In an age long forgotten, before time marched forward as we know it, the world existed in perfect harmony—just as Gaia, the Earth herself, had always intended.
When she first came into being, the world flourished beneath her quiet gaze. Peace reigned unchallenged. There were no wars, no unspeakable horrors, and no bloodstained histories. The flora thrived in unison, each leaf and root humming in balance. Life was whole. Life was hers.
But nothing perfect endures.
A millennium passed, and with it came a subtle shift—a crawling sickness born from the cracks in her paradise.
Humanity.
The moment they awakened to thought, to reason, and invention, they became a stain, Gaia could not cleanse. The more their intellect bloomed, the more they pulled away from her. She tried. Subtle illnesses, floods, storms—lessons crafted from nature's breath. Yet they adapted. Every time.
Like cockroaches.
Persistent. Resilient. Infuriating.
She hated them for it.
Still… even hatred can find room for exceptions. A few among them sparked something quiet in her—those gentle souls who nurtured the land instead of taking from it, who listened to the wind and spoke softly to the rivers. These rare hearts earned her silent affection. She watched them, bent fate just slightly in their favor. Not enough to be called favoritism, no. Just a nudge, here and there.
Yet compatibility was rare. Humans, for the most part, could not bond with Gaia's mana—her lifeblood. The ones who could? Fragile. Hunted. Branded as witches or warlocks. Their kind destroyed them out of fear, out of ignorance.
What a stupid species, she thought—over and over again, century after century.
Still, she called those rare few her children. Any creature that could house her mana was hers. The rest? Merely the product of nature's whimsy.
But—wait. Wait. Hold on.
We've wandered too far back, haven't we?
Let's return to where the tale truly begins.
Shall we?
Madam? Monsieur? Little one?
_______________
Descending the spiraling stone stairway of the ancient tower, a boy moved with quiet steps. His hair, cascading well past his waist, shimmered in a shade that no longer belonged to nature—at least, not in the way nature used to be. But then again, after what had become of Gaia, such abnormalities were hardly surprising anymore.
The tower itself was beautiful in its strangeness, a relic half-swallowed by a colossal tree whose roots and trunk coiled lovingly around the structure as though guarding it. The boy walked until he reached the base floor and came to a sudden stop.
Above, dusk had begun to stretch its fingers across the sky, bathing everything in warm gold and cooling lavender. He looked up, letting the light graze his skin—silent, still.
"Selian!"
The boy blinked. His gaze dropped with all the enthusiasm of a sigh, landing on the figure who had dared to yell his name with such gall.
His expression soured immediately.
Selian.
That was what they called him.
His eyes narrowed, displeasure obvious as he turned on his heel, intending to walk away before the conversation could properly begin.
But fate, as always, cared very little for personal preferences. It only bent to Gaia's will—and this wasn't her doing.
"Hey, Selian! I'm talking to you."
A hand caught his shoulder, firm and familiar. Selian was turned around none-too-gently to face the source.
"Julian," he said coldly. "I thought I made it clear I didn't want to talk to you."
"Come on, Sel. I know I messed up, but three months have passed. Can't we move on?"
Selian tilted his chin up, eyes like sharpened blades glaring into Julian's. The other teen visibly flinched before lowering himself to Selian's eye level, trying to disarm the tension with proximity.
"It seems three months wasn't nearly long enough," Selian murmured, voice low, dangerous. "Do you want me to clip those fins and scales of yours?"
"Hey, hey—easy!" Julian held his hands up. "You know that would hurt like hell."
"Exactly the point."
Julian shuddered as if he had already felt the pain. It wasn't an empty threat. Selian had done it before.
Julian, after all, wasn't from this plane. He was born of the Ocean—an underwater realm teeming with merfolk and other aquatic beings. Normally, his kind didn't venture beyond their briny domain, but the Ocean and Magic Planes had long shared a close bond.
Closer than any of the other three realms.
Even before Gaia splintered her world into five distinct planes, those two had always seemed to understand one another. Trade flowed effortlessly between them—ideas, goods, and even people. Unlike the Machinery Plane, with its cold gears and calculated intentions, or the Astrology Plane, full of smug stargazers convinced their celestial charts made them superior.
Which made no sense. The Magic Plane could scribe fate just as well—perhaps even better—and it was no secret that Gaia herself favored it more often.
Julian crossed his arms, trying to regain his composure. "How can you be so rude to a prince?"
Selian didn't hesitate. "You're far from princely, Your Highness."
"Ugh—stop with the Highness already."
Selian snorted, unable to hold back the dry amusement that flickered briefly across his face. The glare he'd worn seconds ago disappeared as he slapped Julian's hand off his shoulder—one that had lingered far longer than necessary.
"Fine," he muttered, though the word was drenched in reluctant surrender.
"Atta boy!" Julian grinned.
"Volume," Selian snapped.
"Ah—sorry." Julian raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin undeterred.
With a sigh that sounded too exhausted for someone his age, Selian turned and resumed his walk. He didn't explicitly tell Julian to follow—but he also didn't tell him not to, which was all the permission Julian needed. He trailed behind, two steps back, comfortable in the silence that followed.
"Heading to the library at this hour?" Julian asked after a beat.
Selian didn't break stride. "Why don't you tell me?"
Julian blinked. "What's with the sass? I was just asking."
"A stupid question," Selian replied flatly.
Julian exhaled in resignation, shaking his head with a weary smile. He had long accepted that arguments with Selian were battles best left unfought.
As they turned a corner, they stumbled upon a curious scene: two young children standing in the middle of the corridor, mid-argument. Their high-pitched voices overlapped in chaotic passion, and from what little the teens could make out, the debate seemed to revolve around whose toy magic car was superior.
Julian smiled fondly. "Ah… this takes me back~"
"Back to what? The time you nearly swallowed a rock?"
Julian froze. His smile faltered as a sheepish look took over his face. He scratched the back of his head, a small flush rising to his cheeks.
"To be fair," he said weakly, "I was hungry."
"Mmm," Selian mused, his eyes distant as though reliving the memory. "Seeing you roll on the ground, wheezing and thumping your chest said otherwise."
Julian groaned, dragging a hand down his face.
"Do you ever let anything go?"
"Only things that matter," Selian said simply.
"I really want to know why father likes you..."
"Because I'm just better"
"Egotistical dastardly."
Julian scoffed at those words as his fist clench before realizing who said it which made him calm down.