The moon hung low that night, its pale light spilling over the marble balconies like water that refused to flow. Illyria returned from the trial with her steps heavy, her mind still echoing with the scent of old stone and the taste of iron in the air. Every movement of her body felt dipped in exhaustion. She thought only of reaching her chamber, of curling into silence.
But the faint glow stopped her.
It was not candlelight. It was not magic she recognized. It pulsed — dim, golden, and cracked — from the great hall.
She followed it.
The night was quiet, yet her heart thrummed with a restless pull she could no longer ignore. She wove a veil of illusion around herself—threads of mana so fine that even the palace's most attuned wards would mistake her presence for empty air. The moonlight followed her as she slipped into the old courtyard, where the forgotten well stood, its stones worn smooth by time. One whispered incantation, and the water inside rippled like liquid glass, revealing the hidden path beneath. Without hesitation, she stepped in, letting the cold, silvery current swallow her. In the blink of a breath, the damp air of the human realm vanished, replaced by the vast, weightless expanse of another world—the sealed realm where her father waited.
Caelus was there, not in the towering, regal dragon form the realm revered, but curled and hunched, wings folded close, as though to keep the light from leaking out of him. Lines — no, fissures — ran across his scales, glowing from within. They crawled up his neck, laced over his chest, split the curve of his jaw.
It has been two decades of sleepless nights
for Illyria and spending time with her father in that lone realm but never had been a day like today.
He, the dignified Forgotten Monarch, her dad was crying.
It was not the sound that stunned her — dragons did not weep like mortals — but the way his tears were molten light, sliding into the cracks and making them shine brighter.
"My dear child," he said without looking up, "come closer."
She obeyed. Something in his voice was softer than she had ever heard it. Fragile.
"I think it's time to tell you about me. You have been curious about my story for two decades,right?"
He turned his head, eyes dim as if they had been holding back centuries. "You have seen the cracks before, but perhaps you thought they were… marks of age. No. These are my sins. My love."
Illyria frowned. "Love?"
"Yes," he breathed. "The deeper the crack, the deeper the love that made it."
Her pulse stilled. He lifted a claw — careful, slow — and traced one fissure across his chest. "This one came when I fell for your mother. And this…" He traced one that glowed along his neck, "…when I fell for you."
She froze, not from fear, but from the weight of his meaning.
"You must understand," Caelus said, voice trembling between myth and confession, "I was not born to feel. I was an emotionless weapon. A construct given the form of the first dragon — the ancient creature this world was shaped after. I existed from the moment the three realms were sealed in order: spirit, beast, and human. I was made to guard the flow of time and space. My will was not my own."
He closed his eyes, the fissures dimming slightly as if the memory pained him. "For a millennium, I watched. Wars, births, betrayals… none of it moved me. And then—" His voice faltered. "—then I saw her."
Her mother.
"She was light I did not know existed. Her beauty was not merely of form — it was her kindness. The way she spoke as if each word was a jewel given, not thrown. For the first time, I… I felt. And I feared it. A weapon is not meant to feel. I sealed myself away in the high mountains, thinking the feeling would fade." He gave a faint, almost broken smile. "It did not."
Illyria felt her throat tighten.
Caelus's gaze met hers, ancient yet human in that moment. "You were born from that love. Spirits… do not conceive as humans do. They take the name of their beloved — man or woman, it matters not — and call the soul into being. You were my call to her, and hers to me."
He paused, breath deepening. "And you… you are my second crack. I did not think I could love again as deeply. But when I held you in my claws, small enough to rest in my palm, I knew I would defy gods and worlds for you."
Illyria could not speak.
Caelus spoke,"My child,you know I never thought I would be loved by someone so much in my life. I was born for peace as well as destruction. And to think that , the love I had had grown into the fearsome object yet very lovable, will you blame me, my child for the trial that you will undergo in your life?"
His eyes sharpened faintly, though his voice remained soft. "I know you have mind magic, Illyria. And that you can absorb magic itself. I give you this willingly — read my memory. See who I am. See what I have endured. But remember this: what you will see are my stories. They are not you. They will try to drown you, to pull you into the illusion of my pain. You must not lose yourself. Be the illusion… but do not become its puppet."
He lowered his head until their foreheads touched — scaled against skin. She felt the hum of his ancient magic, low and deep as the earth's own heartbeat.
"Will you see?" he whispered.
"Yes," she breathed.
The air shifted. The hall dissolved into shadow, and between them a river of light unfurled — flowing from the cracks in his body. Its water was not water, but molten memory, each ripple showing fragments: a sky split with lightning, a woman's laughter, the sound of chains breaking.
Illyria reached for it.
Her fingertips touched the surface — and the world fell away.
To be continued…