The Air Realm arrived not with thunder or flame, but with a sigh.
One quiet evening, the merged skies—already a masterpiece of eternal dawn-dusk painted with fire auroras and water rainbows—began to sing.
A breeze swept through the palace gardens, carrying notes no instrument could play. Flowers turned to follow it. Black roses unfurled petals wider. Lirion, now nine turnings old, dropped his coral sculpture and ran to the balcony, wings fluttering with excitement.
"It's here!" he cried, voice ringing in perfect three-part harmony. "The wind is singing back!"
Nerida and Ember raced after him—water fins shimmering, flame hair sparking gentle. Aurora and Cassiel followed close, hands linked. Lilith and Ethan appeared last, her wings folding around him as always, his hand resting protective on the soft glow of her belly—their fourth child, unplanned but joyfully welcomed.
The family gathered on the grand balcony overlooking the endless gardens.
The breeze strengthened—warm, playful, scented with high mountain snow and distant thunderstorms.
A rift opened high above: swirling silver and white, edges feathered like cloud wings. No violence. Only invitation.
From it descended the Air Delegation.
Sylphs first—ethereal beings of mist and wind, forms shifting between solid and vapor. Then the royals.
Prince Zephyr and Princess Gale—twins, as all air heirs were born.
Tall and willowy, skin pale silver that caught every light. Hair flowing weightless, shifting from white to storm-gray. Eyes clear sky-blue. Wings not feathered or membraned, but pure condensed air—transparent yet strong, humming with invisible currents.
They landed light as breath on the palace lawn.
Zephyr bowed—wind swirling gentle around him. Gale curtsied, breeze lifting her gown like sails.
"We heard the Song," Zephyr said, voice like wind through leaves. "Water cooled our tempests. Fire warmed our voids. The tri-blood child's voice carried on our currents farther than ever before."
Gale's eyes sparkled on Lirion, Nerida, and Ember. "We come to join the harmony."
Lilith stepped forward—regal, welcoming. "The Air Realm is honored in our home."
Feast prepared instant—tables floating on gentle updrafts, foods light as cloud cakes, wines that fizzed with captured breezes.
Stories flowed.
The Air Realm: endless skies with floating archipelagoes of cloud-stone. Cities built on perpetual zephyrs. Storms tamed into art forms. People free-spirited, nomadic, masters of flight and illusion.
Isolation had stilled them—winds too calm, no challenge, no passion.
Lirion's Song with his friends reached them like a fresh gale.
Zephyr's gaze lingered on the children. "They call to us. Teach us movement again."
Invitation extended—stay, learn, play.
Weeks blurred into wonder.
Zephyr taught Lirion true flight—no wings needed, riding pure wind currents. The boy laughed in harmony as he soared higher than palace spires.
Gale bonded with Nerida—water and air creating mist sculptures that danced forever. Steam from Ember's fire joined, forming rainbow clouds.
New romance sparked subtle.
A young sylph scout—Aeris, gender-fluid and playful—caught Ember's eye. Fire and air circled each other cautious, then close. First kiss in a whirlwind—sparks and gusts blending beautiful.
Lirion's favorite: Gale.
She carried him through storm clouds—teaching him to shape lightning into harmless light shows. He sang—thunder rolled in perfect rhythm.
One twilight, high on a floating garden isle, the children gathered with their elemental friends.
Lirion stood center—Nerida at his left (water), Ember right (fire), Aeris behind (air).
"Only one left," Lirion said soft, three eyes shining. "Earth. They're quiet. But I think… they're listening."
Nerida took his hand. Ember the other. Aeris rested hands on his shoulders.
Together—they sang.
Four voices now.
Water's flow. Fire's crackle. Air's whisper. Tri-blood harmony binding all.
The Song carried deeper than ever.
Far below the merged realm—through crust and mantle to the planet's silent heart.
Something ancient stirred.
Rocks shifted gentle. Mountains breathed.
The Earth Realm answered—not with words.
With a single, deep rumble.
Like a heartbeat long asleep.
The final plane woke.
Lilith felt it in her bones—ancient power recognizing new.
She pulled Ethan close on their private balcony—watching the children below.
"The circle completes," she whispered, tail curling possessive around his waist.
Ethan smiled, hand on her belly. "Our grandchildren finish what we started."
That night—tradition unbroken.
Doors sealed.
Lilith took her husband slow—riding gentle, wings cocooning.
Whispered against his collar.
"From one offering… to all this."
Ethan surrendered completely—moaning her name soft.
"Because you loved me when I had nothing left to give."
Climaxes shared quiet—windows open to hear the children's distant practice song, now joined by faint earth tremor in rhythm.
The great choir grew.
One voice missing.
Soon.
Earth would rise.
And the Song would be whole.
To be continued…