The Festival of Unity arrived with the turning of early spring, when Elyndor finally exhaled the last breath of winter and allowed warmth to return to its bones. Across the kingdom, roads filled with travelers: forest clans, mountain folk, river merchants, wandering scholars, and distant nobles, all converging toward the great gathering grounds where forest and stone met. Lanterns were strung between towering trees, glowing like constellations pulled down from the sky, while ribbons of magic drifted through the air like luminous pollen.
Music wove through everything—harps plucked beneath flowering boughs, deep drums echoed from stone platforms, flutes danced like birdsong. Laughter rose and fell like waves. Even the ancient trees leaned closer, their leaves shimmering as though listening.
For Juniper, the forest felt different that day.
Not louder, not brighter—but… awake.
The trees hummed with unfamiliar anticipation. Blossoms opened in her wake. Vines curled protectively near her feet as she walked beside her mother, small fingers wrapped around familiar warmth. Her green eyes reflected lanternlight and drifting magic, and her freckles glowed faintly beneath the enchanted glow.
"This is the Festival of Unity," her mother whispered gently. "When all of Elyndor gathers as one."
Juniper did not understand the words.
But she felt them.
Something in her chest fluttered, like a bird sensing the approach of something unseen.
⸻
Pyrrha arrived from the opposite side of the great grounds beneath banners of deep blue and silver. The stronghold had opened its gates for this single sacred day, allowing its people to walk among the rest of Elyndor. Cradled in her father's arms, Pyrrha watched the shifting lights with quiet intensity. Her dark hair brushed against his cloak, and her black-and-silver eyes reflected layers of magic too subtle for most to notice.
The air felt different here.
Forest magic tangled gently with ancient runes. Wild energy brushed against disciplined enchantment. To Pyrrha, it felt like two worlds quietly testing one another.
And then…
Something pulled at her.
Not a force. Not a command.
A feeling.
She leaned forward slightly, gaze drifting across the glowing clearing, drawn toward something she could not see but somehow knew was waiting.
———
In a gentle meadow near the heart of the festival, the youngest children of Elyndor were gathered beneath protective enchantments. Soft grass shimmered beneath their feet, and glowing petals drifted lazily through the air. This was where small hands learned joy before they ever learned fear.
Juniper toddled in first, guided by instinct more than sight.
Moments later, Pyrrha was set down among the other children.
The air changed.
A quiet shimmer rippled through the clearing, as though two distant currents had just touched.
Green and gold threads of magic curled through the air, weaving toward something unseen. Juniper stopped walking.
So did Pyrrha.
They turned at the same moment.
Their eyes met.
Juniper's bright green gaze widened with wonder. Pyrrha's silver-flecked eyes reflected something ancient and gentle. Neither child understood what they were seeing—only that something in the other felt… familiar.
Juniper took a small step forward.
Pyrrha mirrored her.
Magic gathered at their feet like falling starlight.
They did not speak.
They did not need to.
Juniper raised her hand, slow and careful, her fingers brushing through drifting light. Pyrrha watched, then lifted her own hand in response.
When their palms touched, warmth bloomed between them.
Not heat.
Not lightning.
But something soft and radiant, like a quiet star waking inside them.
A gentle wave of energy rolled outward. Petals lifted into the air. The grass glowed. Guardians looked up in surprise. Even the towering trees leaned closer, leaves whispering.
Juniper giggled, delighted by the warmth in her chest.
Pyrrha felt it too—a steady, calming presence, as though something long missing had finally been found.
Juniper curled her fingers around Pyrrha's hand.
Pyrrha held on without hesitation.
And just like that, they were no longer alone.