A touch like ghosting silk drew me from my dreams. Fingers, impossibly gentle, were tracing the line of my hair away from my temple. I opened my eyes to find Cassius leaning over me, his presence a quiet warmth that held the chill of the morning at bay. His black hair caught the pre-dawn light filtering through the canvas, framing a face softened by sleep.

“The sun is rising,” he murmured, his voice a low hum that vibrated through the small space.

“So are we,” I replied, the words thick and clumsy with sleep.

He smiled, a slow, genuine curve of his lips that made the breath catch in my throat. “Did you sleep well, Thalia?”

I pushed myself up, the coarse fabric of the bedroll rustling around me. “Like a stone at the bottom of a river. You?”

“As if I were already home,” he said, the words full of a significance that went far beyond the simple tent. The smile remained, a private thing shared between us. A warmth bloomed in my chest, and I couldn’t stop my own from answering his.

“I’m glad,” I managed.

“As am I,” he whispered. He leaned in, but instead of my lips, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead. The warmth of it was a brand, a promise. When he pulled away, he was already rising to his feet, the grace in his movement a stark contrast to my own sleepy fumbling. “The others will be stirring. I should see where I’m needed.”

“Okay,” I said, watching him. “I’ll be out soon.”

“Take your time,” he said, his gaze holding mine for a final, intense moment before he ducked through the tent flap, leaving me alone with the lingering scent of pine and the echo of his presence.

A profound sense of peace settled over me, a feeling so foreign it was almost unnerving. For a lifetime, my mornings had begun with fear, with the cold knot of survival tightening in my gut. This quiet, this gentle waking, felt like a gift that wasn’t mine.

Eager to join the day, I traded my sleeping clothes for a fresh shirt and sturdy pants, tying my hair back in a practical ponytail. As I tugged on my boots, my fingers reaching for the tent flap, it was pulled open from the outside. A figure stood silhouetted against the burgeoning light.

“Good morning, Thalia,” Paitelia said, stepping inside. Her smile was a brilliant thing, crinkling the corners of her ancient, knowing eyes.

“Good morning,” I replied, stepping back to let her in. “I was just about to see who needed help. Do you want a hand with your packing?”

Her gaze swept the already-tidy space. “My own burdens are light, thank you. But Bhaera could use the assistance. She had a clumsy encounter a few days ago and hurt her arm.” Paitelia gestured vaguely to the right. “Three tents down. You cannot miss her—hair like spun gold and the kindest hazel eyes you will ever see.”

“I’ll go find her now. Thank you, Paitelia.”

Outside, the world was a masterpiece painted in soft strokes of apricot and rose. A cool breeze swept through the camp, carrying the scent of dew-kissed grass and the low murmur of elven voices. They moved with a quiet, practiced purpose, a river of calm efficiency. My eyes found Cassius instantly. He was hefting a wooden crate, sharing a laugh with an elven woman whose silver-blond hair was braided with wildflowers. When a small boy with Cassius’s eyes peeked out from behind her skirts, a piece of a puzzle I hadn’t known was missing clicked into place. Elain’s mother.

A strange, sharp pang of something—not jealousy, but a profound awareness of my own otherness—pierced the morning’s peace. It was followed just as quickly by a wave of warmth. This was community. This was family. Shaking off the feeling, I focused on my task, counting three tents down. Seeing no one outside, I approached the closed flap.

“Hello?” I called softly. “Bhaera?”

A passing elf, her arms full of folded blankets, paused. “She went down to the spring,” the woman offered, nodding toward a faint path that wound behind the tent. “To say her farewells to the water here.”

“Thank you,” I said, grateful.

“Of course,” she replied with a small, gracious nod before continuing on her way.

I followed the path as it sloped downward, the sound of gurgling water growing stronger until I emerged into a small, mossy clearing. A stream, clear as glass, tumbled over smooth grey stones. An elven woman with hair the color of spun gold was bent at the water’s edge, her fingers trailing in the current. She stood as I approached, and I saw Paitelia had been right. Kindness radiated from her hazel eyes, a gentle light that seemed to welcome me before I’d even spoken. Her right arm rested in a simple sling of green cloth.

“Bhaera?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

She smiled, a sweet and guileless expression. “Hello. You are the one who came with the King.” It wasn’t a question.

I nodded. “I’m Thalia. Paitelia said you might appreciate a hand.”

“She is a dear friend, always looking out for me,” Bhaera said, her voice like wind chimes. She drew a little closer, her gaze open and disarmingly honest. “My tent is humble and my possessions few, but with only one good arm, the help is a blessing. As you can see,” she added, glancing at her arm with a wry twist of her lips, “I am not always as graceful as my people.”

A wave of relief washed over me. There was no suspicion in her gaze, no judgment—only simple acceptance. Back at her tent, she directed me with her good arm as I rolled her bedroll.folded her few tunics, and gathered a small collection of carved wooden animals.

“Thank you, Thalia,” she said, her smile genuine. She held out a strip of soft, green cloth, identical to her sling. “Would you tie this to my bag? A piece of this land, to remember our journey.”

I took the fabric, my fingers brushing hers. The cloth was cool and soft. I secured it to her large bag with a tight, sure knot.

“Perfect,” she breathed, her eyes shining. “Now, we just bring them outside. The others will see they are transported home.” A wistful, tremulous sigh escaped her. “I still cannot believe the day has come.”

“It’s finally here,” I agreed, lifting her bag and carrying it out onto the grass.

As if on cue, a hush fell over the camp. Everyone began to gather, forming a wide, silent circle. In the center stood Cassius, flanked by the five elders I had met the night before. At some unspoken signal, the elders stepped back, raising their hands in unison. Threads of pure, silver energy flowed from their palms, weaving together in the air before surging toward Cassius. He closed his eyes, his head tilted back, and his own power erupted to meet theirs—a blinding, volcanic torrent of pure white and gold.

Where the white and gold energies converged, reality itself tore open. The air shimmered, warped, then resolved into a magnificent, swirling archway of incandescent light. The portal hummed, a low, resonant chord that vibrated in my bones.

Cassius’s voice rang out, imbued with the magic he now commanded, echoing across the clearing. “The path is open! Aelindoria awaits!”

A single, collective breath was drawn. Then, the quiet, orderly procession began. Elves, their faces etched with a mixture of solemn reverence and unbridled joy, hoisted their belongings and walked toward their future. An elf gave me a respectful nod as he passed, lifting Bhaera’s bag from the grass and carrying it into the light. One by one they stepped through the shimmering veil and vanished, until only Cassius, the elders, and I remained.

“Go with our thanks, Your Majesty,” the elders said in chorus, bowing deeply before they, too, stepped through the shimmering curtain.

An impossible silence descended, broken only by the soft, cosmic hum of the portal. We stood alone. Cassius turned to me, his face unreadable in the incandescent glow, and held out his hand. Without hesitation, I placed my hand in his, our fingers lacing together, a perfect fit.

Together, we stepped into the light.

The world did not blur; it shattered. Sensation ripped through me—a thousand shards of color, a symphony of sound, the scent of damp earth and woodsmoke replaced in a single, violent heartbeat by the fragrance of unknown blossoms and sun-warmed, ancient stone.

We were in Aelindoria.

And it was alive. This was not the ghost city I had walked with Cassius. This was a realm pulsing with magic, thrumming with life. Elves wept openly as they stepped onto the crystalline streets, some falling to their knees to press their hands to the ground, others simply standing still, their faces turned to the sky as if drinking the very air. Children, born in exile, saw their ancestral home for the first time, their shrieks of delight echoing between homes that seemed to sing in response. The air itself was a melody of hope fulfilled.

My own heart felt too large for my chest. I looked to Cassius and saw the raw, unguarded emotion on his face. His gaze swept over his people, and a slow, deeply contented smile spread across his lips. He leaned close, his voice a quiet breath meant only for me.

“We’re home.”

The city seemed to answer him. A current of energy flowed from the stones, a pleasant warmth that vibrated up from the soles of my feet, as if the city itself were singing a welcome.

But then, the song soured. The key shifted, dropping into a discordant, jarring minor. The vibration intensified, becoming a tremor that rattled my teeth. The warmth in my veins turned to ice. A single, sharp prickle of alien awareness traced a path up my spine. Cold, absolute dread seized me.

A screech tore through the joyous celebration, a sound so inhumanly sharp it felt as though it could shatter bone. I whipped around. The shimmering, invisible barrier that protected the city buckled, rippling like the surface of a poisoned well. Through that violent distortion, a shadow bled into existence—a malevolent silhouette of impossible angles, vast and jagged, looming higher than the tallest towers, eclipsing the hopeful morning sun.