The mist thinned, revealing a vast, crumbling staircase spiraling down into darkness.
The steps looked carved not from stone but from some hardened fragment of night itself.
The deeper she descended, the heavier the air became—laden with the weight of ages and something else… sorrow.
When she finally reached the bottom, there was no dungeon gate, no guards, no chains.
Only an expanse of obsidian ground stretching beneath a sky that did not belong to any realm she knew.
The air in her dream shimmered like molten gold, rippling through a void of endless black.Not light, not warmth—gold, heavy as molten metal, spilling through her veins until every heartbeat echoed like a temple bell.
She could not see him at first, but she knew.
The pull was not of blood—it was mana, ancient and commanding, the kind that bent worlds to kneel. It wound through her like roots through soil, filling every hollow place she had never known was empty.
When he appeared, the space itself seemed to bow. His figure was only shadow and brilliance, faceless yet impossibly present, the shape of a crown hanging like an unspoken truth above him.
"Illyriya."
The voice was low, without edge, yet it struck her chest like a war drum. She wanted to step forward, to see his face, to reach for the hand that had never held her—
—but the dream bent and folded before she could.
It was not light as she knew it, but a living pulse—thick with mana, richer than anything she had ever breathed.
Her steps sank into the groundless expanse, each one slower than the last, her body reluctant to move forward yet drawn in by an inexorable pull.
And then—she saw him.
A towering silhouette of silver and shadow, robed in a sky that shifted with constellations. His presence was not heat or cold, but an overwhelming rightness, like the first breath after drowning. His mana curled around her, a tidal wave of belonging and command.
He was tall—and even though his wrists bore no shackles, the very air seemed to bind him.
His hair fell like a cascade of shadow, streaked with the faintest threads of silver.
Eyes the color of ancient storms met hers, and the moment they did, she felt her breath catch—not in fear, but in recognition so deep it hurt.
"So… you came," his voice was both thunder and whisper, filling the space between heartbeats.
"I…" she swallowed, her throat dry, "I don't even know who you are."
"My blood runs in you," the voice resonated—not spoken, but embedded into her thoughts, vibrating down to her bones.
"And my mana calls you home."
"...Da-ad?" Her own voice felt smaller here, as though the sheer magnitude of his being stripped her of every shield she had built.
The figure's gaze was starlit steel. "You know my name. You know where you belong. Come back to me, Illiriya. The chains you wear are not yours to keep."
The call lanced through her—no gentle beckoning, but the pull of a tide that would not be denied.
She wanted to move closer. She wanted to refuse.
"This is my life now," she said, but her hands trembled in the dream, her mana trembling with them. "My battles. My choices."
Caelus's form tilted, a faint smile glinting like a moonlit blade. "And yet... every choice leads you back to me."
The dream began to splinter, light bleeding through the darkness like cracks in glass.
Even as she woke, the taste of his mana clung to her lungs—sweet, heavy, intoxicating.
A whisper followed her into consciousness: Find me.
The words sank into her bones, not a command but an inevitability, as if the world beyond her waking life was already shifting to make it so.
---
Illiriya awoke with the lingering taste of starlight on her tongue, with her pulse roaring in her ears, the taste of gold still on her tongue, and the ache of longing she didn't want to name.
It clung to her lips like a forbidden sweetness, faint but unforgettable. In the deep stillness of dawn, her breath came slow, her heart beating in quiet defiance against the memory she carried from the night before.
The dream still burned behind her eyes. Not just a dream—something older, heavier. Something alive.
She pressed her palms against her face, feeling the faint tremor in her fingers. It was him.
Even now, the silhouette of that towering figure hovered in her mind's eye, the threads of his mana shimmering like a thousand golden rivers. It hadn't been blood that drew her to him—it was the raw, unyielding current of power, so overwhelming it made the air hum in her lungs. His presence had filled the dreamscape as if the world itself bowed to him.
"Find me."
Two words, spoken like an oath, like a summons written into the marrow of her bones.
She sat up slowly, her eyes drawn to the pale light spilling across the balcony. Outside, the palace gardens lay wrapped in mist, silver leaves trembling in the early wind. For a heartbeat, she thought she saw the shadow of his form there—watching, waiting. But when she blinked, it was gone.
I can't tell them, she thought. Not her mother. Not Seraphine. Not yet.
It wasn't distrust—it was necessity. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that speaking of him would make it real too soon, too exposed. This was hers. The choice, the danger, the path. And for once, she wouldn't let anyone walk it for her.
---
The air in the room shifted. Shadows stretched along the walls, coiling like smoke until they settled into the familiar outline of a woman cloaked in midnight.
Kaelira.
Her guard. Her bond. Her unshakable watcher.
"You're quiet this morning," Kaelira said, her voice a whisper layered over a thousand others, like the echo of tides in a cavern.
"You don't even sleep peacefully anymore," Kaelira's voice came from the shadow at Illiriya's heel, her form a curl of smoke stretching into the dim.
"I don't have the luxury." Illiriya leaned her back against a pillar, arms folded. "Every time I close my eyes, something waits for me."
"Something… or someone?"
Illiriya didn't answer. Her jaw tightened. "If it's someone, I'll find him. If it's something, I'll break it."
Kaelira's chuckle was low, almost fond. "Your father's blood speaks in you."
"No," Illiriya said, cold and clear. "My will speaks. And it doesn't ask permission."
Kaelira stilled. No surprise. Just a slow, deep exhale, as if she had expected this moment for longer than Illiriya had been alive. "So… the gates of order have shifted."
"I don't know what that means."
"You will." Kaelira's eyes narrowed, their lightless depths unblinking. "And you know better than to think I don't see the path you are already walking. Your thoughts have been reaching for him since you opened your eyes."
Illiriya leaned back against the bedframe, folding her arms. "He told me to come back."
Kaelira's mouth curved—not quite into a smile, but something close. "And will you?"
Illiriya didn't answer immediately. She thought of the golden rivers of mana, the way they had pulsed and coiled, singing through the dreamscape until her breath had faltered. "I don't know how. Yet."
"That yet is dangerous," Kaelira murmured.
"Then watch me be dangerous."
Something flickered in Kaelira's expression—approval, or maybe resignation. "If you walk toward him, Illiriya, you will not come back the same. Nor will those around you."
"I've never been the same since the day I was born," she said, her voice low.
---
Later that morning, she moved through the palace corridors without the usual escort. The decision was deliberate. Let them wonder where she was going. Let them learn she didn't need constant hands at her back.
She slipped into the Library of Ruins—a chamber no one dared to enter. The air there shimmered faintly, the walls veined with living crystal. One by one, the older spirits noticed her presence, their forms rising from the edges of the hall: pale-winged, silver-eyed, robed in the remnants of the worlds they once guarded.
"You come alone," one of them observed, its voice like rustling leaves.
"I will need to," Illiriya replied. "There will be a time when there's no one else to carry what I must."
The candlelight in the high windows bled into the dust-filled air, catching on motes that drifted like slow snow. Shelves rose in jagged rows, older than the palace itself, each holding scrolls that smelled of ancient rain. Between them, the spirits waited—silent, formless, yet watching.
A soft rustle followed her, like silk dragged over stone.
"You walk heavier than you did yesterday," one murmured, a voice that wasn't a voice.
Illiriya's gaze traced the spines of the books without slowing. "That's because I'm learning to carry it."
They didn't ask what it was. Spirits didn't need to. They only leaned closer, their presence cooling the air, as if the library itself approved of her answer.
They regarded her in silence, and in that silence, she felt the weight of their acknowledgment.
---
By midday, she found herself in the training courtyard, where Seraphine was drilling the palace guard. The sight of her—sweat catching on her cheekbones, eyes sharp and unyielding—was a steadying force Illiriya hadn't known she needed.
The hall outside was full of muffled voices, but here in the alcove there was only Seraphine and the faint scent of cedar clinging to her.
When Seraphine saw her, she dismissed the guards with a curt nod and crossed the courtyard. "You didn't come to morning council."
"You always vanish when I wake," Seraphine murmured, leaning against the stone arch.
"I don't vanish," Illiriya said. "I go where I must." Her tone was even, but her gaze softened when it caught Seraphine's. "Even if I die… I can still be beside you. As a spirit. So don't think you can forget me."
A smile tugged at Seraphine's lips, faint but aching. "Do you promise?"
Illiriya stepped close enough that her shadow touched Seraphine's boots. "It's not a promise. It's a fact."
"I was… thinking," Illiriya said, watching the way the wind caught at Seraphine's dark hair.
"That's dangerous," Seraphine teased lightly, but her gaze lingered, searching for something in Illiriya's face.
For a moment, Illiriya considered telling her everything—the dream, the voice, the command. But the words caught in her throat, and instead, she said, "The gears of fate has disrupted sooner than they think."
Seraphine's jaw tightened. "Then we stand together when it does."
"Yes," Illiriya murmured, a faint smile curving her lips. "We will."
But in her mind, she was already standing elsewhere—beneath the shadow of a man wreathed in golden mana, calling her home.
---
That night, when the palace had fallen into its restless quiet, she sat by the balcony again. The stars above seemed sharper than before, each one a needle pressing into the skin of the sky.
"Caelus," she whispered, tasting the name for the first time. It burned like a brand, but she didn't flinch.
Kaelira's shadow stirred beside her. "You should not speak that name so carelessly."
"I have a right to it," Illiriya said. "Even if I have to find out why on my own."
In the stillness of her chamber, Illiriya sat cross-legged on the floor, her fingers pressing into the cold wood. She pictured Seraphine—not as she was now, but as she could be: safe, unafraid, untouchable.
"If the path to you is paved in blood, I'll walk it barefoot," she whispered to the empty air. "If I have to burn kingdoms, I will. And if I fall, I'll crawl through the ashes to stand by you again."
The shadows in the corner shifted. Whether they were Kaelira's or her own, she didn't care. She had already decided.
Kaelira's gaze was unreadable. "Then the search begins. But remember—some doors open only once, and they never close without a cost."
Illiriya looked out at the horizon, her hands curling into fists. Whatever the cost, she would find him. Not because blood called her—but because the mana did. The same mana that now pulsed, faint but certain, in the veins of her own soul.