The Return
She was running.
Why was she running?
Behind her, trees toppled, bowing as though in homage to one who had yet to truly claim her throne. The ground cracked like thirsty earth abandoned for greener lands, forgotten in favor of more fertile realms. The very air trembled in her wake, reverberating with unnatural calm. It burned permanent lines of raw rainbow power into everything it touched, leaving the world marked by her passage.
Streaks of color flowed behind her like markers, reminders od where she had been and what she had done.
There was no need to flee—yet still, she ran. Not out of fear, but of necessity. Her family needed her. Her realm needed her. And she would always answer their call. She would always protect what was precious.
But why didn't she truly need to run? She could call a door whenever she wanted. She didn't have to run to the one left open for her, but she knew if she did, if she opened a door to step back into her home, it would know. The sentience of this place would finally have a fix and do whatever it did to corrupt her grandmother.
So she ran instead of using an ability, she ran and she ran true.
Silence pressed in, heavy as stone, smothering and suffocating. She wanted to shatter it. So she ran harder, faster, until the silence cracked.
And it cracked around her like a hundred trees fall together. The air reverberated and she smiled. She smiled because she was found, but it no longer mattered. She was both found and at her destination.
And at last, she saw it: a beacon in the storm of anxiety and doubt.
A rainbow shimmer, dense and wide, shaped like an elaborate door. The closer she came, the more it pulsed, opening as though it had been waiting only for her.
Her grin widened into something fierce, something wild. Her eyes gleamed, teeth bared—half-mad beneath the glow.
The door parted, revealing a vast, perfect blue sky. Her heart thundered in answer.
And the world around her shuddered as a torrent of magic and intenr flew toward her. Where she left perfect peace and order it left chaos and destruction.
A mountain toppled as the magic grew more fierce and urgent, as its desire for her became more powerful and intense.
She laughed.
She sped forward, faster than even her advanced techniques could have carried her. The ground rumbled beneath her, trees split again, yet no wind stirred, no footsteps struck the soil. She could have walked. She could have vanished with a single step of sorcery. But she chose to run. She chose this—to leave her mark here. To wake something vast from its sleep. She wanted this realm to remember her, to tremble when she returned, uncertain whether she would destroy or save.
Her foot crossed the threshold. Blue sky embraced her, and she embraced it back. This was her realm. This was the source of her vast power. This was home.
Behind her, the land quaked and then healed as best it could. Broken ground smoothed. Fallen trees rose. Herbs sprouted in green, pink, and gold where her feet had touched. Flowers bloomed over the wounds she had left, closing them gently, as though the land itself whispered: she was here, and she will come again.
For she was both their destruction and their salvation.
And it was a truth known on the wind.
On the other side of the rainbow entry, a silver-edged golden path shimmered beneath that endless crystalline sky. She crouched on it, waiting until the door sealed itself shut behind her. Only then did she rise, sighing.
"Why must I always be so dramatic?" she muttered, forcing herself not to roll her eyes, though her body still thrummed with exhilaration from the run.
A voice answered, low and steady. "Because this is who you are. To revel in it is not drama—it is necessity."
She groaned. "And why summon me this time amd with such urgency?" Stretching, she let her body soak in the realm's light, the warmth she had missed. Calm on the outside, she braced herself inside. If she was called here, it was not trivial. It would be important. Perhaps devastating.
She knew fate. And she knew what it felt like when the wrong strings were strummed.
There was a pause, then a sigh. "Anis has disappeared."
Everything in her froze. She whirled toward the voice, eyes narrowing. "Where… is… our sister?"
Another sigh. "We lost her on Sibbia Continent. Struns believes Marce has her."
Her jaw clenched, and then she clamed. She remembered who she was speaking to. She could picture him now—forehead pressed low against the path, as though reverence might excuse failure. Things had never been the same between them since she had become Milana.
"Come forth, Cramnal. Where exactly are Rebecca and Struns?"
Rainbow light rippled, and a tall man stepped from a slit of dull color. Blond hair streaked with rainbow hues, eyes like prisms alive with shifting gem tones.
Cramnal.
She turned on her heel and strode down the golden path. He fell into step behind her.
If Anis was in danger, others could be called. Two of their brothers were Azmin Guard. Rachel herself was Azmin—her family the Azalstin, blessed of Trannisa. Rainbow magic flowed in their bloodline, but hers… hers was rarer still.
Rachel, the Milana. Protector of the realm.
The title passed soul to soul, never bound to blood alone. But many Milana had been Azmin.
Her gifts—Third Eye, Sorcery, Fate, and the impossible Rainbow Magic—had marked her since birth. Everyone knew she would carry the mantle.
Everyone except Rachel herself.
She never wanted to protect. She never wanted destiny. She actually didn't know what she wanted.
But she knew this: she would find her sister. She would save her.
She may have never asked for this life, for these abilities, but she would use what she had—for the ones she loved.