Before the world broke—before the sky screamed, before the Choir touched the bones of Celestis Veil—there was a morning that tried, with all its fragile strength, to stay ordinary.
Dawn crept in softly across the outskirts, brushing pale gold over the weathered rooftops and the slanted fences that bordered the southern fields. Thin mist drifted above the grass, carrying a faint chill that smelled of dew and distant stone. Birds stirred lazily on old beams. Somewhere, a waterwheel turned with a tired groan, its rhythm the same as it had been for generations.
It was a quiet morning.
A peaceful one.
And Zephryn felt something wrong beneath it.
He walked the narrow path between the herb gardens, boots brushing against the overgrown flowers Solara insisted grew better when left "free to choose." His hands were tucked into his cloak pockets, shoulders slightly hunched from habit rather than cold. The breeze passed through his blue hair—short, uneven, a shade that didn't belong in any textbook—and the hum beneath his ribs flickered again.
A soft vibration.A whisper.A warning disguised as breath.
He exhaled slowly, the sound misting in the early air. "Not again…"
"You're doing the face," a voice called behind him—sharp, clean, alive. "The 'I heard something weird again' face."
Zephryn didn't turn immediately. Selka's footsteps were unmistakable—silent enough to vanish if she chose, steady enough to be trusted without question. She walked beside him a moment later, cloak brushing lightly against his, her dark hair tied back in a rough knot that still somehow looked intentional.
She didn't look at him, but she didn't need to.
"You felt it, didn't you?" she murmured.
Zephryn tried for a shrug. It came out half-hearted. "It's nothing."
"It never is," Selka said flatly. "Not with you."
He didn't answer. What could he say? That the hum felt like something waking up under the soil? That it had been getting louder for weeks? That last night it shook him out of a dream he didn't remember? He didn't know what any of it meant, and that bothered him more than the hum itself.
Selka slowed her pace as they reached the crooked wooden gate marking the path toward Kaelen's house. She pushed it open with her shoulder, the hinges creaking so loudly Zephryn flinched.
"Quiet morning," she said, almost to herself.
"Too quiet," Zephryn replied before he could stop himself.
Selka shot him a look. "Then don't say it out loud."
He might've argued, but the moment passed when a figure vaulted the fence beside them with too much confidence and not enough accuracy.
Yolti landed in a burst of dust, nearly rolling her ankle but catching herself at the last second. "Boom," she declared proudly, brushing dirt off her shirt.
Selka stared at her. "You almost died."
"I almost looked cool," Yolti corrected, pointing a finger at them like a triumphant general. "Totally worth it."
Zephryn cracked the faintest smile—the kind he didn't let many people see. Yolti noticed immediately and puffed her chest out. "See? Someone appreciates my skill."
"That wasn't skill," Selka muttered.
"Then it was destiny," Yolti said, flipping her hood up dramatically.
"Destiny wouldn't trip."
"—I did NOT trip—"
Their bickering drifted into the morning air like a familiar melody. It made the quiet feel less heavy, less wrong. Zephryn let the sound settle over him as they approached Kaelen's house—a wide, warm-looking structure with too many additions built by a father who refused to measure anything he hammered.
Kaelen was already outside, leaning against the fence with his arms crossed. His hair was tied back, and he looked like he hadn't slept in at least a day. His expression brightened the moment he saw them.
"About time," he called out. "Selka's punctual, Zephryn's punctual, Yolti's… Yolti. But me? I've been suffering in the cold like a forgotten prince."
"You were out here for seven minutes," Selena said.
"Seven minutes of frostbite."
"It's not even cold."
Kaelen placed a dramatic hand to his heart. "Then why do my feelings feel frozen?"
"Because you're soft," Yolti said.
"Your mom's soft."
"My mom's dead."
Kaelen froze. Yolti smirked. "Got you."
He groaned. "You're evil."
"And you're slow. Come on! Lyceum starts tomorrow—this is our last free day before they strap us to chairs and make us chant Doctrine rules."
"They do not strap us to chairs," Selka said.
"They would if they could," Yolti countered.
Zephryn stayed quiet—but he wasn't entirely listening. His eyes drifted to the small hut just past Kaelen's yard, where smoke rose gently from the chimney.
Solara was awake.
She always was before sunrise.
"Go on," Selka said softly, nudging him. "She'll be waiting."
Zephryn nodded and crossed the yard, heart rhythm shifting with each step. The hum inside him steadied—not quieting, but aligning, like it recognized the warmth in the air near Solara's home.
He tapped the door twice and pushed it open.
The familiar scent of herbs, oils, and simmering riverroot filled the room immediately. Shelves full of dried plants lined the walls. A small cauldron bubbled softly over a rune-lit stove. And at the center table, sleeves rolled up, hair tied in a loose braid, stood Solara.
Her eyes lifted the moment she sensed him.
"There you are," she said, voice warm enough to soften stone. "I thought I felt your hum five minutes ago."
Zephryn froze in the doorway. "…You felt it?"
"Of course," she murmured, returning to her mixture. "You shake the room every time you're unsettled."
He swallowed. "Sorry."
"Never apologize for resonance," Solara said. "It is the truest part of you."
Her words always hit deeper than he expected. She moved around the table, placing small wooden bowls of crushed roots into the cauldron. The mixture turned pale gold, releasing a faint shimmer that danced like dust in sunlight.
Solara glanced over her shoulder again. "You slept poorly."
He stiffened. "How do you—?"
"Your eyes," she said gently. "You carry tiredness like a bruise."
He didn't have an answer. She didn't need one.
Solara stepped closer and lifted his chin lightly with two fingers. "Tell me."
Zephryn hesitated. He shouldn't burden her. Not when she already carried more weight than anyone realized. But her gaze stripped away every lie before he could shape it.
"…The hum," he finally admitted. "It's… louder. I don't know why."
Solara's expression didn't change, but something in her breath did.
Not fear.
Recognition.
"Zeph," she whispered, brushing a thumb across his cheek as though smoothing a wrinkle from his soul. "Listen to me."
He did.
He always did.
"Hum what you feel," she said. "Not what you fear. The rest will follow."
Zephryn wasn't sure what that meant. Solara never explained her philosophies in Doctrine-approved ways. But her words always felt older than the world around them—older than the Veil, older than the city walls, older even than the sky.
"Now go," she said gently, releasing him. "Your friends are waiting. And you'll be late to annoy Kaelen if you stand here any longer."
He smiled—fully this time—and her eyes softened at the sight.
As he turned toward the door, Solara watched him with a look she rarely let anyone see.
A look full of fear.And certainty.And sorrow.
She whispered something under her breath.
Too soft for Zephryn to hear.
But the hum inside him stuttered, as if some part of him felt the truth of it.
He stepped out into the brightening morning, the cool air brushing his skin.
Kaelen pointed at him triumphantly. "See? I told you he gets special treatment."
"Solara's just nice," Yolti said.
"Solara is a goddess," Kaelen corrected.
Selka observed Zephryn quietly. "What did she say?"
Zephryn shook his head. "Nothing. Just… morning stuff."
Selka didn't press. But her eyes lingered on him longer than before.
The four walked together toward the old stone wall at the edge of the outskirts. A familiar routine. One they had done hundreds of times. Birds scattered above them. The wind shifted gently. A lantern creaked on its hinge.
Ordinary sounds.
Ordinary calm.
But the world felt tilted. Just slightly. Like a painting hung one nail too low.
Kaelen talked about the Lyceum exams. Yolti teased him for panicking. Selka answered questions with grunted half-sentences that meant more than words. Zephryn listened, letting the warmth of their noise settle over the morning.
But as they reached the ridge overlooking the town, the hum inside him struck again—
Sharper.Deeper.A pulse that traveled through the soles of his feet.
Zephryn stopped walking.
"...Did you hear that?" he whispered.
Yolti blinked. "Hear what?"
Kaelen looked around. "I don't hear anything."
Selka stepped closer to Zephryn. "Is it the hum again?"
He didn't answer.
Because the truth was worse.
This hum wasn't coming from his chest.
It was coming from the ground.
A faint vibration.Like something buried deep beneath Celestis Veil had shifted—waking, stretching, remembering itself.
Zephryn knelt, pressing his palm to the earth.
The ground trembled.Just once.So subtly that the others barely felt it.
But Zephryn felt it fully.
Like a heartbeat against his skin.
"…What was that?" Yolti whispered.
Kaelen forced a laugh. "Probably a caravan. Or a supply wagon. Or—"
"It wasn't a wagon," Selka said. Her voice was too calm.
Zephryn stared at the earth as the hum faded.
Whatever it was… it hadn't been natural.
He rose slowly.
Kaelen clapped him on the back, trying to shake the tension loose. "Come on. Yesterday you felt wind wrong. Today you felt dirt wrong. By tomorrow you'll think the sky is whispering your name."
Zephryn didn't smile.
Because the sky had whispered his name once before.
And it was the same voice that now murmured in the back of his mind—faint, distant, familiar.
He drew in a slow breath.
"Let's go," he said quietly.
They started walking again—down the path toward the Lyceum district. The morning warmed, the mist lifted, the world moved as if nothing waited beneath its skin.
But Solara, watching from her window, felt it too—the tremor, the shift, the warning.
She pressed a hand to her chest.
"Oh, Zephryn…" she whispered.
In the distance, the Veilglass horizon glimmered faintly—as if struck by a flaw too small for the world to see.
Tomorrow, the Lyceum would begin.
Tomorrow, everything would change.
But today—the quiet held.Barely.
And none of them knew it was the last morning Celestis Veil would ever wake without fear.
—END OF CHAPTER ONE—
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⭐ CHILD OF AZURITE — VOLUME ONECHAPTER ONE — THE DAY THE FLAME BROKE THE QUIET
Before the world broke—before the sky screamed, before the Choir touched the bones of Celestis Veil—there was a morning that tried, with all its fragile strength, to stay ordinary.
Dawn crept softly across the outskirts, brushing pale gold over weathered rooftops and the crooked fences bordering the southern fields. Thin mist drifted above the grass, carrying a faint chill that smelled of dew and stone. Birds stirred lazily on old beams. Somewhere, a waterwheel groaned in its steady rhythm.
It was a quiet morning.
A peaceful one.
And Zephryn felt something wrong beneath it.
He walked the narrow path between Solara's herb gardens, boots brushing over the overgrown flowers she insisted grew best when left "free to choose." His hands stayed tucked into his cloak pockets, shoulders slightly hunched from habit rather than cold. The breeze lifted the strands of his uneven blue hair, revealing eyes still heavy with sleep.
The hum beneath his ribs flickered again.
A soft vibration.A whisper.A warning disguised as breath.
He exhaled slowly. "Not again…"
"You're doing the face," a familiar voice called behind him. "The 'I heard something weird again' face."
Selka walked up beside him—quiet steps, hood pulled low, dark hair tied back in a loose knot. Her eyes scanned him without turning. She always read him too easily.
"You felt it again, didn't you?" she murmured.
Zephryn tried to shrug it off. "It's nothing."
"It never is," Selka replied.
He didn't answer. He didn't know how. The hum had been growing stronger lately—waking him at night, rippling under the ground, tugging at him like something old remembered his name.
Before he could gather his thoughts, someone vaulted the fence beside them with far too much confidence.
Yolti landed in a cloud of dust, stumbled, caught herself, and threw her hands up in triumph.
"Boom," she declared. "Stuck the landing."
"You nearly died," Selka said.
"I nearly looked cool," Yolti corrected. "Totally worth it."
Zephryn cracked a faint smile—rare, but real.
Kaelen was already waiting outside his house at the top of the path, arms crossed, looking like he'd been awake for hours.
"Finally," he called. "I've been suffering out here like a forgotten prince."
"You were outside for seven minutes," Selka said.
"Seven minutes too long."
"It's not even cold," Yolti muttered.
Kaelen gasped dramatically. "Then why do my feelings feel frozen?"
"Because you're soft," Yolti answered.
He pointed at her. "Your mom's soft."
"My mom's dead."
Kaelen froze. Yolti smirked. "Got you."
"You're evil."
"And you're slow. Let's go—Lyceum starts tomorrow. Last day of freedom!"
Zephryn glanced toward Solara's hut. "I'm going to see her first."
Selka nudged him gently. "Go. She's waiting."
Zephryn walked across the small yard and tapped twice before entering.
Warm scents immediately filled the room—herbs, oils, simmering riverroot. Solara stood at the table, sleeves rolled up, hair tied in a loose braid, stirring a glowing mixture that cast golden light on her face.
Her eyes lifted the moment he stepped inside.
"There you are," she said softly. "I felt your hum five minutes ago."
Zephryn froze. "…You felt it?"
She approached, brushing a hand across his cheek. "You shake the room when you're unsettled."
He tried to speak. She gently cut him off.
"Don't apologize. Resonance is not something to fear."
Her voice carried the warmth of someone who had raised him quietly, fiercely, without ever asking for anything in return.
"You slept poorly," she said, studying his eyes.
"How do you—"
"Your eyes carry your bruises," she murmured.
He hesitated. The truth weighed too heavily.
"…The hum. It's louder."
Solara's breath caught—barely noticeable, but real.
"Zeph," she whispered. "Listen to me."
He did.
"Hum what you feel. Not what you fear."
He didn't understand. He never fully understood Solara's teachings. They felt older than the Veil itself. But her words always eased something deep inside him.
"Go on," she said gently. "Your friends are waiting."
Zephryn stepped outside. Selka was leaning against a fence post, Yolti was balancing on the edge of a barrel, and Kaelen was complaining loudly about his future Lyceum exam failures.
"Did Solara give you special breakfast?" Kaelen asked.
"No."
"Then why do you look like she blessed your soul?"
"He always looks like that," Yolti said.
They walked together toward the old stone ridge. Birds scattered overhead. The wind shifted slightly. A lantern creaked on its chain.
Ordinary sounds.
But Zephryn's hum struck again—sharp, deep, resonant.
He stopped.
"Did you feel that?" he whispered.
Yolti looked around. "Feel what?"
Kaelen frowned. "Zeph, if this is about the wind again—"
"It wasn't the wind," Selka said quietly.
Zephryn knelt and placed his palm on the ground.
A tremor pulsed beneath his hand.Subtle.Soft.Wrong.
A heartbeat beneath the soil.
"…That wasn't normal," Yolti whispered.
Kaelen forced a laugh. "Probably a caravan."
"Kaelen," Selka said. "No caravan makes the ground hum."
Zephryn stood slowly.
He didn't say aloud that he had heard something else—a faint whisper beneath consciousness.
A voice he hadn't heard since childhood.
They kept walking.
Behind them, Solara stood in the doorway, watching the four disappear into morning light. Her fingers trembled against the frame.
"Oh, Zephryn…" she breathed.
Far above the outskirts, the Veilglass horizon shimmered—just slightly.As if struck by a flaw too small for the world to see.
Tomorrow, the Lyceum would begin.Tomorrow, everything would change.
But today, the quiet held.Barely.
And none of them knew it was the last morning Celestis Veil would ever wake without fear.