"Luma, venar si Aro?" a child asked sweetly, referring to her mother who was busy preparing food. (Mother, where is Father?)
Her mother didn't turn to face her, but still answered in a gentle voice,
"Si Aro venaré sa zuralin na tálven, elari nira. Veyar lun talen?"
(Father is gathering firewood, my dear. Why do you ask?)
The child didn't respond, which puzzled the mother. She turned to look. The child was sitting in front of their small doorway, as if waiting for someone.
"Venaré lun silen?" the mother asked with concern. (Is something wrong?)
Still, the child didn't answer. Her back was turned, so the mother walked closer and called her name:
"Solastra…"
The child was about to turn around—but Lior suddenly woke up, gasping for breath and drenched in sweat. It wasn't the first time. Since the incident, that dream had repeated again and again.
She didn't know if it was a warning or a forgotten memory. The dream always ended just before the child turned around—just as the name was called… a name that matched her own.
She rose from her bed and walked out of her room. A quiet, dimly lit common room greeted her.
She walked straight out of the dormitory. The cold night air embraced her. She hugged herself and wandered the corridor, letting her feet lead the way.
Since the incident, she had developed a habit of walking the halls at midnight. And she always found herself staring at a particular tree. She didn't know why.
No one knew what was happening to her—not even her friends. She hadn't told them about the dreams or her nightly walks, knowing they'd only worry.
Just like tonight, she found herself heading toward that tree again. She stopped midway and looked up.
"Solastra…" she whispered—the name from her dream.
She took a deep breath to ground herself. She was about to return to the dormitory when she noticed a light inside the Aetherion Archive. Using the Velkura Sight—a power she had learned—she peered inside to see who was there.
She smiled when she saw who it was. Using her vanishing spell, she disappeared and reappeared inside the archive—as Dewyn, the fairy-like girl. She wore a long silver gown, her long white hair flowing freely.
Inside the archive, she made sure no one else was present but the young man. She walked toward him barefoot, and as she approached, he instinctively summoned fire magic—which she swiftly dodged.
She chuckled softly at his reaction. Using her water magic, she extinguished the flames that had struck a bookshelf.
"If I hadn't dodged quickly, I'd be burned by now, prince," she teased. But the prince didn't respond—he simply gave her a look that said that wasn't funny.
He cleared his throat and straightened his posture. "So… you really study here," he said, as if still doubting her previous claim.
She nodded.
"Yes… didn't I say 'see you'? Because I knew we'd meet again."
The prince frowned, as if recalling something.
"You're a Myrr?"
Her eyes widened at the question, and she quickly turned away. She knew all the elemental houses—she had secretly studied them thanks to her grandfather. She simply hummed in response.
"But I've never seen you with the Myrr when they train…" he said, confused.
She turned to him and walked—hands behind her back—toward the empty chair in front of him.
"I'm there. Maybe you just didn't notice."
She was always present during training, blending in to hone her powers. But she always used Veylith—a magic invisible to others.
She had known that magic since she became aware of the world. No one taught her—it came naturally.
He shook his head, certain she hadn't been there. "I didn't see anyone with white hair… like this," he said, brushing her hair away from her face and tucking it behind her ear.
Their eyes met.
"Your… eyes…" he murmured, prompting her to quickly look away.
"Why are you here? It's late—you should be resting," she said, changing the subject and walking toward the books.
She felt the prince's presence following her. "And you? Why are you still awake?"
She rolled her eyes.
"Just had a bad dream. I couldn't sleep, so I came to distract myself."
She heard the prince hum in response.
"I haven't been able to sleep since the incident. I feel like something's pulling me—to save her."
She turned to him, alarmed.
"To save her? Is she in danger?" she asked, worried—knowing he was referring to her.
She, too, had feared for her safety. Ever since she spoke that unknown language, strange things had been happening. Her white and black magic clashed within her—sometimes choking her, burning from the inside.
She looked at the prince with concern.
"I don't know… it's just a feeling," he replied.
She took a deep breath and smiled gently.
"Maybe you're just overthinking it."
He smiled back.
"You're probably right…"
They talked for hours until dawn broke—alarming Lior. She quickly stood up from beside the prince.
"See you around…" she said, then vanished, leaving the prince puzzled.
He stared into the space where she had disappeared. Though confused by her sudden departure, he turned to the rising sun.
"It's morning already…" he whispered.
He returned the book he had taken—and the one she had taken—back to the shelves before leaving the archive. He walked straight to their dormitory.
Expecting his friends to still be asleep, he was surprised to find Terren, Quirel, and Eirnox sitting on the sofa, seemingly waiting for him.
All three looked at him with questioning eyes.
"What?" he asked, frowning.
"So…" Eirnox began, closing the book he was holding. "Who is that girl?"
His eyes widened at the question.
"What girl?" he asked, feigning ignorance. But his friends only smiled knowingly.
"When we woke up and saw your door open, we figured you were at the library. We went to pick you up. But when we got there, we saw you… talking to that white lady," Quirel explained, teasing with the last phrase.
"Don't fucking call her that. She has a name," he snapped, defending her.
They gave him sly smiles. Then, remembering something, he sat down seriously—prompting them to do the same.
"I have a question…" he began.
"Have you ever seen a girl from Myrr with long white hair?" His friends looked puzzled.
"As far as I know, Myrrs have ocean-colored hair. No white," Terren replied confidently. The other two agreed.
Yrion pondered their words and the girl he had spoken to. "You said you saw the girl with me in the archive?" he asked.
They nodded.
"Her name is Dewyn. I met her once at the archive in Ignetharion. She said she's been admiring me from afar…" His friends frowned at the story, but he continued describing her.
"I saw her in the same clothes—silver long-sleeved dress. She floated into the archive, she said. Then she left like a bubble… popping. And now she claims she's a Myrr."
The three listened intently, trying to recall if they'd ever seen her.
In their world, each being possessed only one kind of magic. Whether king, queen, or prince—only one gift was granted. But in Yrion's story, the girl seemed to wield two.
"Never encountered anything like that…" Eirnox said, and the others agreed.
Yrion sighed at their response. He left them in the living room and went to his room to sleep. He still had time to rest before their important training later that day.
Next time he saw the girl, he would ask her the questions he needed answered. For now, he would rest.