The morning light crept softly beneath Illyria's curtains, painting her chamber in pale gold. Yet within her, the sun barely stirred the restless tides of thought.
She lay awake, eyes tracing the delicate patterns carved into her ceiling—whorls that echoed the twisting pathways of her mind. Today was different. Today she would step beyond whispered dreams and fading memories. Today, she would reach for something long lost, something hidden in the fragile folds of the unseen.
The hours stretched like silk ribbons, pulling her between hope and hesitation.
How can I find him? The question echoed with a pulse that quickened her breath and chilled her skin. Not in dreams this time — not in the soft embrace of sleep where illusions might veil the truth. No. This time it must be real, tangible. A meeting forged from the fragile strands of magic she had been weaving in secret.
By midday, the castle's familiar bustle faded into distant hums behind stone walls. Illyria slipped away from the prying eyes of servants and nobles, retreating to the solitude of her chamber.
There, she unrolled the fragile scrolls she had copied in the library — delicate scripts etched in forgotten ink, whispering the secrets of space and light.
Her fingers trembled as they traced the incantations, the patterns of illusion magic that promised a narrow passage between worlds. This was no simple trick of sight — it was a bridge, woven from the faintest threads of mana and will.
She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, grounding herself in the quiet pulse of her own breath. The words rose like a prayer on her tongue, each syllable a fragile stitch in the tapestry she was creating.
"Aeterna lumen inter tenebras, viam aperi..."
A flicker of light blossomed before her—a shimmering doorway barely wider than her hand, winking like a sliver of moonlight caught in glass.
Illyria's heart hammered in her chest. It was imperfect, fragile — but it held.
If I can open this space, then I can step through.
The rest of the day passed in a dance of practice and doubt. Each attempt coaxed the fragile illusion to linger a moment longer, to glow a little steadier.
By evening, a strange excitement had begun to kindle in her chest, mixing uneasily with the tremors of fear. What if I fail? What if the space collapses? Or worse — what if he's not there?
But even as the questions gnawed at her, a deeper voice whispered in her soul, steady and certain.
You must go. You have to.
Night came soft and deep, wrapping the castle in velvet shadows. The world hushed beneath the weight of stars.
Illyria lay in bed, wide awake. The moonlight spilled like liquid silver across her skin, and with steady hands, she traced the delicate patterns of the illusion magic she had practiced all day.
The illusion magic hummed quietly in the air around her chamber, woven into the folds of the night like a secret thread.
Her breath was shallow, heart pounding with a mixture of fear and longing. Tonight, she would step beyond dreams and whispers. Tonight, she would find her father — not in shadows or memory, but in the fragile light between worlds.
Then, as the moon climbed high, a faint stirring brushed against her senses — a call, subtle and shimmering.
It was like a pulse of light in the dark, a flicker that danced at the edges of her mana.
Her breath caught.
A distant pulse stirred the edges of her awareness, a faint call woven from the same thread of magic that hummed within her own veins.
The mana sang softly, beckoning her.
The call was his — a beacon woven from the same thread of life and magic that bound them across time and space.
She rose silently, moving toward the faint glow that shimmered by the window.
The illusion she had learned and crafted now bloomed and stretched beyond her chamber walls, carving a delicate path through shadowed halls and forgotten corners of the palace.
Outside, the night air was cool and still, stars glinting cold above the sleeping world.
With a whispered incantation, the illusion flickered to life—a shimmering veil no wider than a breath, suspended in the darkness.
Gathering her courage, Illyria stepped forward, passing through the veil.
Darkness wrapped around her like a velvet shroud, but in its depths, points of light shimmered—stars scattered across an endless night.
The passage was narrower than a breath, fragile as a spider's web.
Illyria stepped forward, heart pounding with a mixture of fear and longing.
This is the moment, she thought. No turning back.
With a final breath, she slipped through the veil.
The world dissolved.
Darkness wrapped her like a cloak, thick and quiet.
But in the depths of that void, tiny points of light began to twinkle — like stars scattered across a black ocean.
Illyria moved through the space, following the glow that pulsed ahead, steady and sure.
The air smelled faintly of rain and old stone, familiar yet distant — like a memory half-forgotten.
The lights grew brighter, swirling into shapes and colors that whispered of forgotten realms and ancient magic.
Then, just beyond the veil of stars, a figure took form.
Tall and regal, cloaked in shadows and light.
His eyes were deep pools of sorrow and love, shining with the weight of years lost.
Illyria's breath caught.
"Father..." she whispered, voice trembling like a leaf.
He smiled, a faint curve touched with warmth and sadness.
"You came," he said, voice low and steady.
"I had to," she replied, stepping closer.
She hesitated, then found her voice. "I had to. I've learned to cross this space... to reach you."
The space between them shimmered, fragile yet unbreakable.
His hand reached out, fingers brushing the air as if to touch a dream.
"I have watched you, child of my blood," he said softly. "You have grown stronger than I dared hope."
Tears pricked Illyria's eyes. "I've learned much. But there is still so much I don't understand."
He nodded. "The path before you is heavy. The burden I carried — it is yours now, or soon will be."
A sudden flicker of doubt clouded her gaze. "But how? Why do I carry something I cannot see? How do I bear a weight I do not fully know?"
He stepped closer, the light around him pulsing gently.
"By trusting the pieces of yourself you have yet to find. By listening to the echoes of those who came before. And by holding fast to what you love."
Illyria's heart ached at those words, laden with the unspoken sacrifices they carried.
"Will you help me?" she asked, voice barely more than a breath.
His eyes shone brighter, and he reached out his hand fully, palm open.
"Always," he said.
He moved slowly, shadows flickering like flames around him.
"You carry more than you know."
She swallowed hard. " But, Father... why are you here like this? Why is your story... erased? Why are you called the Forbidden Monarch? Aren't you lonely?"
His eyes darkened, a veil of pain settling over them.
"Long ago, when the realms were young and fragile, I took upon myself a duty no one else would bear. A burden that could not be spoken aloud, for its weight would shatter the fragile peace."
He paused, voice faltering. "I was sealed—not by force, but by necessity. To guard the balance, I had to become a shadow among worlds. My existence was... forgotten, erased from history. One day, you will know my story when you yourself can read it. The time has not yet come for us."
A faint smile touched his lips. "I remember fragments—echoes of light and love. They kept hope alive when I could not. Their sacrifices still ripple through time."
Her fingers clenched, heart aching. "I don't understand. If your duty was so important, shouldn't it be passed to Seraphine? Why to me?"
He sighed, a sound like distant thunder. "The responsibility was meant for the next Dragon Queen. Seraphine carries her own burdens, and for a time, she was to inherit my charge. But fate... has a way of shifting paths."
"You are the cause of this yourself. Your existence threatens the order of this realm. You are meant to go through the Trial of Godly Eternity for the sake of your kingdom. A True Monarch should accept the weight of the Crown."
His gaze settled on her, steady and unwavering. "You possess the strength and will I once had. Though unprepared, you are the one who has come. It is your destiny to carry what I must leave behind."
Illyria trembled, the weight of his words pressing deep within her.
"But I'm not ready," she whispered. "How can I be?"
He stepped closer, the faint glow around him pulsing softly.
"Readiness is a path, not a gift. You will falter and rise. You will lose and find. But remember this—no burden borne alone can break the soul that holds fast to love."
Her eyes searched his face, seeking the truth beneath the mystery.
"Will you teach me? Help me bear this?"
His hand reached out, trembling like a leaf in a gentle breeze.
"Always," he said, voice full of solemn promise.
For a long moment, they simply stood — father and daughter — bound by magic, blood, and a fragile hope.
The space between them shimmered, fragile as spun glass.
Then, as dawn's first light kissed the horizon, the veil began to fade.
"You must return," he whispered. "There are shadows gathering—times that will test you beyond dreams."
Illyria nodded, heart heavy yet alight with newfound purpose.
"I will come back," she vowed.
And with one last look, she stepped through the fading light, returning to the world she
The darkness folded around her, then released its hold as she emerged beneath the pale moonlight of her chamber.
Her heart still thrummed with the echo of his voice, the warmth of his presence lingering like a fading star.
In the silence, Illyria knew one truth above all:
The journey was only beginning.
***
That night, after returning to her own cradle, the word responsibility echoed in Illyria's mind like a bell tolling through a silent forest. It was heavier than any crown, heavier than the weight of the realms themselves. A burden not chosen, but inherited—raw and unyielding. Her heart quivered with a fierce mixture of fear and resolve. How could she, a girl still learning to hold her own power, carry a legacy shrouded in shadows and forgotten by time? Yet beneath the doubt, a fragile spark ignited—an ember of purpose that whispered, I must become more. For him. For Seraphine. For all that remains. The path was daunting, veiled in mystery and sacrifice, but it was hers to walk. And she would not falter.