In the Celestial Realm, where rivers shimmered with starlight and songs of creation echoed endlessly, a garden bloomed in eternal spring.
Here, in a glade of silver blossoms, stood a goddess draped in flowing silk spun from dawn itself.
She was called Aeris, the Maiden of Radiance.
To the heavens, she was beauty. To the mortals below—though they did not know her name—she was the whispered promise in dreams, the voice of warmth in lonely nights. Her compassion healed storms, her laughter could still the sea.
Yet even the purest light may ache in silence.
Standing among the blossoms, Aeris tilted her face to the sky—not the heaven above, but the world below.
> "They love with so much pain," she murmured. "But still, they love."
It was the same longing that once moved Caelion, though she had never spoken it aloud—until now.
She knelt, fingers brushing the petals of a luminous flower.
> "Is it wrong… to wish I could feel it too?"
Behind her, another presence stepped softly through the garden.
It was Solmira, the Matron of Birth.
Her voice was gentle. "Many mortals have prayed to you, Aeris. You've watched their lives, heard their cries. Perhaps it is your turn to walk among them."
Aeris hesitated. "But I am not brave."
"You have kindness, child," Solmira said, "and that is rarer than courage."
A pause.
Then Aeris whispered, "I want… to find someone. Not to worship me. Not to bow. But to love me—as I am."
Solmira's eyes shimmered.
She raised her hand, and a light formed—a seed of soul, radiant and small, cradled in divine warmth.
> "Then be born again. Let your grace be hidden. Let your beauty be softened. Let your divinity sleep."
Aeris reached out, trembling, and touched the light.
---
Somewhere in the mortal world…
It was a harsh night when the child was born.
The wind howled over the thatched roofs of a small village—forgotten by kings, unknown to maps.
In a crumbling cottage at the edge of the woods, a young woman lay dying, cradling a newborn in her arms.
Blood stained the hay beneath her. Her breaths were shallow, voice faint.
> "Her name…" she whispered to the midwife, "is Elira."
The baby did not cry. She only opened her eyes—clear and strange, like starlight reflected on a still lake.
The woman smiled once, and then... was gone.
---
Elira's life began in silence.
She had no father. No siblings. No last name.
The villagers only called her "the baker's daughter", though the baker had long since died.
She grew up sleeping on flour sacks and washing dishes in the back of a dusty bread shop.
The owner, a bitter old widow, barked orders but fed her just enough to live.
And yet, even in the coldest winters, Elira never stopped smiling.
She gave her bread to children with frostbitten hands. She fed stray animals under the back window.
And on quiet nights, she would sit on the roof, look up at the stars, and whisper...
> "I don't know who I am.
But somewhere… someone is waiting for me."
The villagers said she was strange. Too quiet. Too kind.
The other girls mocked her plain clothes and worn shoes.
The boys ignored her soft voice and starry eyes.
But Elira never responded with anger.
Instead, she would close her eyes and breathe deeply—as if listening to something only she could hear.
---
One morning…
While delivering a basket of bread to the village chapel, Elira paused before the old shrine behind the altar.
It was worn with time—its stone cracked, its symbols long faded.
No one prayed there anymore.
Yet Elira felt drawn to it.
She set down the basket and knelt.
> "Whoever you are… wherever you are…
I hope you're safe.
I hope you're not lonely."
No one answered.
But a soft wind passed through the chapel, and a single ray of light touched her face.
---
That night, Elira dreamed.
She stood barefoot in a sky of gold.
A vast palace loomed behind her—its walls shimmering with clouds, its towers crowned in flame and light.
Wings—white and endless—drifted overhead like feathers on the wind.
And someone waited at the gate.
She couldn't see his face. But she felt… known.
> "Are you the one?" she whispered.
He did not answer.
But she felt the warmth of his hand brushing hers, before the dream ended.
---
Days passed. Then weeks. Then years.
Elira grew, though small and slender.
She stayed in the village, working from sunrise to dusk. She sang to herself while kneading dough. She spoke to birds and danced alone in the fields at dawn.
No one loved her. But no one hated her either.
She simply existed.
Until one spring morning, when a royal messenger arrived.
> "The king is hosting a great hunt," he announced, "in the western woods. Tribute from all villages is required. Bread. Wine. Goods."
The bakery owner scowled. "Useless waste of flour. Elira, take the offering yourself. Be back by sundown."
And so, carrying a small basket lined with cloth and warm loaves, Elira set off toward the royal road—unaware that just beyond the trees, in a palace she had only seen in dreams…
A lonely prince sat at his window, watching the clouds drift by.
---
Far above them both, in a sky beyond the sky,
The stars stirred.
And the gods… began to watch.