The Spirit Realm did not follow the same laws as the mortal world. Here, stars bloomed like flowers in the sky, rivers whispered old songs, and forests breathed with the dreams of sleeping gods. Time bent like reeds in the wind, and Illyria—fifth-century daughter of Queen Serenia—lived lightly in its flow.
It was not yet the age of her coming-of-power, and so Illyria was free.
The court called her quiet, serene, otherworldly. But the moment she slipped past the velvet halls of the Spirit Palace, Illyria became something else entirely.
A whirlwind.
She ducked under a low branch, laughter catching in her throat as her slippers slipped off somewhere behind her. Dew clung to her ankles as she ran barefoot through the Valley of Windglass, a place said to be haunted by the voices of ancient sky spirits. Illyria liked it here. The winds never judged, only played.
Behind her, two spirit hounds bounded through the grass, barking joyfully. And beside her—always slightly behind, always pretending she couldn't keep up—was Kaelira.
Illyria threw a glance back. "Slowpoke!"
Kaelira, dressed in her dark cloak and half-shadow form, narrowed her eyes. "Princesses don't call their guards slowpokes."
"I do," Illyria grinned, then spun. She leapt onto a boulder, arms wide like wings, hair lifted by the wind. "Come on, Kaelira! If you catch me, I'll let you pick what we steal from the kitchen tonight."
Kaelira sighed. "One day, Queen Serenia will notice you're sneaking starlily pie at midnight."
"And then I'll blame you."
"You are a menace."
"I am a delight," Illyria said, grinning. Then she turned and bolted again, feet skimming the moss like wind.
This was her real kingdom. Not the throne. Not the marble. But this: laughter echoing between sky-lantern trees. Mischief shared under moonsilver clouds.
And busking in this starlight with joys and sorrows the princess happily spent her hundred years in Spirit Realm without any concern, sometimes acting as a spoiled child or maybe a brave princess when needed.
In the Spirit Realm, time drifts not as a river but as a circle of light and shadow. Seasons do not chase each other—they turn like a slow, eternal dance. Spring unfurls with silver blossoms beneath a sky of dawnfire clouds; summer hums in the glow of star-fed lakes. Autumn comes robed in gold and violet, its winds carrying whispers from ages past. And winter… winter is a soft hush of pearl snow, where even the sun speaks in muted tones. Here, a year is but a heartbeat, and a heartbeat may last a century.
***
The Spirit Realm in late spring was a symphony of shimmering winds and glistening blossoms. Even the sun here had a softer voice, whispering warmth over the floating petals and crystalline trees. Magic hummed through the grass, brushing Illyria's bare feet like starlight in motion.
And Illyria was running.
Her pale lavender hair streamed behind her, loose and wild, catching droplets of light in its waves. The silk of her robes shimmered like moonlight on water, fluttering with each step. Around her danced motes of raw magic, trailing luminous dust like stardust spirits stirred awake.
"Illyria, slow down!" Mira cried, breathless and tangled in laughter.
Illyria only laughed louder. "No time! The lake's glowing again!"
Behind her trailed Mira—the dream-touched nymph with flowers in her braid—Tovin, the quiet boy whose soul still remembered the stars, and Kaelira, her shadow-silent guardian whose cloak made no sound even when she sprinted. The four of them darted through thickets of starpetals and ribbonwillows, chasing the whisper of something wondrous.
They burst from the treeline into a clearing—the Lake of Mirrored Sky.
Its surface shimmered like a sleeping mirror. But today, it pulsed.
Illyria skidded to a stop, breathing hard, heart alight with anticipation. "It's never looked like this before…"
The lake was no longer still. It rippled—slowly, like something ancient had turned in its sleep.
Kaelira stepped beside her, sharp eyes narrowing. "That's not normal."
"I feel it too," Mira murmured. "Something's... waking."
A gust of wind, sudden and strange, swept across the clearing. The lake surged—then split. Light refracted like glass shattering beneath the surface. And then, with a whisper, she rose.
A girl, emerging from the lake like a memory long buried.
Her hair was soaked white, trailing down her back in tendrils of starlit silver. But there was no softness in her presence. Her eyes—molten gold and ancient—cut through the air like twin suns trapped in shadow. Her robe clung to her tall frame, torn and soaked, black as voidstuff, hemmed in symbols older than language. Her presence stilled the wind, silenced the birds.
And when Illyria looked at her, her breath caught.
This was no ordinary girl.
This was something other.
Even Kaelira instinctively moved in front of Illyria, hand drifting toward the blade hidden in her shadows.
The girl stood in the shallow water, unmoving. Then her eyes met Illyria's.
And Illyria felt it.
A scent—subtle and ancient—like smoke after rain, like obsidian warmed in sunlight. Not perfume. Not mortal. Just... her.
A shiver ran down Illyria's spine.
"Who are you?" she whispered, stepping forward.
The girl tilted her head, drenched hair sliding over her shoulder. "Seraphyne."
Mira gasped. "That's— That's the Dragon Queen's name."
A ripple passed through the air. For a heartbeat, the light dimmed.
Illyria took another step. Her heart thundered—not in fear, but recognition. A pull. Like a forgotten dream returning.
"You're not from here," she said softly.
"No," Seraphyne replied.
"Are you dangerous?"
The pause was long.
"I don't know," Seraphyne finally answered, voice like thunder buried deep beneath still waters.
Kaelira moved again, shielding Illyria subtly. "You were sleeping beneath the lake?"
"For a long time."
"And now?" Kaelira asked sharply.
"I woke."
It was not a statement—it was a shift in the world.
Illyria knelt at the lake's edge. "Then… welcome to the Spirit Realm, Seraphyne."
The Dragon Queen stared at her, stunned by something she could not name. No one had welcomed her. Not in lifetimes.
Illyria smiled.
---
That night, in a quiet meadow bathed in starlight, the girls gathered again—this time with Seraphyne among them.
Tovin had wandered off to collect glowshrooms. Mira sat opposite Kaelira, who still hadn't put down her silent suspicion. But Illyria... she sat right beside Seraphyne.
Close enough to feel her presence stir the air.
"I remember fire," Seraphyne said, voice low. "Wings. And a throne made of bone and gold."
Illyria tilted her head. "That sounds like the Beast Realm."
"Maybe," Seraphyne murmured. "But the memories are broken. They come in flashes. Like dreams that claw."
She fell silent again, eyes drifting to the sky.
Her human form was young—but not childlike. Her eyes were too old, her stillness too profound. Her skin held the sheen of something not entirely mortal—like a dragon carved into a girl. And beneath her skin… shadows of wings. Not visible. But felt.
Illyria couldn't stop looking at her.
"You don't belong anywhere, do you?" she asked gently.
Seraphyne's golden eyes flicked toward her. "No."
"I don't think I do either."
"You have friends."
Illyria smiled faintly. "But no one who's… like me."
"You're not like them," Seraphyne agreed, voice strangely soft. "Your soul is… bright. Too bright."
"Is that bad?"
"No. It hurts to look at."
Illyria's cheeks flushed.
There was something dangerous about her. Something ancient and star-burned and not of this world. But Illyria didn't feel afraid.
She felt… drawn.
"I'm Illyria," she said, voice barely above the breeze. "Princess of the Spirit Realm. Maybe someday Queen."
Seraphyne stared. "You're a child."
"I'm six hundred."
"You act younger."
"I want to," Illyria said, eyes meeting hers. "Before I have to act older than everyone."
Seraphyne tilted her head. Her hair shimmered silver in the moonlight—like a mane that had once belonged to a dragon the size of mountains.
Kaelira watched the two from a distance. Her shadow senses flicked like a dagger in water. This Seraphyne—this girl—wasn't just some lost spirit.
She was power cloaked in memory. Divinity forgotten. And Illyria, for all her innocence, was touching fire with bare hands.
But Kaelira said nothing.
Because Illyria had already chosen.
---
Later, as everyone began to drift back toward the palace, Illyria lingered beside the lake.
Seraphyne stood there again, silent. The moon lit the water silver and black. Her reflection shimmered—not just a girl, but something larger, curled deep beneath.
"I know what you are," Illyria said softly.
"Oh?"
"You're not just a dragon. You're a Queen."
Seraphyne said nothing.
"I don't know what they did to you. Or why you're here. But I'm glad you are."
Something stirred behind Seraphyne's gaze. A glint. A crack.
"I was supposed to return," she murmured. "But I stayed. For someone. My responsibility. "
Illyria's heart ached without reason.
"For who?"
"I don't remember."
Illyria stepped beside her, their reflections touching in the water. "Maybe you'll remember... here."
Seraphyne looked at her.
For a moment, her eyes softened. Her lashes caught the starlight. And her scent—that smoky, rain-drenched warmth—wrapped around Illyria like a memory she hadn't lived yet.
"You smell like skyfire," Illyria said without thinking.
Seraphyne blinked.
"Is that bad?"
Illyria smiled. "No. It smells like home."