same fate for every nation beyond his borders. As the richest man in the world, Cusack commanded the most advanced technology ever devised: devastating weaponry, colossal machines of war, and innovations far beyond anything his rivals could produce. He knew that if Windgate—second only to Novoradusk in prosperity—could be conquered, then the remaining nations would fall with ease.
Against such a force, Windgate's future seemed bleak. Yet the two young men brought their discovery before Colonel Jonathan Meier. They presented the Starlians and the crystals, and at once the colonel recognized their potential. Under his command, the crystals were used to advance Windgate's technology and medicine at an unprecedented rate. Of the two Starlians, one was trained as a soldier—to defend, fight, and command the skies—while the other was trained as a nurse, gifted with the power to heal and preserve life.
With the Starlians' power woven into its armies, Windgate did more than withstand Novoradusk's assault—it surpassed it. Against all expectation, Windgate emerged victorious, and the Great War was brought to an end. In reward for their service, Colonel Meier, upon his retirement from the military to begin a new life as a prime minister, bestowed his previous rank upon one Adam Brightman, while Lucifer Morningstar was promoted to captain. As for the Starlians, they were celebrated across the nation—not as weapons, but as benevolent heroes of Windgate.
As for Mammon Cusack, his defeat shattered the illusion of his invincibility. For the first time, his people saw him not as an untouchable tyrant, but as a man who could be overthrown. The loss of the war ignited rebellion across Novoradusk, and before long, Cusack was deposed. The leader of the uprising claimed power in his stead—and chose a different path.
Seeking to heal a nation long scarred by tyranny, the new ruler extended an offer of peace to Windgate. Prime Minister Meier accepted. Thus, a treaty was forged between the two former enemies, ending decades of bloodshed and mistrust. From that accord came others. Windgate and Novoradusk worked to secure treaties with neighboring nations, weaving a fragile but hopeful network of alliances. Trade routes were established across the seas, prosperity spread, and for a time, unity reigned.
Meier's nephew from Stormhold was chosen to oversee the trade routes. His name was Jameson Nightshade. He was eighteen years old, tall and lanky, with nut-brown hair and an easy, unhurried way of speaking. He was not particularly handsome, yet he possessed an easy smile and a subtle charm that lingered longer than good looks ever could.
Jameson had spent his life working on his father's farm, his days filled with soil and sweat, his nights with dreams of something grander than the simple, predictable life into which he had been born. So when his uncle offered him a position as a traveling merchant, Jameson nearly leapt out of his trousers in excitement. His first destination was Lunavre—the most romantic nation in the world, and its undisputed capital of fashion.
There, Jameson beheld buildings strung with glittering lights, streets alive with color and movement. Men and women with skin pale as parchment strolled beneath the glow, ladies shaded by parasols and painted in soft rouge. Gentlemen moved with knowing confidence, far more experienced in indulgences that polite society preferred not to name. He tasted rich and unfamiliar cuisines, breathed in foreign spices, and heard music unlike anything he had ever known. He wandered halls of elegance and centers of culture, dazzled at every turn.
It was a sight to behold.
His cargo was simple in theory: meats and brews in exchange for lace and spices. The laces were easily secured within Lunavre's city proper, but the spices required travel farther south—beyond the marble streets and glowing lanterns—into a region of black-sand beaches, coral reefs, and dense rainforests. There, the people's skin tones ranged from dark as volcanic stone to warm shades of cinnamon.
The market there was thronged.
It teemed with life—voices overlapping, laughter ringing out, vendors calling from every direction. Some sold wines and pastries to passing villagers, tempting them with sugared scents and buttery warmth. Others offered wares far stranger.
"Eyes! Eyes! New eyes for old!" Shouted a tiny woman perched behind a table crowded with bottles and jars. Each vessel held eyes of every size and color imaginable.
"Eyes?" Jameson said, peering at them with visible disgust. "Do you get them from people?"
"Well, what did you think?" She replied cheerfully. "That eyes grow on trees? Care for a pair? Special offer, buy one now, the other's free!"
She lifted a jar containing two large, bulging eyes that blinked at him of their own accord. Jameson's stomach lurched.
"No, thank you, madam." He said quickly. "But might you direct me to the spice stands?"
She pointed him along the path. Jameson thanked her and hurried on, ears ringing with the cries of other merchants.
"Everlasting lavender! Bluebell cloth!"
"Bottled dreams! A coin a bottle!"
"Coats of night! Coats of twilight! Coats of dusk!"
"Rings of eternity! Cards of grace! Roll up, roll up, step this way!"
"Salves and ointments! Philtres and nostrums!"
"Fortune teas and fortune cookies!"
"Fresh squid brains and eel liver!"
Jameson was unaccustomed to such chaos. The markets of Stormhold dealt in gears, machinery, books, and sensible resources—not mystique and marvels. And yet, despite himself, he found the variety exhilarating.
He paused before a stall overflowing with flowers: bluebells, harebells and daffodils, violets and lilies, tiny crimson dog-roses, blue forget-me-nots, and countless others he could not name. Each bloom was fashioned from crystal and gemstones, spun or carved so expertly he could not tell. They counterfeited life perfectly. When stirred by the breeze, they chimed softly, like a choir of glass bells.
"Hm." Jameson murmured. "I wonder if these would make a good commodity."
"Hello, good sir." Said the stallholder.
She climbed down from a brightly painted caravan behind the stall, smiling wide, her teeth bright against her dusky skin. She had curly black hair and dark, knowing, eyes. When Jameson saw her, he choked on his breath. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life. Her eyes seemed to sparkle with their own secret light, and a quiet, playful giggle lingered at her lips, as though it were always on the verge of escaping. There was an ease to her smile, a warmth that caught him entirely off guard and left him momentarily unable to speak.
"Can I help you with something?" She asked.
"Lovely." He said staring at her.
The woman's cheeks warmed.
"I mean the flowers! I've never seen anything like them. Did you make them?"
"I did." She replied. "A fitting hobby, given my name."
"And if I may ask, my dear... what is your name?"
"Daisy Lee."
"A pleasure to meet you, my dear—quite a pleasure." Jameson took her hand, lifting it gently to his lips. "I'm Jameson."
"Likewise." Daisy Lee said.
She was taken aback by his kiss on her hand, by the way he looked at her as if she were a rare beauty. Most light-skinned men like him had dismissed women like her—dark-skinned—as dirty or ugly, even joking that her skin tone came from ash and soil.
But his eyes, they were kind, unassuming, and open. Forest green eyes so vivid they seemed to want to share every secret about himself while learning every detail about her.
"These flowers are very special." She continued, holding up a delicate bloom. "They can be given to a loved one as a token of admiration and affection, and the sound they make is quite pleasing to the ear. They also catch the light in the most delightful way."
She raised a bluebell crafted from sapphire and emerald to the sunlight. Jameson found himself unable to look away; the way the light shimmered through the crystal could never compare to the brilliance of her eyes.
"The forget-me-nots, lilies, and bluebells help you recall your fondest memories." She said.
"Really?" He asked, intrigued.
"Yes." She held out another flower—a daffodil fashioned from topaz and opal.
"The daffodils, harebells, and violets reveal your dreams." She explained.
"And what about those?" He gestured toward a display: snowdrops in pearl and ruby, and foxgloves in amethyst and diamond.
She picked up a snowdrop.
"These are my most precious.” She said softly. "They make you feel loved by the one who gives them to you, even if that person is far away. I sold one of my foxgloves yesterday to a man—he's giving it to his wife. Isn't that romantic?"
Jameson wasn't usually a romantic, but the way she spoke of it—with that gentle smile—made him feel like he might start reading poetry and singing love songs.
"Yes. Very... romantic.” He admitted, clearing his throat. "How much did it cost?"
"Quite a lot. It's my most expensive piece."
"How much?"
"Well, for him... fifty pieces. But for you... I think ten will do."
"Alright." He handed her the coins.
"There." She placed the snowdrop in his hand.
He smiled, handing the flower back to her.
"For me?" She asked, eyes wide.
"Yes." He nodded.
She gasped in delight, no one had ever given her a flower before.
"Thank you." She tucked it into her hair. "But I'd feel awful taking both your money and your flower."
"Think nothing of it." He said.
"No, I must give you something in return."
She paused, pondering, then her eyes lit up.
"I know... I shall give you a hidden kiss."
"Wha... what's that?"
She answered by closing her eyes and leaning over with her lips. Jameson felt his face heat.
My, she certainly was a bold one. Where he came from, it was usually the men who asked for a kiss. He had once tried to court Carmilla Carmine, a refined young lady from Galadonia who had come to Stormhold to attend a prestigious school. Jameson's father had pushed him to pursue her because Carmilla was the heiress to her father's shipbuilding empire, after all. She was bright, intelligent, ambitious, and beautiful. But she had no patience for hearts or flowers. He had only dared to kiss her hand, and she had decked him in the jaw for it. Apparently, she didn't believe in such greetings for a young lady. Not that it mattered—he didn't like her anyway.
Not the way he liked Daisy Lee.
"Well, if you insist, my dear..."
Jameson swallowed hard, then leaned across the stall. Amid the twinkling jingles of the crystal flowers, she pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. Her scent hit him then—intoxicating, filling the front of his head, his chest, his very mind.
When they parted, she leaned further to whisper into his ear.
"You know...if a man makes love to a woman while she wears one of these, she will bear a child capable of unconditional love."
Jameson's heart raced.
"This one moment is enough for me. It will stay with me for the rest of my life. But...if you want to see me again, come back tonight, when the moon rises."
He nodded, words failing him, and stumbled away.
And so, when Jameson had finally secured his trade of spices and lace, he waited until the moon had set before slipping away to meet Daisy Lee.
He kissed her, full on her burning lips. Her mouth opened against his, her tongue sliding into his, and he was utterly—irrevocably—lost. She clung to him as if she were drowning. She was so small that he feared he might hurt her, might break her, but he did not. Instead, she writhed beneath him, gasping, restless, guiding him with her hand. She scattered a hundred heated kisses across his face and chest, and for one powerful, engulfing moment they were no longer two people but one—giving and receiving—as the stars faded into the pale hush of pre-dawn. At last, they lay side by side, breathless and still.
After that, they were never apart again.
Now, I know what you're thinking. What does this have to do with our story? Or perhaps—are you some kind of pervert?
To answer the latter: no. And to answer the former: this moment matters more than you yet realize. It is the origin of a very important character.
The snowdrop's magic bound Jameson and Daisy Lee's love, making it strong—strong enough that, despite their different backgrounds and society's disapproval, they refused to leave one another. For fourteen years, they were very happy.
But only for fourteen years.
After that, their lives were torn apart, and all that remained of their love was the child born from it: a peculiar boy who would one day meet a peculiar girl. Together, he would help her become a great woman, just as she would help him become a great man.