Beyond the golden fields of Firya and the ether-flowing banks of the Mythriel River, the land rises into Sylvanmyr — a realm where Ether breathes through every root and ripple. Rolling hills sigh beneath crystalline skies, and forests glow with a dreamlike hue.
At Sylvanmyr's heart stands the great Ether Tree, a towering mother of life whose luminous branches stretch across the land. Her roots feed not only the forests but the very spirit of Skyland itself — even for those who have forgotten her grace.
Around her cradle lie the glistening waters of Aeloria Lake and the scattered villages that depend on her gifts: Eldorwyn by the lakeshore, where Eldians, Elves, and Fwllings tend the flow of Ether; Thalindra Bay to the far east, where ships drift through the misty coves; and Luminara to the west, where the Elves weave songs beneath the boughs.
Guarding them all is Yal Elunore, the Eldian capital — its spires woven from living Ether, veiled in ancient pride. Encompassing the city, the lake, the villages, and a stretch of the wild Blue Forest beyond, a Kosmic Dome shimmers as barrier crafted by Eldians to guard their society and preserve a vision of serenity and untouchable peace.
Or so it seemed
–
Within the dome, in a secluded section of the Blue Forest south of Yal Elunore, the Ether hummed and shimmered. The trees arched like flowing ribbons, their bark smooth and veined with luminous light. At their roots, the ground blossomed with soft blue flora, each petal vibrating gently with Ether energy. Ethereal beasts roamed lightly between the branches, adorned with glowing traits.
Among the glowing fields moved four young Eldians, their robes blue as the night sky, their steps light as they knelt to gather the radiant blossoms. Floating lanterns drifted beside them, each carrying a delicate bag designed to capture Ether into softly pulsing crystals.
One among them moved with particular grace, her fingers brushing petals before plucking them. Lavender eyes scanned the grove with serene curiosity. Her skin was soft and pale as snow, and her hair flowed like silver streams under moonlight.
Behind her, a soft giggle stirred the quiet.
"Ellie, that guardian by the east ridge keeps glancing over at you." teased Kaelora, brushing aside her own silvery braid.
"I think he's checking to make sure we're not stealing petals to wear in our hair," Ysilwen added with a wink.
"More like hoping someone does," Lirael murmured, earning a round of muffled laughter.
Ellowyn or Ellie as her friend calls her, gave a faint smile but rolled her eyes. "Come on. If we're caught daydreaming again, we'll be reassigned to mushroom duty."
"I liked mushroom duty…" Ysilwen muttered.
On that the The group chuckled warmly, returning to their careful work.
–
Yet as the sun filtered through the branches above, Ellowyn subtly glanced toward a darker patch of forest — a narrow trail, easy to miss.
While her friends focused on their satchels, she drifted silently away, slipping under an arch of low branches laced with moss and disappearing into the shade.
This was her secret trail.
The Ether shimmered differently here — softer, quieter, almost reverent. The glade beyond pulsed with wild energy, untouched by guards or council oversight.
Waiting atop a moss-covered stump stood a small figure of red fur, cloaked by shadow and light.
"You're late," said the figure, smirking, his amber eyes glowing faintly in the shade.
"You're lucky I'm here at all," Ellowyn replied with mock indignation. "Kaelora was gossiping again, and Ysilwen nearly spotted me."
"I should start charging you passage." the figure teased.
"You already do," she said, folding her arms. "Come here, Rikuin! Stop hiding in the shadows," she laughed brightly. "I cannot wait to hear more of your stories."
With a grin, Rikuin stepped from the gloom, revealing himself fully. A Kinitu[1] — a fox-like Quendikin — he carried the air of wildness and mystery. His coppery fur caught the light like flame, and he wore, as always, a distinct red scarf tied neatly around his neck. At his side rested a woven satchel, bulging slightly with trinkets and relics from beyond the dome.
Rikuin's ears flicked playfully as he reached into his bag and produced a small bronze cog — worn, but beautifully etched.
"Then allow me to collect my fee," he said, tossing it to her with a chuckle.
Ellowyn's eyes lit up and caught it delicately in her slim fingers. "What is it?"
He tapped his chin thoughtfully.
"A relic from the outer ruins. Once part of a great mechanical trinker that could predict the time! They called it the Tick-Tack Tower — or so the old tinkerers say. Long before you were even born. Some even claim it still ticks at midnight when the moon passes overhead."
"Does it really?"
"No," he said, ears tilting slyly. "But it should."
Ellowyn laughed softly, tracing the intricate grooves with wonder.
"You and your made-up tales."
"I prefer the term embellished truths," Rikuin said, bowing dramatically.
Ellowyn smiled and gazed upward past the trees.
"I wish I could see it. All of it. The glimmering cities… the friendly kin beyond the forests… the places you've wandered."
Rikuin's ears lowered slightly, though his eyes remained warm.
"Maybe one day," he said gently. "But not now."
"Why not?" she asked.
He leaned back casually.
"Because your people have a duty, don't they? To tend the Blue Forest. To guard the balance of Ether within. If the energy grows too dense… bad things may happen.
As your dear friend, it's my duty to remind you — not to lead you astray," he teased, gently rapping her forehead with a flick of his fingers.
She frowned softly. "That's what they've told me…"
He tilted his head.
"And do you believe it?"
Ellie hesitated, then nodded.
"I have to. Father always says it's our purpose. Our contribution to Skyland."
Rikuin gave a soft sigh.
"Then for now, stay. Watch the Ether. Tend your purpose. And let me bring you the world piece by piece."
She clutched the small cog gently, heart torn between wonder and duty.
"All right. But someday…"
He smiled, eyes kind and distant.
"Someday."
With a soft rustle, he melted into the shadows once more, leaving the glade quiet, the only sound the faint humming of the flowers.
–
Ellowyn slipped back through the winding glades of the Blue Forest, the soft hum of Ether fading behind her. She cradled the delicate woven pouch against her side, its gathered crystals pulsing faintly in tune with her heartbeat.
As she neared the clearing where her friends continued their work, Kaelora called out with mock severity, "Ellie, you always get lost. What would we do without you?"
"I was… making sure no one else had missed any flowers," Ellowyn said quickly, flashing a sheepish smile.
Ysilwen arched a brow playfully. "Sure. Or maybe you were chatting up those handsome guardians."
Ellowyn chuckled, brushing past them. "I'd rather not get reassigned to mushroom duty, thank you."
Giggling, the girls gathered their satchels, their duties complete, and began the walk back toward Yal Elunore's shining gates.
The great walls of the city loomed ahead, not of stone but woven Ether itself — translucent barriers of shimmering blue, pulsing like a living heartbeat. The entry archway stood open, flanked by young Eldian guardians in finely adorned armor, each carrying spears tipped with crystal.
As Ellowyn approached the checkpoint, a familiar voice called out from the side.
"Well, if it isn't the star of the harvest herself," teased Maeron, a young guardian who leaned casually against the pillar entrance, his silver hair falling untamed over sharp, playful eyes. "Short on crystals again, Ellie?"
Ellowyn huffed, stepping up to present her satchel. "I have plenty this time."
Maeron smirked, taking the bag from her hands and weighing it dramatically. "Mmm… barely enough to keep the dome from flickering." He winked, voice dropping to a mock whisper. "I'll cover for you. Again."
She smiled politely but didn't catch the weight in his words, her thoughts already drifting elsewhere. "Thank you, Maeron. You're always very kind."
He watched her retreating figure with a lopsided smile before returning to his post.
Ellowyn moved swiftly into the city proper.
Yal Elunore stretched wide before her — a tapestry of woven Ether structures, elegant gardens, and radiant pathways glowing faintly underfoot. Spires rose like frozen waterfalls, singing with the energy coursing through them. Every building, every bridge, every vine had been shaped with serene precision.
Eldians moved along the luminous streets, clothed in flowing garments of muted blues, silvers, and soft greens. Traders floated carts of crystal fruits and fine fabrics. Scribes bent over open-air desks, etching glyphs onto parchment. In the plaza's heart, artisans carved sculptures of pure light.
Above it all, the work of duty thrived: Ether weavers bent streams of energy into pulsing orbs that fed the great Kosmic dome. Guardians patrolled in quiet formations, their steps a dance of vigilance and ease. Children sang verses of history under the teaching trees, where ethereal vines framed their classrooms.
To Ellowyn, it was a city of peace — a perfect haven where each being played their part with purpose and joy.
–
She smiled softly to herself and turned down a familiar side lane, her home nestled between two tall vine-covered towers. The modest estate was woven with care, soft lights flickering within the Ether-lined walls.
As she opened the front gate, a sudden shout greeted her.
"Ellie's late again!" squealed Sorin, her little brother, darting out from the side path.
"She's probably been off daydreaming with Ether flies again!" chimed in Seris, his twin sister, clutching a flowering vine like a scepter.
Ellowyn ruffled Sorin's snowy hair as he darted past. "I was gathering Ether like a proper Eldian herbalist. Unlike someone hiding in the bushes."
The children's giggles echoed as she stepped inside, the soft scent of jasmine and baked bread warming the air.
In the dining room, her father, Caelarion, sat at the head of a long table, his bearing tall and dignified even in simple evening robes. Beside him, her mother Seralyne smiled warmly, smoothing a hand over the twins' hair as they scampered into their seats.
Caelarion's sharp eyes flicked up as Ellowyn entered. "You're late, daughter. You must not tarry so long beyond your duties."
Before Ellowyn could respond, Seralyne cut in gently, "Come, the meal is waiting. Let us eat before the stew grows cold."
Grateful for the rescue, Ellowyn took her place at the table.
For a time, only the soft clinking of utensils and the whisper of conversation among the twins filled the air. The meal was simple but rich — fresh-baked bread, seasoned roots, and fruits preserved with Ether cooling.
But curiosity gnawed at Ellowyn's heart.
After a moment's hesitation, she lifted her gaze toward her father. "Father... have you ever seen the lands beyond the dome?"
Caelarion's spoon paused mid-air. "Of course. As a councilor, I've traveled to many regions of Skyland. It is part of my duty to oversee trade and maintain treaties."
Her eyes widened slightly with wonder. "And… what are they like? The mountains? The lakes? The cities built with strange machines?"
There was a beat of silence.
Caelarion set his spoon down carefully. "Ellowyn, why do you burden the supper table with childish fancies? We do not waste thoughts on distant lands."
"But if you have seen them," she pressed softly, "could I one day too? Maybe... maybe even serve alongside you?"
Seralyne reached across the table, her voice gentle. "It is not the path of our daughters to wander, child. The task of an Eldian woman is sacred — to tend the home, the forest, the Ether flow. We must cherish and protect what is given to us."
Ellowyn lowered her gaze, feeling the warm excitement dim in her chest.
"There are dangers beyond the dome," Seralyne continued. "Not all look kindly on those who bear Ether's grace so purely. Here, within Yal Elunore, you are safe — as Shiruba U'windo and the Ether Tree intended."
Before the weight of silence could deepen, Caelarion cleared his throat, the stern edge softening. "Time... changes many things, my daughter. Perhaps, someday, new paths may open. But for now, trust in the path laid before you."
Ellowyn smiled faintly, hope flickering anew in her heart.
And so the meal continued under the quiet glow of the evening light, the family's laughter eventually returning, as if the cracks that had appeared could be mended with a few soft words.
But deep within Ellowyn's spirit, a small seed of longing had taken root.
–
On the next day, morning light spilled across the curved walls of Ellowyn's room, filtered through shimmering ether-laced vines that framed her window.
The soft hum of Yal Elunore waking drifted on the cool breeze — the distant chime of crystal bells, the muted footsteps of artisans opening their workshops.
For once, no summons awaited her.
The Ether gatherers were given respite today — a rare interval granted during the high mists, when the flow of Ether slowed just enough to allow the forests a breath of renewal.
Ellowyn stirred beneath the light linens, stretching slowly, when a soft knock sounded at the door.
Before she could answer, it cracked open, and a voice called in, bright with mischief:
"Finally awake, you lazy Nymble-tail[2]?"
A shadow stepped into the morning light — tall, silver-haired, arms folded with theatrical impatience.
Ellowyn laughed, rubbing sleep from her eyes. "Hardly fair, coming from someone who missed supper."
The figure grinned, leaning casually against the doorframe.
"My apologies, little sister. Guard duty by the riverbanks. Had to make sure the Syrends[3] stayed on their side of the stories."
She sat up straighter now, smiling at the familiar teasing voice. "Aeryn. You make it sound heroic."
He chuckled, crossing the room in a few lazy strides to ruffle her hair — which earned him a half-hearted swat.
"Someone has to protect you lot while you're off picking flowers and daydreaming about lost cities," he said.
Ellowyn smoothed her silver hair back into place, but her smile lingered.
Aeryn had always been different from their father — less rigid, less tangled in the silent pride that weighed on so many Eldians.
He carried his duty easily, like a worn cloak, but his eyes were still full of light.
"I'm heading to Eldorwyn tonight," he said, dropping onto the bench by her window, stretching his legs out with a groan. "Festival of the First Light. You coming?"
She brightened immediately. "Wouldn't miss it."
"Good," he said, flashing a rare, genuine smile. "We could all use a night of forgetting who we're supposed to be."
Something in his voice tugged at her — but before she could press, he pushed himself up again, clapping a hand lightly against the wall as he moved toward the door.
"See you there, sleepy Nymble-tail," he called over his shoulder.
The door swung shut, leaving Ellowyn alone with the golden hush of morning, and a heart strangely restless with anticipation.
–
The soft glow of evening descended as Ellowyn walked the winding path toward Eldorwyn, her lantern casting long, delicate shadows across the mossy trail.
Above, the canopy of the Blue Forest parted just enough for glimpses of the Aelorian Lake.
Tonight, the village would celebrate the Festival of the First Light — an ancient tradition shared by Eldians, Elves, and Fwllings alike, honoring the Ether that nourished their lives.
Ellowyn smiled faintly as the first notes of lute and harp reached her long slenders ears, weaving through the forest air like distant fireflies.
As she crossed the simple arch of woven vines marking Eldorwyn's entrance, familiar faces turned toward her, their laughter and conversation painting the night with warmth.
"Ellie!"
A strong voice rang out above the music.
A figure wove through the small crowd to meet her — silver hair tousled, tunic casually loose — a rare break from the formality expected back home.
Aeryn's arms opened wide, and Ellowyn stepped into the brief, warm hug.
"You made it," he said, clapping a hand warmly on her shoulder.
She laughed, the festive air already lifting her spirit.
"Wouldn't dream of staying away."
Together they wandered toward the heart of the celebration — a wide clearing where low tables were laden with fruit, spiced breads, and honeyed drinks. The sweet, buttery scent of warm pastries blending with the crisp forest air. Lanterns floated in the air, their lights shifting gently with the rhythm of the breeze.
Elves in loose, flowing garments danced barefoot around the fire, laughter ringing like chimes. Their movements were effortless, joyful — so different from the careful steps taught in Yal Elunore.
Ellowyn watched, heart stirring with something between admiration and yearning.
Aeryn handed her a small glass of sweetened etherfruit wine. "Careful. One cup and you'll think you can out-dance the Elves," he joked.
A quiet laugh escaped her, taking a small sip.
The warmth of the wine blossomed through her, and soon she found herself drawn into the gentle whirl of music and laughter.
The Elves pulled her into their dances without hesitation, their steps light and free, spinning beneath lantern-lit skies.
For a while, Ellowyn forgot the weight of lessons, the careful exercises of bending Ether with perfect precision.
Here, in the simple weaving of hands and laughter, she tasted a kind of wonder purer than anything she had ever shaped from the flows of energy at home.
It was a wonder of life itself — messy, joyful, imperfect — and it filled her heart until she could hardly breathe from smiling.
Eventually, she drifted to the edge of the clearing, settling onto a patch of soft grass where the glow of the fire flickered gently across her skin.
It was then, from nearby, that she caught the low murmur of voices.
A group of young Eldians and Elves sat together in a loose circle, their tones lively, sharpened by drink and excitement.
One voice rose above the rest — bright, eager, carrying a reckless edge that made Ellowyn's ears tilt instinctively toward the sound.
"...I'm telling you, there's more beyond the Ether Woods," he said, leaning forward. "Not just cities of glass or black seas — ruins. Monsters. Things they never speak of inside the Dome."
His hand tightened briefly over his knee, knuckles pale in the firelight.
"They tell us Skyland is still shimmering, still safe — that by tending our forests, patrolling our borders, we're helping keep it alive. But how do we know? How do we know what's really out there anymore?"
A few of the Elves shifted, their laughter fading into uneasy glances — and among the Eldians, a hush settled like heavy mist.
Before the man could say more, a familiar figure moved toward him — calm but carrying a quiet, firm authority.
Aeryn placed a steady hand on his shoulder.
"That's enough talk for tonight, Talanar," he said, voice low but unyielding.
Aeryn gave a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Some doors, once opened, are not so easily closed." he added quietly.
Talanar flushed, glancing quickly at the few Eldian elders nearby who had turned their heads toward the commotion.
He gave a stiff bow, his voice low and almost casual — as if brushing it all away.
"My apologies," he muttered. "Perhaps the Moonleaf Brew speaks more boldly than I do."
A few nearby laughed lightly, grateful for the easy excuse.
But Ellowyn, watching from the edge, caught the way his eyes remained sharp, serious — a weight behind them that no drink could explain.
Aeryn gave his shoulder a firm squeeze — half reassurance, half warning — before letting him go.
For a moment, the circle sat in uneasy quiet, the fire crackling louder than before.
Then, as if nothing had happened, the music swelled again, and laughter rose over the clearing — lighter, but not quite as free.
Aeryn drifted back toward Ellowyn, his steps easy, the familiar lopsided smile returning to his lips.
But when he settled beside her, she saw the change in his eyes — a quietness, a weight he didn't voice.
"Not everyone here forgets the old warnings," he said softly, just for her.
Ellowyn nodded, though a small tremor stirred in her heart — a chill that no fire could quite chase away.
She lingered among the gathering for a while longer, letting the lilting songs and warm firelight wrap around her like a half-forgotten dream.
Yet even as laughter rose around her, a part of her wandered elsewhere — toward the edges of the clearing, where the shadows deepened beyond the lantern light.
Toward the unseen.
Toward the familiar pull that stirred beneath her ribs, silent and certain.
—
Later that night, as the fires burned low and the dancers' laughter faded to soft murmurs, the faint scent of charred herbs drifted on the breeze.
Ellowyn stirred, feeling a sudden, playful tug at the hem of her gown.
Startled, she glanced down — and saw nothing.
But a second tug, firmer, urged her toward the treeline.
She followed, heart fluttering with a mix of excitement and unease.
Behind a heavy curtain of ivy, in a quiet hollow lit only by the drifting glow of a few wayward lanterns, a small figure crouched from the shades— copper-furred, with eyes like molten gold.
"Rikuin?, You startled me." she whispered, a laugh escaping before she could stop it.
He grinned, his foxlike ears twitching with amusement. "That was the idea."
She knelt beside him, brushing a lock of silver hair behind her ear, her eyes narrowing slightly in playful suspicion.
"What are you doing here?" she asked under her breath. "I thought your kind hated festivals — too loud, too crowded."
Rikuin's eyes sparkled mischievously.
"You'd be surprised," he said, tilting his head toward the gathering. "A few of my kin are out there right now, stuffing their faces with moonberry tarts."
Ellowyn blinked, a laugh bubbling up. "Moonberry tarts?"
He smirked. "Sticky little savories these Elves make. Sweet enough to glue your jaws shut. We can't resist."
Rikuin shrugged lightly, his tail flicking once.
"I also came to see you."
His gaze softened as he studied her, the playful glint dimming into something more solemn.
"I see the Ether Tree still shares her music here," he said quietly, tilting his head toward the distant hum of the lake's edge, where the winds wove whispers between the waters.
Ellowyn's smile faded slightly, sensing the change in him.
"You're more serious than usual," she said gently. "Is something wrong?"
Rikuin's smile faltered, his ears tilting back ever so slightly.
"There are things happening beyond the Blue Forest, Ellie," he said, voice low. "Things your people no longer hear... or choose not to."
She leaned closer. "What things?"
He looked away, amber eyes catching the faint glimmer of the drifting lanterns.
For a moment, he was silent — as if weighing words that were too heavy to share.
"Dark things," he said at last, voice barely above a whisper. "Things that don't fit inside the songs we sing by the fire."
Ellowyn's heart tightened, but she forced a small, hopeful smile.
"Maybe... maybe it's just old fears. Stories to scare us when the mists grow thick."
Rikuin gave a soft, almost sad chuckle — not mocking her, but weary.
"Maybe," he murmured.
"But some stories are left untold because they're not finished yet."
The breeze stirred around them, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant rain.
Ellowyn shivered slightly, though the night was still warm.
Rikuin leaned closer, his voice dropping to a thread of sound only she could hear.
"Just... listen closely, Ellie," he said. "Not all dangers come with horns and claws. Some come softly. Some look very much like home."
Rikuin reached into his satchel and withdrew something — a single feather, deep blue, its edges glimmering faintly with a strange, uneasy sheen.
He held it out silently.
Ellowyn took it carefully, the lightness of it belying the wrongness she felt tingling in her fingertips.
"What is it?" she whispered.
"A sign," Rikuin said simply. His voice held no fear — only sadness.
"One you won't find in your histories. Not anymore."
For a long moment, they sat in silence, the sigh of the forest and the fading music threading between them like a ghost.
Then Rikuin rose, brushing the fallen leaves from his cloak in a single, quiet movement.
"I should go," he said lightly, though the way he looked at her — long and almost aching — belied his easy tone.
"Before the Guardians wonder why the ivy moves without the wind."
Ellowyn stood as well, the feather clutched gently against her chest.
She offered a small, lopsided smile, trying to shake off the strange weight pressing on her heart.
"Same spot tomorrow?" she asked lightly, nodding toward the deeper woods where their secret glade waited.
Rikuin's grin returned, soft and easy — the way she knew it best.
"Of course," he said. "Until tomorrow, Ellie."
He stepped back into the ivy's shadow, the flicker of his copper tail the last thing she saw before the darkness swallowed him.
Only his voice drifted back to her — soft, almost like a memory already:
"Remember tonight. The music. The laughter.
The way the world feels when you're not afraid to see it."
And then he was gone.
Ellowyn lingered there, the blue feather trembling in her hand, as the first thin breath of dawn began to stir the mist along the forest floor — a dawn that somehow felt different, heavier, as if the world itself were holding its breath.
–
Morning light slanted through the ether-laced vines of Ellowyn's window — but today, it carried no warmth.. It fell pale and strained, as if the sky itself were holding its breath.
The city beyond stirred to life with its usual rhythms — the distant chimes, the soft murmur of artisans beginning their work — yet something felt… off.
Ellowyn sat on the edge of her bed, tugging absently at a thread in her sleeve, unease coiling low in her stomach.
The memory of last night's laughter, the glow of firelight and music, seemed strangely fragile in the cool hush of morning.
In the market square, as she made her way toward the Ether fields, the usual soft bustle was tinged with restless whispers. She caught snatches of conversation as she passed:
"—Taken in the night, they say—"
"—Re-education, it's just temporary, surely—"
"—Talanar, poor boy, should have kept his mouth shut—"
Ellowyn froze mid-step. Talanar.
The memory of his voice — bold and uncertain by the fireside — rushed back. The look in Aeryn's eyes when he had placed that firm hand on his friend's shoulder.
She turned sharply on her heel and made for the patrol barracks.
–
Aeryn was there, speaking in low tones with another guardian. He looked tired — more than tired. Worn.
When he spotted her, he straightened, forcing a small smile.
"Ellie. Shouldn't you be with the herbalists team?"
"I heard…" She swallowed. "About Talanar."
The smile faltered. Aeryn rubbed the back of his neck.
"He'll be fine," he said too quickly. "Just... re-education. A misunderstanding. They'll set him straight and send him home."
Ellowyn's chest tightened. The way he avoided her eyes said more than the words.
She wanted to press him, to ask where Talanar had been taken, for how long, and what they would do to him.
But Aeryn's face — usually open, teasing — had closed off like a shuttered window.
Some questions, she realized, even brothers would not answer.
She nodded stiffly and turned away, the unease growing heavier in her chest.
–
The Blue Forest should have soothed her. It always had before.
The trees still shimmered with soft Ether flows, the flowers still bent their glowing heads toward the light.
But today, even the forest seemed subdued. The wind whispered strange things she couldn't quite catch. The Ether flows hummed lower, heavier.
Ellowyn joined her usual herbalist team, slipping wordlessly into the rhythm of plucking the blooms and sealing their soft energy into woven satchels.
Her mind wandered, her hands moving automatically — until a sudden ripple brushed across the flows.
A familiar presence.
A tug, almost like a voice threading through the Ether itself: Ellie.
She straightened sharply, scanning the treeline.
There — a flicker of copper fur. A flash of motion, quickly hidden.
Rikuin? Here?
It was far too early — their meeting wasn't until twilight, and he rarely approached during working hours.
She pressed a hand against her satchel, heart hammering.
She couldn't go now — too many eyes.
Meeting his gaze through the trees, she shook her head subtly and mouthed, Wait.
The glint of golden eyes vanished.
Ellowyn forced herself to turn back to her gathering, but her thoughts whirled wildly about what would force him to do such reckless move.
She finished her work in a rush, handing her satchel to Ysilwen with a breathless apology.
"Tell the others I... I have a call to deliver," she said, not waiting for the puzzled reply.
She slipped away down the hidden trails, toward the place where the Ether hummed softer and the wild glades held their quiet council.
–
As she rushed to their common gathering place, she found him in a hollow shrouded by weeping vines and trembling light.
The air was different here — thick with the scent of crushed leaves... and something sharper, metallic, that pricked at the back of her throat.
A shape shifted within the shadows.
Then he stepped forward —
Ellowyn gasped, stumbling back a step.
His coppery fur was matted, his cloak torn and streaked with dark, ugly stains. His scarf — the familiar red one he always wore — hung tattered around his neck, frayed and heavy with dampness.
One of his ears was nicked, his breathing ragged as he leaned against the twisted trunk of an old willow.
Yet even wounded, his golden eyes found hers — steady, pleading.
"Ellie..."
His voice was rough, barely a breath.
Ellowyn rushed forward instinctively, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"Rikuin, what— what happened?" she whispered, reaching out but hesitating, afraid to hurt him further.
He gave a faint, exhausted smile, the kind that barely touched his eyes.
"My home... Caelarion Glade..."
He paused, swallowing hard, as if even speaking cost him strength.
"It's under attack."
Ellowyn's hands fluttered near his torn scarf, trembling.
"By what?"
Rikuin's gaze darkened, flickering toward the distant trees beyond the dome.
"Shadows," he said simply. "Creatures not of Ether but pure evil. Twisted things that spread rot in their pase and consume everything they touch. We held them off as long as we could, but..."
His voice faltered.
Ellowyn's breath caught. Her hands hovered helplessly, torn between instinct and fear.
"And you came—"
"I came because you know the flows of Ether better than any of us. If you—" he caught his breath, grimacing— "if you could bend it... maybe you could help us hold them back for awhile…."
"I..." Ellowyn stammered, her voice catching painfully in her throat. "I want to. But I can't go. It's forbidden. If they catch me—"
Rikuin's gold eyes softened with deep, aching understanding.
"I can get you out without anyone noticing," he said quietly. "Take my hand, Ellie. I'll guide you there. And I'll bring you back. No one will know."
For a heartbeat, her hand lifted—
The warmth of his outstretched palm brushed the space between them—almost touched.
The faint, pulsing shimmer of the dome in the distance suddenly felt suffocating.
Then she pulled away.
Her heart cried yes.
Her duty screamed no.
Tears welled in her eyes as she slowly pulled her hand back, trembling.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I... I can't."
Rikuin watched her with quiet sadness, but no anger.
He tugged his red scarf slightly higher around his neck — almost like a silent shield — before stepping back into the shadows.
"No shame in being afraid," he murmured. "Just don't let fear be the only voice you hear."
And then, he disappeared into the mist —
leaving Ellowyn alone beneath the whispering trees, her heart heavy with something she didn't know how to name.
–
That night, the memory of Rikuin's wounded figure stayed with her — sharper than any dream.
Ellowyn had not slept the night after their meeting.
She had stared at the weavings of light across her ceiling, listening to the pulse of the Dome overhead, feeling the weight of her choice pressing against her ribs.
Morning brought no relief.
The streets of Yal Elunore buzzed softly as always — tradesmen setting out their goods, scholars bent over scrolls — but beneath the practiced smiles and measured steps, a tremor of unease lingered.
And so did the whispers.
At the fountain square, Ellowyn lingered near the herb carts, listening with half her mind to the murmured conversations.
Words carried on the misted air:
"Re-education, they call it… but no one's seen Talanar Vaelwyn since."
"The young ones speak too freely these days. Dangerous thoughts."
"Better they correct them early, before worse happens."
Ellowyn's stomach twisted painfully. She turned sharply, making her way toward the academy gardens where apprentices and scholars trained.
She needed to find Talanar to ease her mind.
She made her way toward the learning halls of a great Ethereal Academy— a place where apprentices studied Ether, history, and service — hoping, somehow, to find Talanar among the students.
The halls were quiet.
Too quiet.
She approached one of the elder tutors — a woman with fine silver braids and pale, unreadable eyes.
"I'm looking for Talanar Vaelwyn," Ellowyn said, voice careful. "I heard he was sent here... for re-education."
The tutor gave a cool, practiced smile — one that did not reach her eyes.
"You need not concern yourself, child. Talanar Vaelwyn is receiving the guidance he needs elsewhere. Focus on your own duties."
Ellowyn hesitated, her fingers tightening around the strap of her satchel.
"But... where is he?" she asked softly. "I would like to visit. To wish him well for his re-education."
The Elder woman paused, her back rigid.
For a long moment, she said nothing — only turned her head slightly, just enough for Ellowyn to glimpse the shadow of her face.
Her gaze was blank, distant. Not cruel. Just... empty.
"You cannot," she said at last, her voice flat as polished stone. "No visitors are permitted."
Ellowyn opened her mouth to press further — but the woman shifted her robe and walked away, the soft whisper of fabric against the floor the only answer she left behind.
Left alone in the vaulted corridor, Ellowyn stood frozen, the polished tiles gleaming emptily around her.
Something in Ellowyn's heart shrank a little smaller.
A silence growing inside her that no kind words could seem to reach.
She pressed a hand lightly to her chest, as if to steady something shifting inside her.
Something she couldn't quite name, but could no longer ignore.
That evening, beneath the soft hum of the trees, Ellowyn returned to the wild edge of the Blue Forest — to the hidden glade where she and Rikuin had always met.
The satchel of gathered blooms slipped from her shoulder as she cupped her hands to her mouth.
"Rikuin?" she called, voice trembling. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to turn away. Please don't be mad at me."
Only the sighing leaves answered her.
"I should have trusted you," she whispered. "I just... I didn't know what to do."
No answer came.
Not a flicker among the trees.
Not even a whistle in the mist.
She came again the next day.
And the next.
And the next...
Each time, she brought small offerings — moonberry tarts, still warm from the kitchens, knowing they had once made him laugh and curse at their stickiness.
Each time, she waited.
Each time, she whispered into the twilight:
"Please... come back.
Please be safe."
But the glade stayed empty.
No coppery flicker moved between the trees.
No familiar voice teased her from the shadows.
The days blurred together, and with them, the last of her hope frayed — like a once-bright thread worn thin by unseen hands.
Then one misted evening, when the first stars were just beginning to bleed through the sky, a figure slipped through the trees.
At first, Ellowyn's heart soared.
"Rikuin!" she gasped, rising from the moss.
But as the figure stepped into the half-light, she saw the difference.
It was another Kinitu — female, slightly smaller, her copper fur darker, her golden eyes harder, colder.
A stranger, cloaked in dusk and grief.
She moved stiffly, as if carrying a weight too heavy to be seen.
The Kinitu held up a hand.
"Stop calling," she said sharply, voice rough with exhaustion. "The forest can't bear your cries anymore."
Ellowyn's heart twisted painfully.
She stumbled forward, hands trembling.
"Please — please tell him I'm sorry," she said in a rush, tears already stinging her eyes. "I would have helped — I wanted to. I just — I couldn't leave. It's forbidden. I just want him to know—"
The Kinitu said nothing.
Instead, she reached into her satchel and withdrew something small and limp — a tattered red scarf, frayed and stained with dark, dried patches.
She placed it solemnly into Ellowyn's open hands.
Ellowyn stared down at it, breath shuddering, as if the world had tipped sideways and nothing could be made right again.
It felt wrong in her hands — too small, too thin.
The scarf was all that remained — a fraying thread where a life had once been.
The familiar touch of the cloth nearly broke her.
It was still warm from the day's sun — but in her hands, it felt unbearably cold.
Flashes of memory surged up — Rikuin grinning beneath the ivy, teasing her about slow Eldian feet, daring her to steal riverberries.
His laughter, his stubborn kindness, the soft promises of "someday" whispered beneath the trees vanishing.
The Kinitu's voice cut through the memories like a blade:
"You keep calling a name that will never answer."
Ellowyn shook her head desperately, the world blurring through her tears.
"No... no, he's strong — he must have survived—" she choked, her voice breaking like a snapped bowstring.
The Kinitu's gaze did not waver.
It was not cruel.
It was simply empty — the gaze of someone who had already buried too many hopes.
"Maybe the Nyxes were right," she said bitterly.
"Maybe Eldians only care for their own peace."
Ellowyn's knees gave out.
She collapsed to the earth, the moss offering no comfort against the weight crushing her chest.
She clutched the scarf so tightly her knuckles whitened, sobs wracking her slender frame, raw and helpless.
She had left him with nothing but silence.
Not even a goodbye.
Not even a promise.
The Kinitu turned to go — but paused.
For one final moment, her voice softened, almost like a lullaby meant for a child long gone.
"In the end," she said, "you were all he called for."
Without waiting for an answer, the Kinitu stepped into the mist, her form swallowed by the weeping trees.
And Ellowyn was left kneeling alone — the red scarf pressed desperately to her heart —
while the towering forest stood silent, indifferent, around the small, broken shape of her grief.
The scarf slipped from her trembling fingers, trailing across the moss like a fallen banner.
Her sobs cracked the hush of the glade, raw and ugly, until even the birds fell silent, as if the forest itself bowed its head.
Above her, the first stars pierced through the mist, cold and unblinking — witnesses to a sorrow too old for their light to comfort.
The Ether currents in the trees dimmed, their soft glow guttering like candles left too long in the wind.
Still she wept — for Rikuin, for herself, for the pieces of a world that she had never realized was broken until it shattered inside her.
And when no more sound would come, when even her tears had run dry, she remained kneeling there —
small, hollow, cradling the ruined scarf against her chest, while the night closed gently around her like a tomb.
Only then, in that crushing stillness, did Ellowyn understand:
Some silences could never be filled again.
–
The night air clung to Ellowyn as she slipped back through the quiet streets of Yal Elunore.
Lanterns glowed softly in their cradles of woven vine, but the light felt thin, distant — like stars drowning behind a heavy mist.
Home stood just as she had left it, but somehow... smaller. Colder.
She found herself by the window of her room, forehead pressed lightly against the glass.
The Ether flows above the city pulsed in steady rhythm — a heartbeat she had once trusted, once loved.
Now it felt like the ticking of a clock, counting down something she couldn't yet name.
Behind her, the soft creak of a door.
"Ellie?"
It was her father's voice, roughened not by anger but concern.
He stepped into the room, his fine robe loose at the collar, his silver hair disheveled by the late hour.
"You're troubled," Caelarion said, moving closer. "Did something happen tonight?"
He offered a faint smile, almost teasing — as if expecting her sadness to be the petty grief of a girl.
Ellowyn hesitated, still gazing outward. The forest beyond the dome looked so far away.
She drew a shaky breath.
"Dad... would you always tell me the truth?" she whispered.
There was a pause — so slight that only someone desperate would notice.
Caelarion's hand rested lightly on her shoulder.
"I will always do what is best for you," he said. "For you, for our family. That is the truth that matters."
Ellowyn turned, searching his face — and in that moment, a crack opened wide inside her.
"Where is Talanar Vaelwyn?" she asked, voice trembling despite herself.
"I went to the Academy today. I wanted to wish him well, to see him. But..." her throat tightened, "they wouldn't even let me near him. They just... looked at me."
Her father's mouth pressed into a thin line.
"Talanar is well," he said firmly. "I saw him recently. His re-education is proceeding."
"But when will we see him again?" she pressed, the questions tumbling from her like loosened stones.
"Tomorrow? Next week?"
Caelarion's gaze hardened.
"That depends," he said. "Sometimes... re-education can take months. Years. It depends on whether the caretakers judge him ready."
Ellowyn blinked, stunned.
"Judge... him?" she echoed. "For what? What did he do that was so wrong?"
Her father's tone grew sharper.
"He spoke when he should have listened. He doubted when he should have trusted. That is all you need to know."
Ellowyn flinched as if struck. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself.
"And you?" she said, her voice brittle. "Do you truly believe that's all?"
"Enough."
Caelarion stepped back, his patience thinning.
"You are young, Ellowyn. You do not yet understand the dangers of doubt. Trust me. Trust your people. Trust the path laid before you."
For a moment, the silence stretched between them like a taut thread.
Then, as he turned to leave, Ellowyn whispered:
"Dad... what are shadows?"
He froze.
Slowly, Caelarion turned back toward her, a chuckle escaping — but it was forced, brittle.
"My dear moonshine," he said, voice lighter than before, "shadows are everywhere. Beneath every leaf, under every stone. There's nothing strange about them."
"But not those kinds of shadows," Ellowyn said, stepping forward.
She lifted her chin, trembling with something fierce and new.
"I mean... are there evil shadows? Creatures that lurk outside the Dome?"
The light drained from Caelarion's face.
"Where," he said very slowly, "did you hear such nonsense?"
Ellowyn faltered. "I... I overheard travelers," she lied quickly.
He studied her for a long moment, and then his mouth twisted into a hard, bitter smile.
"I should have known," he said. "That Kinitu. Their poisoned songs. Their love of sowing fear."
His voice sharpened, each word honed like a blade:
"I allowed that foxling to visit because I believed he would respect our peace. Our rules."
Ellowyn's hands balled into fists at her sides.
"You knew about him," she said. "And you said nothing."
"I trusted he would not break our pact," her father said coldly. "But it seems even wild things cannot resist corrupting the innocent."
The words broke something open inside her.
Tears filled her eyes — not of helplessness, but of rising anger.
"He came for help," Ellowyn said first, her voice shaking, barely more than a whisper.
Caelarion narrowed his eyes. "What help?"
She swallowed hard, clutching the scarf tighter against her chest.
"Their village... something was attacking them. Creatures. Shadows. He said they were losing. He asked me to help — to bend the Ether and drive the shadows away."
Her voice broke, full of raw pain.
"I almost went... but I was afraid. I thought obeying was the right path to follow. But now..."
Tears slipped down her cheeks.
"My heart aches, Father," she whispered. "I ache because I know... I chose wrong."
She pulled the bloodstained scarf from her satchel and held it out like a banner of accusation, her hand trembling.
"Rikuin is dead," she said, her voice cracking. "He came asking for help — and I turned him away."
For a moment, Caelarion said nothing.
Then, slowly, his face hardened — not with sorrow, but with something colder.
"The insolence," he hissed under his breath. "That little creature dared to ask you to abandon your place? To defy your duties?"
He shook his head, his silver hair catching the dim light like a blade.
"You did right to stay," he said, voice rising, sharp and unyielding.
"You listened to the voice of reason. You followed the way of your people. That is the Eldian way. That is what keeps us safe while fools beyond the Dome perish in their own folly."
Ellowyn stood motionless, the scarf trembling in her fingers.
But in her heart, something recoiled.
Caelarion's eyes flashed with quiet fury.
"I will see that these matters are addressed," he said sharply. "The council will take proper steps to ensure this never happens again."
Ellowyn stepped back as if burned.
"And what about his people?" she asked hoarsely. "Will you send help?"
For a moment, Caelarion simply looked at her —
Then he merely inclined his head — a cold, mechanical bow, more duty than comfort.
"Goodnight, Ellowyn," he said. "Grieve if you must. But remember who you are."
The words were soft, almost tender — but there was steel beneath them.
Without another glance, he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him — soft, final, like a coffin closing.
Ellowyn sank slowly to the floor by the window long after the footsteps faded, clutching the ruined scarf as if it were all that tethered her to the world she no longer recognized.
The night outside pressed against the glass, vast and impenetrable, swallowing her small reflection in its endless dark.
–
The next morning, Ellowyn moved like a ghost through her duties.
The Blue Forest shimmered under the pale light, its Ether blooms swaying in silent song.
She worked with the herbalist teams, fingers weaving the same practiced motions — pluck, seal, sort — but her mind was far away.
The ruined scarf was folded carefully in the pocket of her robe, pressing like a stone against her side with every step.
Around her, life in Yal Elunore flowed on — serene, orderly, untouched.
As if nothing had happened.
As if no hearts had broken.
She was gathering a cluster of Moonlace blossoms when the first chime sounded — a low, deliberate toll that echoed through the glades.
Then another.
And another.
The chimes deepened, rolling like thunder through the trees.
Ellowyn straightened sharply, the others around her pausing, murmuring.
Heads lifted.
Satchels were dropped.
A voice, clear and commanding, wove itself into the Ether currents — carried by unseen energy through every branch and stone:
"All citizens of Yal Elunore, assemble at the Central Spire. A decree from the Council shall be announced."
The words thrummed against Ellowyn's ribs.
She brushed the dust from her hands, heart drumming strangely, and followed the slow, gathering tide of her people — toward the city's heart, toward the place where everything would change.
The streets narrowed as the crowd thickened, a river of pale robes and bowed heads.
Ether lanterns swung from the high arches, their light cold and distant, casting long, trembling shadows across the stone.
Ellowyn moved through it all like a leaf caught in a current, her mind numb, her fingers still curled unconsciously around the fold of the scarf hidden in her sleeve.
As she pushed through the murmuring throng, a familiar figure caught her eye.
"Aeryn," she breathed, reaching for him.
Her brother turned at the sound of her voice, his face drawn and pale, the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced than she had ever seen.
They stood shoulder to shoulder in the crowd.
"Do you know what this is about?" Ellowyn whispered.
Aeryn shook his head, his jaw tight.
"No," he said lowly. "But whatever it is... it feels wrong."
Together, they faced the center of the plaza, where the great Spire loomed against the swirling mist, and the banners of Yal Elunore hung limp in the still air.
When the Herald appeared — robed in deep blue and silver — a hush fell over the square, smothering even the smallest breath.
He unfurled a long scroll — shimmering like woven Ether — and his voice rang out, crisp and cold as winter glass:
"By decree of the Eldian Council, for the safety and preservation of Sylvanmyr—"
A low murmur ran through the crowd. Ellowyn felt Aeryn stiffen beside her.
"All Kinitu are henceforth forbidden entry to Yal Elunore and its surrounding regions within the Dome perimeter."
"Any Kinitu found trespassing shall be apprehended."
A sharp gasp burst from the assembly — a wave of whispers crashing against the walls.
Some faces turned pale; others tightened in grim satisfaction, as if hearing a long-awaited justice spoken aloud.
"Any citizen found consorting with them shall be subject to re-education—"
This time, the crowd rippled not with shock, but with cold approval.
Ellowyn stood motionless, the decree sinking into her bones like a chill she could not shake.
She searched the faces around her — hoping to find even one mirror of her horror — but found only nodding heads.
Slow. Somber. Convinced.
Eyes sharpened into flint.
Lips drawn into grim, thin lines.
The mouths of people who had already decided what was necessary — what was justified.
Her stomach twisted.
Beside her, Aeryn stood rigid, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles gleamed white.
Ellowyn pressed the ruined scarf closer to her chest, feeling its tattered weight tremble like a second, frantic heartbeat.
For the first time, the warmth she had always felt within the Dome seemed to flicker — replaced by something colder, heavier.
Not anger. Not outrage. Pride.
Pride carved into silence.
It was a heaven of order.
A heaven of peace.
A silent heaven.
And deep within her, something stirred.
The seed once buried in soft soil — small, sleeping, harmless — cracked open.
It sprouted upward through her ribs, sharp and trembling.
A yearning.
A question.
A hunger for truths no one dared speak aloud.
In the back of her mind, a memory surfaced —
Rikuin's voice, rough with laughter and something older, sadder:
"Not all dangers come with horns and claws.
Some come softly. Some look very much like home."
Ellowyn pressed the scarf tighter against her heart, her breath catching.
She did not yet understand what was breaking apart inside her —
only that it had begun, and would not be stopped.
The seed unfurled, wild and inevitable, drinking in every crack in the silent heaven around her.
And though her lips stayed still, a promise formed quietly in her chest:
She would find the truth. No matter what it cost.—
[1] Kinitus are a species of humanoid foxes, characterized by their agility, secrecy, and strong connection to Ether. They possess fox-like features, including pointed ears, bushy tails, and keen senses, which aid in their stealthy nature and survival.
[2] Field Notes: Nymble-tail
Ethereal Lifeform – Native to the Blue Forest
The Nymble-tail is a small arboreal Etherian species, found exclusively in the Blue Forest's dense Ether fields. Similar to squirrels, they are distinguished by a glowing patch running from their back to their long, prehensile tail, used for signaling and minor Ether conduction.
Nymble-tails display instinctive Ether manipulation, gathering lightweight materials to weave underground dens beneath Ether Tree roots — a behavior unlike typical surface nesters. Their pointed ears are highly sensitive to Ether fluctuations, giving them acute environmental awareness.
Playful yet cautious, they rarely stray beyond stable Ether groves. Their presence signals healthy Ether conditions within the Blue Forest.
— Excerpt from the Sylvanmyr Faunal Survey, Vol. II
[3] Field Notes: Syrends
Ethereal Lifeform – Native to the Blue Forest
Syrends are large, slow-moving Etherian mammals found in the densest groves of the Blue Forest. Resembling oversized, rotund bears, they are often mistaken for more dangerous creatures due to their mass and the deep hum that occasionally resonates from their Ether-rich bodies.
Docile by nature, Syrends spend their days foraging low Ether flora and basking near ancient tree roots. Their immense size makes moving a resting Syrend nearly impossible — a known issue for nearby villages.
Though generally passive, they can unleash sudden bursts of Ether-charged strength if startled, but such aggression is rare. Syrends prefer retreat over confrontation and are seen as a stabilizing force within the forest's delicate Ether ecosystem.
Children’s tales often exaggerate their threat, but seasoned naturalists recognize their gentle role among the Blue Forest's Ether life.
— Excerpt from the Sylvanmyr Faunal Survey, Vol. II