Illyria woke to warmth.
Not the thin warmth of a blanket or the mild glow of the dawn, but something rich and alive—like resting in the cradle of a hearth fire, safe from the world. Her lashes fluttered open, and the first thing she saw was the soft curve of golden scales rising and falling with slow, steady breaths.
Seraphyne had taken her original form sometime during the night. A sinuous body of shimmering gold lay coiled beside her, the dragon's great head resting near the pillow. In this form, her scent was stronger—ambered and sweet, with an undertone of sun-warmed stone and something sharper, like the taste of lightning before a storm.
Illyria shifted slightly, and a low, rumbling purr rose from Seraphyne's chest. Before she could react, the dragon's muzzle moved closer and, with surprising gentleness, a warm tongue grazed Illyria's cheek.
A startled laugh escaped her. "Seraphyne!" she whispered, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand. "You can't just—"
"I can," the dragon murmured, her voice deep and slow in this form, each word curling like smoke. "You smell like the festival. Sweet and strange. I like it."
"...That's not how you greet people in the Spirit Realm," Illyria muttered, wiping her cheek, though her lips betrayed her with the smallest of smiles.
Illyria's heart stuttered. The memory of the festival lanterns, the music, and the faint pressure of Seraphyne's gaze from the night before all came rushing back. She had gone to sleep with her thoughts knotted, and now she awoke tangled in the dragon's presence instead.
From the corner, a familiar voice spoke. "Seems polite enough to me. Besides, you're lucky. In the Beast Realm, that's practically a vow of protection."
A shadow fell over them.
"Good morning, hatchling."
Kaelira's voice was even, but her stance at the doorway carried that unyielding, ancient stillness Illyria had come to associate with her. The Shadow Guard's silver eyes swept over the bed, pausing on Seraphyne with the faintest twitch of her mouth—a look that might have been amusement if one knew where to look.
"Comfortable?" Kaelira asked, stepping inside without waiting for permission.
Seraphyne opened one golden eye. "Perfectly."
"She means too comfortable," Kaelira said dryly, looking at Illyria now. "Dragons are territorial. If you let her sleep here once, she'll claim the entire room as her lair."
"I would not—" Seraphyne began, but Kaelira's raised brow silenced her.
Illyria hid a smile. "It's fine. She… didn't bother me."
"Mm," Kaelira hummed, crossing her arms. "Still. My duty is to guard you, not to stand outside while a creature large enough to swallow you whole curls up at your side." Her tone was flat, but her eyes held the tiniest flicker of teasing, as if daring Illyria to deny she'd enjoyed the company.
Seraphyne lifted her head and exhaled a warm breath toward Kaelira. "You speak as though you don't trust me."
Kaelira's reply was soft, but it cut like a blade. "I trust you with the world, Dragon Queen. But I trust the world less when you're near her."
"Or," Kaelira added, "she's just claiming you as hers. Either way, I'm here to ensure she doesn't swallow you whole."
The words made Illyria's cheeks warm for reasons she couldn't quite name.
"Relax, little flame," Kaelira said, her tone as smooth as still water. "If she meant you harm, you'd be gone before I woke."
Illyria groaned and buried her face briefly in the pillow. "Why are you like this?"
"Because," Kaelira replied, moving to draw the curtains aside, "someone has to keep the morning interesting."
Light spilled into the room, painting Seraphyne's scales in threads of ruby and gold. The dragon's tail gave a lazy flick, but Illyria noticed her gaze had gone distant, her head angled just slightly toward the open window.
---
Later that morning, they walked together through the palace gardens, the cool scent of dew mixing with the faint heat radiating from Seraphyne in her human form again. Kaelira followed at a respectful distance—close enough to intervene, far enough to grant them the illusion of privacy.
Seraphyne's gaze roamed the white stone paths and the spiraling, crystal-grown flowers unique to the Spirit Realm. "Your home is… quieter than ours," she said at last. "In the Beast Realm, even the wind is loud. The mountains hum. The rivers roar."
"That's because here, everything listens to my mother," Illyria replied. "Nothing dares make a sound she wouldn't want to hear."
It was true. The Spirit Realm had no dissent, no rival courts, no whispered rebellions. Queen Serenia's word was law, and her presence was so absolute that even storms broke around her rather than through her.
"You're remembering something," Illyria said quietly.
But Seraphyne tilted her head, as if tasting the thought. "No rebellion? Then what keeps the court sharp?"
Illyria frowned. "Sharp? That sounds… dangerous."
"It is. And it is necessary," Seraphyne said softly. "In my realm, even my sister—" Her voice caught for just a moment, and her amber eyes softened. "Vaerina. She is acting Queen while I am gone. She used to follow me everywhere when we were hatchlings. Annoying. Loyal. Terrifying with a blade."
The faintest smile curved her lips, and Illyria found herself wanting to ask more.
Kaelira's voice cut in, smooth and deliberate. "Vaerina has kept the Beast Realm from tearing itself apart these past years. Not every ruler can keep peace without the threat of war, Princess."
Illyria's steps slowed. "Is that what you think will happen here? That peace won't last?"
Kaelira's gaze was unreadable. "I think you should learn how quickly peace can shatter when desire and power meet." She glanced meaningfully at Seraphyne, and Illyria felt an odd tightening in her chest.
---
That night, after dinner, Illyria found herself alone with her mother in the quiet amber-lit hall of the royal chambers. Queen Serenia was seated before the great window, her long hair spilling like silver water over her shoulders.
"You seem thoughtful," her mother said without looking away from the moonlit horizon.
Illyria hesitated before sitting beside her. "I… don't know how to explain it. I think I'm starting to… feel something. For Seraphyne."
Queen Serenia finally turned, her eyes deep and calm. "Feelings are nothing to fear, Illyria. They are threads. Some bind, some tangle, some cut."
"I don't even know what kind of thread this is," Illyria admitted. "But it's… warm. And confusing."
Her mother's hand, cool and light, touched hers. "Then treat it gently until you know. The heart has a way of weaving patterns the mind can't see yet."
Illyria took a breath, the words spilling before she could stop them. "And… there's something else. I've started to… see things. Not visions exactly. But when I look at people, I can feel their hearts. Like I'm reading a memory they don't speak about."
Serenia's gaze sharpened, though her smile remained soft. "That is not a gift you should speak of lightly, daughter. The ability to touch the soul is a power both feared and coveted. Use it sparingly—especially now."
Illyria nodded, though the heaviness of her thoughts remained. She wasn't sure if her mother feared for her… or for what she might see.
Outside, the wind shifted, carrying the faint scent of scales and storm. Somewhere in the palace, Seraphyne's presence stirred, and Illyria knew sleep would not come easily tonight.
***
As the moonlight spilled silver over the quiet garden, Illyria lingered beneath the ancient trees, feeling the soft pull of Seraphyne's presence just beyond the shadows.
Time in the Spirit Realm flowed differently—swift, yet endless—stretching moments into centuries and centuries into moments.
She could feel it settling deep within her—the weight of years yet to come, the slow weaving of bonds that would define her existence.
And though she was but a child now, in this endless dance of light and shadow, she would one day be more than a princess.
She would be timeless.
She never knew yet had a glimpse of what a heavy responsibility she had as a future Monarch of the Spirit Realm, aspiring to be someone as powerful as her Spirit Mother so that she can protect her territory.
The moonlight spilled silver over the quiet garden, and Illyria felt the soft pull of Seraphyne's presence near her.
Time in the Spirit Realm was fluid—swift yet endless—and already she sensed the slow weaving of bonds that would shape her forever.
She was still young, still learning, but deep inside, something timeless was beginning to stir.
And when the years stretched on—hundreds, even thousands—these moments would echo in ways she could not yet understand.