Chapter 1: The Light Reborn
The stars had vanished.
There was no moon in the sky that night. No wind moved the trees around the sacred forest of Lumivara. The air was heavy and still—like even the heavens were holding their breath.
Inside the royal tent of the Aetherian Imperial Family, silence filled the space.
There was no music. No laughter. No sound of dancing feet or joy from the festival outside. Just a single flickering lantern. A cradle, beautifully woven with golden threads. And the deep, aching absence of a child's cry.
Earlier that day, everything had felt right.
The Empress had held her daughter close, wrapped in silk and tucked against her chest. The Emperor walked beside them, proud but tired, their guards trailing quietly behind. They had come to Lumivara to attend the Solvaris Festival—a celebration of light, the five goddesses, and the unity of the divine houses. It was supposed to be a peaceful time.
But peace doesn't last.
That night, while the sky above remained dark, something terrible happened.
Empress Elira had taken the child away from the lights of the festival. Witnesses said she looked frightened—clutching the baby tightly, running into the woods, her violet robes flying behind her. Then came the shadows. Three masked figures followed. No one knew who they were, or why they came.
And after that... nothing.
They both vanished. No sign. No sound. No trace.
Emperor Edmund stood by the empty cradle now, as still as the stars that had disappeared. He didn't wear his crown. He didn't speak. His midnight cloak, lined in gold, barely moved. His eyes were red—not from anger, but from something much deeper. Loss. Fear. Grief.
He reached toward the cradle, hand shaking.
Someone had once warned him: If she is born under a moonless sky, beware the silence that follows.
He had smiled then. He didn't believe it. Not really. But now, in the stillness that clung to the walls, he could feel it.
That silence had come.
A faint hum filled the room. It didn't come from a person or a voice, but from the air itself. A strange warmth passed through the space, making the candlelight grow stronger. The Emperor froze. He could feel it. The same presence he had felt the night she was born.
His daughter.
Eclissa.
She had been so quiet then. Unlike other newborns, she had not cried. She had simply opened her eyes—and looked straight at him. Eyes like morning frost, steady and unblinking.
There had been something in her gaze. Something that didn't belong to a child.
A few said it was just the shock of birth. Others whispered she had been marked by fate.
But only he had seen it clearly.
She had looked... aware.
Like she remembered something no child ever should.
And now, she was gone.
He had failed to protect her. He had failed to protect Elira. And the prophecy that once felt distant—like a bedtime story—was starting to feel real.
Far from the festival grounds, beyond the reach of lanterns or guards, deep in a hidden cave where even moonlight could not touch, someone moved.
The figure's face was hidden beneath a black veil. Their robes shimmered with threads of silver and ash. At their feet, ancient runes flickered softly in the dirt.
They spoke into the dark.
"She has returned."
The words drifted like smoke into the still air, curling toward the shadows.
And somewhere, something old... began to wake.
Back in the forest, just beyond the edge of Lumivara, a soldier found a broken branch. Torn fabric. Tiny footprints in the mud. But no baby. No queen.
Only silence.
The Emperor sent out search parties. Knight Order. Magicians. Priests.
Nothing.
The Empress had vanished as if into mist.
Days passed. The celebration ended. The thrones of the five divine houses waited for answers.
And still, none came.
But deep within the cradle once left behind, under layers of silk and shadow, the faint warmth remained.
A flicker.
Like the last light of a dying star.
Or the first breath... of something new.
[To be continued...]