The evening after the decree, Ellowyn barely made it home before the dam inside her broke.
She burst into the sitting room, the ruined scarf still clutched in her hand like a weapon. The familiar scent of wild herbs and Ether lanterns barely registered in her burning mind.
Caelarion, seated by the hearth, looked up in surprise — then concern as he rose.
"Ellowyn—"
"How could you?" she snapped, voice raw. "How could you do this? Because of you — because of me — the Kinitu are banished!"
He straightened, his face composed, but there was a crack beneath the calm. "I did what I must to protect our people."
Ellowyn shook her head, tears stinging her vision. "No. You did what you must to protect your pride."
Caelarion's mouth tightened, the silver at his temples glinting under the low light. "You speak of things you don't understand."
"Then make me understand!" she cried, voice breaking. "Tell me why we must live behind walls! Tell me why silence is peace! "
But he said nothing. Only stood there, weighed down by silence.
"I trusted you," Ellowyn whispered. "I thought... maybe if I tried harder, obeyed longer, it would all make sense."
She turned before he could answer, fleeing up the stairs, leaving him standing stiff and stunned, as if her words had carved something out of him.
—
Later, in her room, Ellowyn sat huddled by the narrow window, staring at the glimmering lights of Yal Elunore. They had once seemed so beautiful.
Now, they flickered like dying stars.
The door creaked open.
"Aeryn," she breathed, seeing her brother's familiar form.
He knelt beside her, exhaustion lining his face.
"I heard," he said quietly.
"Do you ever wonder," Ellowyn murmured, "if this is all there is? Lanterns, lessons... keeping a Dome alive, for what?" She pressed a trembling hand to the glass. "We're told we protect Skyland. But how? We just... exist."
Aeryn hesitated. "It's not our place to question."
"But Talanar did," she said bitterly. "And now he's gone."
Aeryn's jaw tightened. He looked away.
"You know something," Ellowyn pressed. "You know what re-education really is."
She leaned closer, voice low and urgent.
"Aeryn... what is it, really?"
He stared at her, his jaw working.
"I..." He faltered, then shut his eyes briefly, crushing the words inside.
"Just forget it," he muttered hoarsely. "It's better not to talk about it."
"Aeryn—"
He shook his head, cutting her off. His voice dropped to a strained whisper.
"All you need to know... is you never come back the same."
He exhaled sharply, the sound tearing the room open.
A cold pit bloomed in Ellowyn's chest. She hugged herself, suddenly small against the vastness she could only glimpse — a truth her brother feared to name.
"There has to be more," she whispered fiercely. "Records. Truths. Something beyond the safe little lessons they feed us."
Aeryn shifted, glancing toward the window, as if the night itself might be listening.
"Ellie... this is dangerous talk. You don't understand how deep it goes."
"I do," she snapped — her voice trembling. "More than you think."
She grabbed his sleeve and pointed through the window.
"Look," she whispered.
Below, the city moved in perfect, practiced rhythm — merchants tidying wares, scholars crossing bridges, guardians on patrol.
Polite nods. Measured steps.
Faces serene — and utterly empty.
"Every day," Ellowyn said thickly, "they follow the same patterns. As if this is all we were made for."
She turned to him, desperate.
"Does it feel right to you, Aeryn? Truly right? To wake and work just to keep the Dome pulsing, while the world outside fades?"
He said nothing.
But he looked — really looked — for the first time in a long while.
Ellowyn saw it: the tension knotting his jaw, the tiny falter in his breath.
"I read the scrolls," she pressed on. "I listened to every lecture. They talk about balance, about protecting Sylvanmyr... but have you ever seen them do anything for it? Have you ever seen proof that the Dome helps Skyland — anyone but ourselves?"
Still he said nothing.
But something cracked in his proud, rigid posture.
Ellowyn stepped closer, voice raw:
"If we stay silent, Aeryn... if we pretend nothing is wrong... we're already dead inside."
His hands trembled at his sides.
For a long, aching moment, he fought with himself — fear, duty, and the undeniable truth warring inside him.
Finally, he exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair.
"There's a place," he muttered. "Beneath the Council Hall. A lower archive... hidden. Guarded. Only council members are allowed inside."
Ellowyn's heart leapt.
She seized his hands, fierce and pleading.
"Take me there," she breathed.
Aeryn recoiled slightly, horror flashing in his face.
"Ellie—no. That's exile. Prison for life. Worse."
"Please," she said, voice trembling. "If we don't seek the truth now... what are we even protecting?"
He stared at her, torn.
Wanting to shield her.
Wanting to tell her to forget.
But deep down, knowing it was too late.
With a low, muttered curse, he squeezed her hands roughly — almost angry at himself.
"Tonight," he said hoarsely. "After the third chime. South courtyard. I'll light a spark — two flickers. That's your signal."
Ellowyn nodded, fierce resolve shining in her eyes.
Aeryn hesitated, then whispered, barely audible:
"Be careful, Ellie. Some doors... once you open them... you can never shut again."
Then he disappeared into the shadows, leaving her standing alone, her heart thundering with both terror — and a terrible, irreversible hope.
—
The city slept, veiled in thick mist that blurred the lanterns into soft, shivering halos.
Above it all, the Ether flows pulsed faintly — distant, watchful veins of silver across the sky.
Ellowyn moved across the rooftops like a shadow, the damp tiles slick beneath her boots.
Every creak, every gust of wind set her nerves jangling.
At last, from a high balcony across the courtyard, she saw it:
A tiny spark — flickering once... twice.
Aeryn's signal.
Her breath caught painfully in her throat.
This was real.
There would be no turning back.
She slipped down the side of a building, gripping the gnarled ivy vines clinging stubbornly to the stone.
The mist thickened, clinging to her skin, swallowing her footsteps.
At the base, crouched between two columns, Aeryn was waiting.
"This way," he whispered, barely more than breath.
He led her through a narrow servant's passage — a corridor so tight they had to stoop, the walls cold and damp against their shoulders.
The air reeked of earth and ancient dust.
Above, the faint thrum of the Dome pressed down, like a heartbeat muffled by stone.
They descended a spiral stairwell, steps slick with moss and curling roots.
The temperature dropped with every step.
Ellowyn hugged her cloak tighter, the ruined scarf hidden close to her heart.
At the bottom, the passage ended at a heavy ironwood door, worn smooth by time.
Carved across it were flowing glyphs — the ancient language of the Eldians, now barely taught except in the oldest lessons.
The markings shimmered under the Ether light, pulsing faintly, as if alive.
Aeryn pressed his palm flat against the wood, his fingers trembling.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the glyphs flared cold, silvery-blue — and the door shuddered open with a low, reluctant groan.
He turned to her, his face grim.
"You'll have minutes at most," he said, voice tight.
"Three knocks if there's danger. You run, Ellie. No questions. Promise me."
Ellowyn nodded, her heart hammering so hard she thought it might break her ribs.
She looked once at her brother — really looked — seeing the fear he tried so hard to hide.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Before he could answer, she slipped through the opening into the waiting dark.
The door closed behind her with a soft, final thud — sealing her inside the forbidden place where the truth had been buried.
—
The air inside hit her like a wall — cold, dense, humming with a strange pressure, as if the stones themselves held their breath.
A faint metallic scent clung to the dampness, laced with the musty bite of ancient parchment and old Ether long forgotten.
It was so heavy she almost staggered, her chest tightening as she inhaled the age of the place.
Darkness smothered the archive.
Ellowyn pressed her palms together, fingers trembling, and whispered a chant — words she barely remembered from childhood.
The Ether between her hands stirred, glinting like stardust, weaving into a fragile orb of light.
It floated above her skin, casting a pale blue glow that awakened dust motes in slow, spiraling dances.
Rows of shelves loomed ahead, vanishing into the gloom.
Scrolls filled every crevice — some wrapped in cracked leather, others bound in gold-threaded silk, some so brittle they shivered at her breath.
The air was thick with forgotten oaths.
Her footsteps barely whispered as she moved between the towering shelves, brushing titles etched in the old Eldian tongue.
Most were indecipherable.
She caught glimpses — Treatise on Kosmic Flows, Chronicles of Ether Weaving, The Constellations of Sylvanmyr — but none held what she sought.
Some scrolls crackled faintly at her passing, but she pressed deeper into the labyrinth of dust and silence.
Nothing.
Nothing about Skyland.
Nothing about the lands beyond the Dome.
Only endless treatises on Ether, council edicts, histories scrubbed clean.
Despair gnawed at her.
Her Ether light wavered.
And then —
Out of the corner of her eye, a faint pulse of gold in the darkness.
She turned, breath catching.
A single scroll rested atop a lone pedestal, half-swallowed by the gloom.
Unlike the others, it was pristine — bound between plates of hammered gold, etched with twin sigils of sun and moon, their lines shimmering like woven starlight.
It pulsed softly.
A slow, rhythmic thrum — not heard, but felt deep in her bones, like the ghost of a whale's song trembling through stone.
It called to her — not with words, but with a thread of longing, a whisper of forgotten promises.
Ellowyn drifted forward, barely aware of her own steps.
The air thickened, specks of Ether gathering around her in a soft halo.
When her fingertips brushed the golden casing, the pulsing deepened — a low, resonant chime filling the vault like a held breath released.
Her Ether light flared wildly —
—and the scroll rose from its pedestal, floating with a gentle grace, as if recognizing her.
Hands trembling, she guided it to a central lectern worn smooth by countless years, carved with faded spirals of old energy.
The scroll settled with a sound like a sigh through ancient leaves.
Heart pounding, Ellowyn leaned in and unfastened the clasps.
The golden plates slid apart with a reluctant groan.
The scroll unfurled beneath her hands—
Revealing nothing.
Only blank, velvety parchment, glowing faintly under the flickering Ether light.
Emptiness.
The scroll's soft thrum faded, leaving only the hollow echo of her own breathing.
Almost without thinking, her hand found the tattered scarf tied close to her chest — Rikuin's scarf, worn and bloodstained, but still full of life in her memory.
She closed her eyes.
"I wish..."
Her voice cracked on the still air.
"I wish I could have seen your village. Just once."
The words barely left her lips when the scroll answered.
A pulse of golden light burst from the parchment, so sudden and fierce she staggered back, eyes wide.
The blank surface rippled like disturbed water, and then — like rivers flooding across dry land — lines of glowing blue ink blossomed into view.
Ancient Eldian script wove itself across the scroll, curling upward into the air — symbols drifting free like tiny constellations, spinning slowly around her.
The room filled with a warm hum, low and resonant — a sound like a distant whale's cry, vibrating in her bones.
The scent of wild rain and deep forests wrapped around her, as if the scroll was breathing life into the room itself.
Then the images came:
— A hidden village, deep beneath the forest floor, nestled in a secret fold between the roots of ancient Ether Trees.
— Soft tunnels carved by time and care, their walls glowing with veins of living light.
— Small, cozy dwellings tucked into the roots, their doorways framed by moss and crystal blossoms that pulsed faintly with Ether.
— Kinitu children darting between luminous pools, laughing with ethereal animals — deer with vine-like antlers, foxes with feathered tails.
— Elders weaving protective wards into the roots, whispering ancient songs into the soil to strengthen the Blue Forest above.
Lines of script shimmered between the visions, each word a breath against her skin:
"Guardians of the Deep Roots.
Weavers of Preservation.
They who cradle the wounded heart of Skyland."
Ellowyn pressed a hand over her chest, breath catching.
All this time, we thought we were protecting what was precious...
But it was them.
Not wanderers — caretakers. Healers.
Nurturing the land, the Ether, the Blue Forest — while we hid behind walls, drawing life from what they kept alive.
Why were we never told?
We should have protected them, she thought bitterly, a sob rising up her throat.
Instead... we closed our doors.
–
Then — her heart hammering — Ellowyn fumbled inside her cloak and pulled free the single blue feather Rikuin had once given her.
The feather shimmered faintly in her trembling hand, still holding the faintest trace of Ether.
"If this works..." she whispered, voice trembling, "Show me where this came from."
She held the feather toward the scroll.
A soft pulse answered her.
The scroll brightened, new script unfurling like ribbons of blue flame..
The scent changed — sharper now, colder — mountain rain and wind off stone.
New visions rose:
— Misty hills rolling endlessly beneath a storm-lit sky.
— Great, lumbering shapes — creatures feathered and vast, moving with silent grace through silver grasses.
— Their plumes shimmered like starlight, and their solemn golden eyes seemed to gaze into eternity.
The words wove into the mist:
"Aelariths.[1]
Ether-Bears found on the high mountains of Glimmerthund.
Who keep the balance from other endemic life to overgrow"
Ellowyn gasped, clutching the scarf and feather to her chest.
She understood now.
These creatures did not belong to Sylvanmyr.
They had traveled from their distant home, but why? — a sign, a warning.
Just as Rikuin had feared.
Something was moving in Skyland.
Ellowyn stood there trembling, the last visions of the Aelariths fading into the mist around her.
The scroll's golden pulse dimmed slightly, as if waiting, patient but expectant.
She clutched the feather and scarf tighter, her mind spinning.
Slowly, she whispered into the charged silence:
"What dangers threaten Skyland?"
But Nothing.
The scroll remained still — no pulse, no answer.
Her heart sank.
Maybe... maybe it wasn't about asking the right fear.
Maybe it was about asking the right truth.
She closed her eyes, pressing her forehead lightly against the edge of the lectern, desperate, aching.
What am I not seeing?
The scent of deep forests still clung to the air.
The low hum of the scroll trembled faintly, like a heartbeat slowing, waiting for the right touch.
Then — the memory of her lessons came unbidden:
The Eldians, guardians of balance, protectors of peace...
Her breath caught.
Very slowly, she lifted her head, voice shaking.
"What is the duty of the Eldians?"
The words barely left her lips when the scroll ignited with blinding brilliance.
The Ether orb she had conjured earlier extinguished at once — swallowed whole by a deeper, vaster light.
Symbols exploded from the scroll — not drifting now, but swirling into a roaring storm, golden and blue and silver letters weaving around her in dizzying spirals.
The air thickened, heavy with the scent of ancient rains, charred earth, and the sharpness of Ether raw from the veins of the world.
Her hair lifted in the current as the ether wrapped her in a cocoon of shimmering light.
And then—
The visions struck.
–
First came the Tree.
The Ether Tree, towering beyond mountains, its roots burrowed deep into the bones of Skyland, its branches a cathedral of living light.
Each root pulsed with life — sending rivers of Ether through the land, nourishing forests, seas, and skies.
Ellowyn gasped, tears springing to her eyes.
Beneath its massive boughs, figures appeared — radiant and proud — Eldians in flowing robes of silver and deep green, kneeling with hands pressed to the roots.
Above them, luminous and vast, floated a being of silver and stormlight — Shiruba U Windo, the First Guardian, blessing them with purpose.
Words burned into the air before her:
"Protect. Nurture. Preserve.
The Ether Tree is the heart.
The heart sustains the world.
The world sustains us all."
–
But then—
The light darkened.
A jagged tear ripped across the visions — and from the sundered skies poured blackness, a howling shape coalescing into Drako.
A beast of seething shadows, crowned in broken light, his roar a corruption of Ether itself.
Ellowyn staggered back as waves of darkness flooded the world below.
She saw it all unfold in a blur of horror:
— Shiruba swallowed by shadow, vanishing into a spiral of black and crimson.
— The Ether Tree's glow dimming, its roots shriveling as corruption gnawed at its core.
— Cities crumbling. Fields rotting into ash.
Then — the survivors:
— The Adanels building stone cities in Firya, raising walls high against the growing night.
— The Turocs retreating to the volcanic strongholds of Mogger, forging weapons not for conquest, but for survival.
— Glimmerthund falling to ruin, claimed by the dragonkin and the beasts of broken Ether.
And the Eldians...
Her people...
Ellowyn choked on a sob as she saw them — not fighting.
Not protecting.
Fleeing.
Building vast towers of crystal and gold.
Shaping the Kosmic Dome — an enormous shimmering barrier, encasing themselves away from the world they had been meant to serve.
Lines of ancient script carved themselves into the storm of visions:
"Abandonment.
Fear.
Pride.
Shelter bought at the price of silence."
–
Ellowyn sank to her knees, unable to breathe.
We left the Tree alone.
We left the world to rot.
The scroll showed more — no longer history, but prophecy:
— Skyland withering under the slow, inevitable march of shadow.
— The Ether Tree dying, its final glow fading.
— The Dome shattering like broken glass as Ether drained away, leaving nothing to shield the proud, empty towers.
And the final warning, scrawled in letters so large they filled the air, burning like fire:
"When the heart falls, the silent heavens fall with it.
None shall escape.
None shall endure."
–
The swirling letters began to slow, fading back toward the scroll's surface.
The light dimmed.
The scent of rain and burned wood lingered.
Ellowyn knelt there, trembling, her heart torn open.
We were meant to heal Skyland, she thought brokenly.
We chose to hide.
Silent tears streaked her face, dripping onto the stone floor.
Her whole life — every lesson, every tradition — had been built on a lie of fear and pride.
If they did nothing, it wasn't just Sylvanmyr that would fall.
It would be everything.
Skyland itself.
–
A soft sound stirred her from her daze.
Footsteps — hurried, light.
Aeryn burst through the door, face pale with terror.
"Ellie!" he whispered harshly. "They're moving. Someone's awake — you have to go, now!"
He faltered as he saw her kneeling there, surrounded by the fading glow, her face slack with horror.
He rushed to her side, grabbing her shoulders.
"What did you see?" he breathed.
Ellowyn clutched the scarf, the feather, her whole body trembling.
She looked up at him, and the words spilled out, raw and ragged:
"Terrible things are coming.
And if we don't act...
Not just us — all of Skyland will be lost."
Aeryn's face tightened with fear — but also something else: a crack, the first crack, in his perfect loyalty.
He pulled her to her feet, squeezing her hand once.
"We'll talk later," he muttered. "Now, run."
Together, they slipped into the misty corridors, leaving behind the silent library — and the truth that could no longer be forgotten.
–
The mist still clung to the streets of Yal Elunore when Ellowyn and Aeryn slipped back through the garden gate.
The city slept, but in Ellowyn's chest, her heart thundered loud enough to shake the stones beneath her feet.
Inside, the house was eerily still. Only the faint hiss of the Ether lanterns filled the air.
Ellowyn collapsed onto the edge of the sitting room, her whole body trembling, the stolen truths whirling inside her like a storm.
Aeryn hovered, unsure, wringing his hands. He bent beside her, trying to anchor her shaking shoulders.
"Ellie, breathe," he whispered. "What did you see? What happened?"
She opened her mouth — but before the words could form, a sharp voice cut through the stillness.
"What is this ruckus?"
Caelarion stood in the archway, robes hastily thrown over his nightclothes, silver hair tousled, irritation etched into every line of his face.
"It is not even morning. Have you two lost all sense?"
Aeryn stiffened, trying to step between them. "Father, it's nothing. We—"
But Ellowyn surged forward, cutting across him, her voice trembling with rage.
"Do you know of the dangers Skyland faces right now?" she said, her words slicing through the room.
Caelarion froze.
"Do you know what is happening beyond the Dome?" she pressed, her eyes burning. "Or are we just pretending everything is fine?"
The silence between them grew taut as wire.
Caelarion's jaw clenched. "I have no duty to share diplomatic matters or outside affairs with children," he said coldly. "Skyland is stable. Sylvanmyr stands firm. That is all you need to know."
His gaze hardened into steel. "You would do well to stop before your questions bring shame upon this house."
Ellowyn trembled — but she did not back down.
Her gaze locked with her father's — burning, fierce, searching for the man she once trusted.
"So what would you do?" she said bitterly, her voice cracking like dry wood.
"Send me to re-education? Like Talanar?"
At that, something sharp snapped in the air between them — invisible but violent, like a taut thread finally breaking.
Caelarion's nostrils flared.
His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles whitening under the strain.
But it was his eyes — his proud, unyielding eyes — that betrayed him most.
For a flicker of a heartbeat, Ellowyn saw it: a flash of something behind them.
Not anger.
Not authority.
Fear.
Real, bone-deep fear.
He masked it quickly, his jaw locking hard, his entire body bristling like a shield raised against a blow.
But Ellowyn had seen it — and it struck her harder than any shouted threat ever could.
Her breath came faster.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
He's scared.
Not of her.
Not even of the Dome falling apart.
But of the truths she had touched — the ones too dangerous even for him to name.
"This conversation is over," Caelarion snapped, his voice cracking like a whip in the heavy air.
"Go to your chambers. We will speak again at a better hour."
He turned sharply, his robes swirling with practiced, imperious grace —
— a gesture meant to end the argument as all others before it.
But Ellowyn's voice cut through the room like a blade drawn across stone:
"How about Drako?"
The word was soft — almost a whisper.
Yet it struck like thunder.
Caelarion froze mid-step.
The atmosphere shifted instantly, as if the very walls had inhaled in horror and refused to breathe again.
The Ether lanterns flickered, casting long, trembling shadows across the floor.
Slowly — painfully slowly — he turned back toward her.
Ellowyn had never seen his face like this before.
His skin had gone bloodless, almost translucent.
His proud mouth had fallen open slightly, slack with shock.
And his eyes —
—his sharp, commanding eyes—
were wide, stark with terror.
Raw, unmasked, human fear.
It was as if she had spoken a curse, or unearthed some ancient ghost that no living Eldian dared disturb.
"How…" Caelarion rasped, his voice hoarse and broken, "how do you know that name?"
Aeryn stood frozen beside them, caught between them like a man standing on the edge of a crumbling cliff.
For a long moment, no one moved.
No one even breathed.
Ellowyn's heart pounded so hard she thought it might tear itself free.
But she held her ground — the fear she saw in her father's face giving her strength she didn't know she had.
Aeryn looked between them, confused and uneasy. "Drako? What's that?"
Caelarion rounded on both of them, his face a twisted mask of panic and dread.
"Silence!" he hissed, the word slashing the air between them. "Do not even speak that name again. There may be eyes — ears — you know not who listens in this city."
He advanced a step toward Ellowyn, his robe whispering against the floor, his hands trembling —
—the same hands that had once carried her on tired shoulders, now curling into desperate fists.
"What have you done?"
His voice cracked, low and hoarse, like something old and broken.
Ellowyn stood her ground, though her heart pounded against her ribs.
Her voice was barely a whisper.
"I went to the archive," she said. "To find answers.
There was a scroll… a glowing one…"
Caelarion staggered back as if struck.
His fingers groped blindly for the edge of the table, gripping it until his knuckles blanched.
"The Encloric Scroll," he breathed, each word falling heavier than the last.
"No. No, Ellowyn... you touched it. You opened it."
His knees buckled slightly, and for a moment, he looked very old, very small — a crumbling monument to fear.
"You have doomed us all," he whispered, the words hollow and shaking.
"If the Council finds out… not just you… all of us. Cast out. Exiled. Worse."
Aeryn stared at them both, wide-eyed and stricken, the color draining from his face.
Ellowyn's voice cracked with raw pain. "Father… how could you live like this?" she cried, stepping forward.
"How could you accept it?
We abandoned everything.
We let Skyland suffer."
Caelarion's eyes — once so sharp, so commanding — were now wide and empty, like windows into a house that had long been abandoned.
"You have no idea," he rasped, voice fraying like a torn cloth.
"You do not understand the horrors beyond the Dome.
Here, we are safe.
Here, we endure."
"Here," Ellowyn swiftly added, stepping forward, voice low and fierce,
"we rot in our pride."
The words cracked through the room like a stone hurled through glass.
Caelarion flinched as if the blow had landed.
His face twisted — hurt, anger, fear — colliding in a storm he could no longer control.
"You know nothing of survival," he growled, but the weight behind his words had faltered.
Ellowyn swallowed hard, her voice thick but steady.
"I know that if we stay silent," she said, "Skyland will die.
And your precious Dome — your 'Silent Heaven' — will crumble with it."
At her words, the fragile silence seemed to buckle under its own weight.
The very Ether lanterns flickered uneasily in their cradles.
Caelarion reeled back, almost staggering.
His mouth opened as if to protest — but no words came.
"What are you saying?" he rasped, voice barely human.
Ellowyn gripped the scarf at her heart, the memory of Rikuin burning against her skin like a second heartbeat.
"I saw it," she said. "The Ether Tree dying. The shadows consuming all. Skyland falling into ruin. The ether fading from the land and the kosmic Dome shattering, leaving us all to perish."
Caelarion's face — already pale — turned ashen.
"No... no," he stammered, shaking his head violently.
"The Encloric Scroll only holds records. Memories.
How did you—"
He broke off, choking on the words.
"None from the council has ever been able to have a glimpse of the future.
But you… how?"
Ellowyn's tear-rimmed eyes locked onto his.
Ellowyn's tear-rimmed eyes locked onto his.
"You see, Father.
This isn't just about pride anymore.
It's about life.
It's about hope."
She stepped closer, a trembling force of conviction.
"You can stand before the Council and speak the truth."
Caelarion's still in shock remained silent.
Ellowyn, staring at his eyes in a wait of final hope for an answer.
"..or I will" adding as her father never gave an answer
Her vow fell into the room like a sword plunged into the stone.
For a long, terrible heartbeat, Caelarion said nothing.
Only the brittle hum of the Ether lanterns stirred the silence.
Ellowyn saw it — the war in his face —
—the crumbling walls of fear, the ancient pride straining against the thin, newborn flicker of guilt.
She bowed her head once, slow and solemn, and turned away.
"I will not stand by," she whispered, her voice carrying a fierce, terrible grace.
"Not anymore."
Without a backward glance, she swept from the room, the ruined scarf clutched close against her heart.
Behind her, Caelarion slumped into a chair, staring blankly at the floor —
—a man broken not by the future, but by the past he had helped forge.
Aeryn hovered in the doorway for a moment, his hands curling and uncurling at his sides.
Then, silently, he crossed the room and sank down beside his father, both of them lost in a silence that no walls — no Dome — could shield them from anymore.
—
In her chamber, Ellowyn stood before the mirror, the silence wrapping her like a second skin.
Her reflection stared back — thinner, harder, older.
She traced the faint lines of her face with trembling fingers, memorizing the person she had become.
Tomorrow, the Council would gather —
to finalize the decree against the Kinitu, to drive another cold spike into Skyland's fading light.
To turn silence into law.
And if her father would not stand —
she would.
Even if it cost her everything.
Slowly, she reached for the scarf tied close around her shoulders — Rikuin's scarf, worn but warm, heavy with broken promises.
She pulled it tighter, feeling its tattered edge brush her skin like a quiet vow.
Her voice touched the glass like a breath.
"I won't be afraid."
Outside, the vast silver lattice of the Dome pulsed faintly —
a borrowed heartbeat against a crumbling world.
And within her chest, her own heartbeat answered.
Steady.
Defiant.
Alive.
—
The pale light of dawn seeped through the misty windows of Yal Elunore, casting a trembling glow across the polished floors.
Caelarion stood by the open door, fastening the last folds of his ceremonial robes, the silver threads catching the weak light.
Outside, his carriage waited — dark, silent, the driver stiff in the morning mist.
Ellowyn rushed to him, heart hammering.
"Father..." she gasped, voice raw. "You still have time. Please — you can still speak. You can still do what's right."
For a moment, he froze, hand lingering on the doorframe.
Slowly, he turned — and met her gaze.
It wasn't cold — not at first.
For a breath, she glimpsed the man she remembered — the father who lifted her onto his shoulders, who whispered tales of Skyland's old glories.
She held her breath, hope flaring painfully.
But when he spoke, the ember died.
"I always do what is right," he said, voice flat as stone, "for our family."
Without another word, he stepped into the waiting carriage.
The door shut with a heavy, final thud.
Ellowyn stood frozen in the doorway, mist curling around her bare feet.
She watched the carriage vanish into the fog, the clatter of hooves fading like a heartbeat slipping away.
Her stomach twisted.
He's not going to speak, she thought.
Or worse... he might betray me.
The cold seeped into her bones.
She swayed, breathless.
Then she turned sharply, wiped her sleeve across her wet eyes, and bolted back into the house — up the stairs, two at a time, as if outrunning the shattering of her last fragile hope.
—
In Aeryn's chamber, she found him pulling on a cloak, his face tight with worry.
"We have to go," Ellowyn said, breathless, her voice sharp with urgency. "To the Council."
He turned to her, frowning.
"Ellie... you can't just walk into the Council Hall. You know that. It takes months to even request an audience— and half the time you're ignored."
"I'm not asking," she said, her hands trembling slightly at her sides.
"I'm going to speak. Whether they want to hear me or not."
Aeryn stared at her, his mouth falling open.
Aeryn stared at her, disbelief widening his eyes.
"You'll be arrested before you even cross the threshold," he said, his voice low, almost pleading.
Ellowyn only stared back, fierce and steady, the fire in her chest refusing to waver.
Aeryn groaned softly, dragging a hand down his face.
"I know that look," he muttered, a grimace twisting his mouth. "What crazy plan is crawling through your head this time, little fox?"
He paced once, twice, then froze — realization dawning in his eyes.
"Don't tell me..." he said slowly, almost choking on the words,
"Don't tell me you want me to sneak you past the guards and into the Council Hall?"
Ellowyn's lips twitched — not quite a smile, but close.
"You said it ,Not me" she whispered, her voice light but full of steel.
Aeryn groaned again, rubbing his temples like the weight of the whole Dome had landed on his shoulders.
"Stars above," he muttered.
"You're going to get us both thrown into the deepest pit they have."
Ellowyn just reached out, touched his sleeve gently.
"Only if we fail," she said — and there was something so certain, so bright in her eyes that, for a moment, even he believed they might not.
—
The Council Hall of Yal Elunore rose like a glimmering mountain above the misted city — a vast dome of crystal and Mythriel, its surface shimmering with pearly light that rippled like a living thing. It seemed less built than breathed into existence, each curve flowing like frozen waves of silver.
Inside, the great chamber spun in solemn grace.
Ten floating stands, each bearing a Council seat, orbited the heart of the dome — a massive Ether Crystal chandelier suspended above them, casting beams of silver-blue light that fractured across the vaulted walls.
Below, the High Guards stood watch — silent, immovable.
They wore armor of deep red and blue, the plates carved with delicate feathers in polished Mythriel, giving them a strange, solemn beauty — like warriors shaped from sky and storm.
Their double-bladed staffs, crafted of the same metal, gleamed with a soft, cold fire: one edge shimmered sharp and deadly; the other curved outward like a wing, feathered and intricate.
Their presence filled the Hall with a humming tension — not loud, but inescapable — as if the entire dome breathed in time with them, waiting.
—
The Council session was already underway.
The hall pulsed with the hum of Ether, a sea of murmuring voices echoing beneath the great dome.
One of the elder councilors, a stout, heavy-voiced man with rings glittering on his fingers, spoke with clear disdain.
"Is there any opposition to finalizing the decree against the Kinitu?" he rumbled.
Another elder scoffed, his voice dripping with cruel amusement.
"About time those vermin were driven out. I can smell them in the streets even when they're hiding."
Laughter rumbled from a few floating seats, low and ugly.
Others remained silent, their faces carved from stone — complicit in their quiet.
Above, the great Ether Crystal pulsed softly, its fractured beams scattering over the council stands like a hundred watchful eyes.
The presiding elder, ancient and still, raised a hand for order. His long silver hair stirred faintly in the shimmering air.
He turned to Caelarion, voice smooth but carrying iron:
"Caelarion. Do you have anything to add?"
A sneer from another councilor:
"What could he add? He brought the matter to us."
Caelarion sat rigid, jaw clenched so tightly a vein throbbed at his temple.
The memory of Ellowyn's fierce, tearful gaze burned against his mind.
For a moment, he teetered — words forming on his tongue, heart hammering —
— when the great doors exploded inward with a deafening crack.
Shockwaves rippled through the chamber, rattling the floating stands.
The High Guards moved instantly, staffs crossing in a gleaming wall, their Ether wings flaring wide.
"Insolence!" roared a councilor. "Who dares disturb this gathering?"
The guards parted slightly — and into the hall stepped a single figure.
Ellowyn.
Her cloak torn, dust clinging to her boots, her hair a wild halo around her pale face.
She stood alone, trembling — but unbroken.
Caelarion lurched halfway to his feet, his face a mask of horror and awe.
"Wait!" he cried out. "That is my daughter!"
Murmurs tore through the council chamber like a crack of thunder on still water.
Some rose to their feet; others leaned forward, whispering behind their hands.
One elder, his face twisted with disgust, spat:
"Has your seed rotted so quickly, Caelarion?"
The High Guards tightened their ranks, weapons poised to strike.
But before a single blade could fall, the Grand Elder raised his hand.
A silence, heavy and absolute, crushed the hall.
Slowly, the Grand Elder's stand floated down toward Ellowyn.
He studied her, deeply, as though peeling back the layers of her soul.
"Child," he said, voice low but carrying, "You would not come here without cause. Speak."
Ellowyn's throat tightened. Fear clawed at her — but she could almost feel it, a hand steadying her unseen.
She lifted her chin, her heart hammering.
"I apologize for the intrusion," she said, voice shaky but growing.
"But I cannot live in silence anymore. If I stay shut one moment longer, I'd rather perish. There are things you must hear—"
"I have committed treason!"
Caelarion's voice split the air like a blade.
The floating stands jolted. The crystal chandeliers above seemed to shudder.
Every eye turned, stunned.
The Grand Elder narrowed his gaze.
"What are you saying, Caelarion?"
Caelarion bowed low, shame dragging his shoulders down.
"I have betrayed our laws," he said, voice rough as gravel.
"I dared to speak to my daughter of forbidden histories.
I wished to show her the truths we have buried, but she stopped me before I could share her anything…"
A stunned silence held the chamber in its vice grip — and then came the explosion.
"Traitor!"
"Seize him!"
In a blur of light, the High Guards snapped forward, Ether wings slicing the air.
Their twin Mythriel blades crossed at Caelarion's throat in a breath, forcing him to his knees.
The Grand Elder watched, his sorrow deepening.
He turned to Ellowyn.
"Is this true, child?" he asked, voice like a soft blade.
Before Ellowyn could even find words, Caelarion forced out:
"Yes, Great Elder. I was about to show her the Encloric Scrol. It is my fault alone."
Another surge of shouting.
The Grand Elder closed his eyes briefly, grief carved into his features.
"Take him."
The guards moved.
Ellowyn stood frozen, horror locking her limbs as her father was bound and led away.
As Caelarion passed, he turned.
Their eyes met.
And despite everything — despite fear, shame, ruin — he smiled.
A small, proud, broken smile.
And with the barest motion of his lips, he mouthed:
"Follow your heart, my child."
Tears blurred Ellowyn's vision into rivers of light.
The Grand Elder floated his chair closer, laying a heavy hand on her shoulder.
"Thank you for remaining loyal to your people," he said low, meant only for her.
"But remember — true justice is not always found within these walls."
He withdrew his hand, sadness lingering in his gaze.
"Go now, Ellowyn. Return home. Your mother will need you."
He turned.
Ellowyn's voice cracked free, desperate:
"Grand Elder Valomar—!"
He paused, Ether crystals scattering broken light over his weathered profile.
Without turning, he spoke — a whisper carried on the mist:
"Seek what must be sought, child... even if it takes you farther than you dare imagine."
Then he was gone —
Leaving only the spinning Ether lights, the fading echoes of anger and sorrow —
And Ellowyn standing alone beneath a Dome that no longer felt like a shield,
but a cage.
—
The house felt hollow when Ellowyn and Aeryn returned, as if grief clung to the very air.
Inside, their mother was collapsed on the floor, hands buried in her face, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
The two younger children clung to her skirts, their faces pale and tear-streaked.
Ellowyn froze in the doorway, the sight hitting her like a blow.
The walls, the hearth — even the air — seemed to shudder with sorrow too deep for words.
She staggered forward, memories rushing back:
— Her father fastening his cloak at dawn, trembling.
— The look he gave her, not cold, but unbearably heavy.
A goodbye he couldn't speak. A plea she hadn't understood.
"I always do what is right for our family."
Ellowyn's throat tightened painfully.
It hadn't been pride.
It hadn't even been fear.
It had been love — broken, quiet, desperate.
The only way he knew how to give it.
Tears filled her eyes as she knelt beside her mother, gathering the little ones into her arms.
Her father had made his choice — not for pride, but for them.
For her.
And now it was her turn to choose.
This time, she would not falter.
—
That night, Ellowyn packed by the cold, flickering light of a single Ether lamp.
The room felt too quiet, too small — as if the walls themselves were holding their breath.
Scrolls. Potions. Sigils.
Dried fruits, tough bread, small flasks of water tucked carefully into her pouch.
Rikuin's scarf — tied snug around her belt, the fabric still carrying a faint, wild scent of the Blue Forest.
Her staff — worn but steady — slung across her back like a lifeline to what little she still understood of the world.
As she fastened the last strap on her etherial pouch, the floor creaked softly behind her.
Aeryn stood in the doorway, arms crossed — but his face betrayed him. His jaw was tight. His eyes, shadowed.
"So," he said, trying for his usual dry humor, but his voice wavered.
"This is your next great rebellion?"
Ellowyn smiled faintly, a tremor at the corner of her lips.
"I need answers," she said. "I need something... something that will open their eyes."
"And where exactly do you plan to find that?" he asked, the fight draining out of his voice.
She crossed the room in two steps, rising on her toes to touch his cheek softly.
Her hand was cold.
His skin was warmer than she remembered.
Aeryn stiffened, realization hitting him like a punch.
"So you were going to leave without saying goodbye," he said hoarsely, a crack splintering through the words.
Ellowyn's throat tightened.
She tried to smile — a small, broken thing.
"Goodbyes are for long farewells," she whispered. "And Skyland doesn't have that much time."
She turned to go — but Aeryn caught her wrist.
His fingers pressed something small and warm into her palm.
She looked down — a pendant, glinting softly in the lamplight.
Gold, smooth and ancient, shaped like a folded triangle, the edges gleaming with faint, ethereal lines.
"Last night. Father gave it to me," Aeryn said, rough and low.
"Told me... to give it to you when the time came."
Ellowyn's fingers curled around it instinctively, feeling the weight of it sink into her bones.
Tears blurred her vision, but she blinked them back fiercely.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice breaking.
Aeryn tried for a smirk — but it faltered into something gentler.
He reached out and ruffled her hair clumsily, just like when they were little and playing in the gardens of Yal Elunore, before the world had grown sharp.
"Take care, lazy Nimble-tail," he muttered, his throat thick.
"Don't fall asleep out there. Or I'll come drag you back by the ear."
Ellowyn laughed softly, the sound a bright crack in the heavy dark.
She hugged him — fiercely, desperately — breathing in the familiar scent of home, of warmth, of the boy who had always watched over her even when she didn't realize.
For a long moment, neither moved.
Then, with a last whisper, Ellowyn slipped through the window into the misty night —
— and the world she could no longer turn away from.
—
The streets of Yal Elunore lay silent under the watchful shimmer of the Dome.
Ellowyn moved like a ghost between the sleeping houses, slipping through alleys and forgotten paths where no lanterns burned.
No one saw her.
No one stopped her.
The city she had once called home seemed distant now — a memory already fading behind her footsteps.
At the far edge of the district, where the smooth stones gave way to tangled vines and wild earth, the great eastern gate rose before her — the boundary between the city and the vast unknown.
Beyond it, the Blue Forest whispered beneath the stars, waiting.
She hesitated only once, pressing her hand briefly to the cold iron of the gate.
And then she slipped through.
The mist curled around her ankles as she crossed the threshold into the wilds, and with it came a flood of memories:
— Gathering Ether from the flowers.
— Rikuin's laughter dancing through the trees.
— Promises shared under a silvered sky.
She pressed forward, clutching her staff tightly, the Dome still shimmering faintly above.
"Ellowyn?" a voice called behind her.
She spun around — tense — ready to run.
She turned — and there stood Maeron, the teasing young Eldian guard.
Maeron stood there, his silver-stitched guard cloak thrown hastily over his armor, his usual smirk softened by something quieter.
He took one look at her: the worn packs strapped to her shoulders, the determined glint in her eyes.
And he understood.
"So," he said, a small, crooked smile tugging at his mouth.
"Running away without even a goodbye?"
Ellowyn hesitated, guilt prickling under her skin.
"I have to," she said simply, the words thick in her throat.
"I can't stay."
Footsteps echoed in the distance — other guards making their rounds.
Ellowyn tensed, her body ready to flee — but Maeron reached out and grabbed her hand.
His fingers were rough and warm against hers.
"Come," he whispered urgently, a mischievous light dancing behind his eyes.
"You forgot one little part of your brilliant plan."
Without waiting for her answer, he tugged her into the thickets, weaving between ancient trunks and whispering vines until they reached the edge of the Dome — where the world outside shimmered, ghostly and unreachable.
He turned to her, his hand still loosely wrapped around hers.
"You can't leave," he said, voice low and a little too steady, "unless someone opens the way."
His gaze held hers for a heartbeat longer than necessary — something unspoken passing between them — before he drew his blade in one swift, practiced motion.
The tip glowed faintly with Ether as he sliced a small, perfect tear in the weave — just wide enough for her to slip through.
The Dome shivered around them, light rippling where it broke.
Maeron tightened his grip briefly, grounding her.
"Be safe, Ellowyn," he said, the faintest roughness catching in his voice.
She nodded, swallowing hard, the lump in her throat making it impossible to speak.
For a moment — just a moment — she squeezed his hand back.
A silent thank you.
A silent promise.
She hesitated at the breach, heart hammering painfully in her chest.
The Dome's boundary shimmered like a living veil before her — cold, ancient, sacred.
Fear rooted her feet to the ground.
And then — she felt it.
That same unseen force as before — warm, firm — grasped her right hand, urging her forward.
Eyes closing, breath shuddering, Ellowyn clutched the memory of Rikuin tight against her belt.
She leaned into the pull, into the fear — and stepped through.
For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Then, with a soft sigh, the Dome sealed behind her, vanishing into mist and memory, leaving only the wild scent of the Blue Forest and the rising light of dawn.
Before her stretched Skyland: vast, broken, beautiful — and free.
She stood still for a moment, feeling something bloom inside her chest — a fierce, living thing unfurling at last.
Alone now, but not afraid, Ellowyn clutched the golden pendant at her heart.
She lifted her face to the rising sun, its first true light touching her skin like a blessing.
Skyland was calling.
And this time —
— she would answer.
[1] Field Notes: Aelariths
Ethereal Lifeform – Native to the Glimmerthund (now Drakelands) Range
Aelariths are majestic Etherian mammals native to the peaks and rocky valleys of the Glimmerthund Mountains. Bearing traits of both bear and bird, they have powerful bodies covered in dense, shimmering blue feathers that blend into stone-gray terrain, granting them near-invisibility against cliffs.
Living in close-knit packs, Aelariths play a crucial ecological role by selectively hunting small mammals and vermin, preserving balance without overhunting. Their strong claws allow them to scale cliffs easily, nesting where Ether flows are strongest.
Despite their size, Aelariths are calm and avoid conflict, revered by early mountain peoples as silent guardians of longevity and balance.
— Excerpt from the Glimmerthund Ethereal Bestiary, Vol. IV