The small island sprawled like a green carpet over an endless expanse of blue. Not a deep blue, but a translucent, pristine hue like the color of the sky at dawn blended with an aqueous shimmer. This pale, infinite, and silent azure surrounded the island on all sides, making it a miniature world suspended in the void.
At the heart of this greenery stood Mogan. A gentle breeze stirred the edges of his simple coat. His face was turned toward the blue horizon, yet his gaze absorbed the surroundings with quiet contentment. Beneath his feet lay soft green grass, and nearby, the island's edge sloped gently into the abyss, teeming with that ethereal, sky-blue radiance.
A few steps away, Luna laughed. Their young daughter knelt amidst a patch of strange plants unlike any found on Earth. Their stems were slender as silver wires, their leaves resembling emerald feathers swaying delicately. Luna lightly touched a small, bell-shaped flower, and it glowed from within with a faint golden light, like a dewdrop catching a sunbeam. The child laughed again, her voice pure as the chime of a tiny bell, harmonizing with the whispering leaves.
Under the shade of the island's lone tree an ancient tree with branches outstretched like sheltering arms sat Aleria. A simple stone chair served as her seat. In her hands lay an old book, its cover bound in faded leather. Sunlight filtering through the leaves painted warm patches across the book's pages and Aleria's gleaming hair. She read quietly, though her attention was divided between the words and her little daughter at play. A faint, contented smile graced her lips each time her ears caught Luna's laughter.
Then, Luna turned. Her large, honey-colored eyes widened suddenly when she saw her father standing there.
"Papa!" she cried, her voice dripping with sudden joy.
The magical plants and glowing flowers were instantly forgotten. She sprang up on her tiny feet and dashed toward him across the soft grass. Her short hair fluttered around her small face, her arms stretched forward with all her might. Her quick, light steps were nearly silent on the green earth, but her eyes and wide smile screamed with all the longing and love she carried. She ran like a feather carried by the wind yet her destination was clear: Mogan's chest, as he too began to bend down to welcome her, his smile shining brighter than it had in ages.
Mogan flexed smoothly, and little Luna melted into his arms like a bird finding its nest. He held her tight, inhaling the scent of childhood a mix of the island's grass and magical plants lingering in her golden hair. "How was your day, my little moon?" he asked softly.
"I planted a talking flower!" Luna replied excitedly, her honey eyes sparkling. "It said… it said… hello!" She giggled at the memory.
As Luna chattered eagerly about the speaking plants, Mogan lifted her effortlessly and walked with slow, quiet steps toward the tree. Aleria looked up from her book, her blue eyes warm as midday sun. "Welcome back, my love," she said, her voice smooth as silk—her gaze alone saying everything.
Mogan sat at the opposite end of the simple stone table in front of Aleria. He ran his palms over its rough surface in a soft, circular motion. Without the slightest glow or sound, white porcelain dishes appeared, bearing:
A plate of golden saffron rice, its steam curling faintly upward.
A large clay bowl of vegetable stew, rich with the aroma of pumpkin and warm spices.
Small pieces of honey-drenched pastries, glazed with the shimmering nectar of the island's trees.
A bowl of ruby-colored grape clusters.
"Wow!" Luna gasped, slipping from her father's lap to sit beside the table. She grabbed a small spoon and carefully dipped it into the stew before taking a bite. "Thank you, Papa! The taste… it's magical!" Mogan smiled at her choice of words, while Aleria exchanged a loving glance with him.
The three of them chatted as they ate a familiar routine for Mogan. Though, from his perspective, he had been gone for months, for them, it had only been a few hours.
Once they had finished, Luna turned eagerly to her father. "Papa! Papa! Teach me magic!"
Mogan shook his head gently. "Next time, little one. Magic requires patience."
"No! Today! Just a small trick!" Luna insisted, her tiny fingers brushing against his large hand.
Mogan glanced at Aleria, who nodded with a smile. "Alright," he said, plucking a single grape from the dish. "Watch carefully."
He sat face-to-face with Luna, placing the grape in her small palm. "Close your eyes, breathe softly... Imagine the warmth of this little grape..."
Luna squeezed her eyes shut in concentration. Mogan lifted a finger and traced a delicate half-circle above it.
What happened next was simple and swift:
The grape lost its natural sheen, dulling like a tiny pebble.
A thin, translucent shell formed around it, like frozen dew.
Delicate wings of the same crystalline material sprouted from its sides.
It rose slowly from Luna's palm... a fragile glass butterfly, fluttering lazily in the island's warm air.
Luna opened her eyes. "Aah!" she gasped, her voice hushed in wonder as she reached out a tiny finger. The glass butterfly fluttered toward a nearby magical flower, alighting upon it in perfect harmony with the island's silent beauty.
Warm conversation wove a cocoon of comfort around them until drowsiness overtook Luna. Her eyelids grew heavy, her small head nestling against her father's chest as she fought sleep for just a little more time with him. Mogan ran his fingers gently through her hair, soothing her until her breathing steadied into the rhythm of a soft breeze.
"The gray in your beard... it's more noticeable," Aleria murmured, careful not to wake the child. Her blue eyes studied his face with that unerring precision that missed nothing.
Mogan offered a faint smile, avoiding her direct gaze. "I didn't expect you to notice."
"Of course I noticed," she replied, tender yet firm. "That's my duty as your wife. To see you even when you don't see yourself... when you forget yourself. The small details escape you in the noise of what you endure."
He drew a deep breath, then began to speak. Words about his latest journey, the clashes in distant dimensions to find the ship, the lost souls he'd tried to guide, the deaths... and the weight it all left on his shoulders. He didn't say everything, but the suffering was plain in his weary eyes.
"You're going through a hard time, my love," Aleria whispered, her hand resting on his arm. "And nothing pains me more than knowing all I can do is... listen and speak."
Mogan shook his head, resolve flickering beneath the exhaustion. "That's enough. More than enough. My duty as a husband... a father... is to endure. To sacrifice."
"No!" she said sharply, her eyes glinting. "Family does not sacrifice for one another. Family faces storms together—with love and support. And no magic in this universe is stronger than that. Mark my words."
He smiled briefly, then his expression crumpled. He turned his gaze toward the pale blue horizon. "And I know how it will end if we do. I'll lose you... like before." His words fell like stones into still water.
"That wasn't your fault!" she protested, her voice trembling. "The blame lies with that devil."
Mogan rose quietly, cradling the sleeping Luna with utmost care. He took a few steps toward a sunlit patch of grass. Raising his free hand, he focused and the air rippled faintly. Then, from the depths of the island's enchanted soil, a massive peace lily emerged. Its dark green leaves gleamed like emeralds, its pristine white blossoms unfurling like snow. Gently, he laid Luna upon the plant's broad leaves.
Then he moved. Aleria followed silently, his footsteps heavy as they crossed to the far side of the island where the greenery ended and a stretch of barren, darker earth began.
Mogan spoke with his back still turned to her, the broad line of his shoulders bowed under a weight only he could see. His voice came out fractured, laced with a bitterness that burned the throat:
"The fault was mine alone." His words fell like stones into still water. "You don't blame the arrow that kills you... only your own weakness for failing to raise your shield in time." Slowly, he turned to face her. His deep brown eyes mirrored the island's sky—vast and wounded. "I was too weak to protect my first family... and now?" A dry, hollow laugh escaped him. "Now I've trapped my daughter and wife in this barren dimension cut off from life, from real sunlight, from friends... Luna's only companions are plants!" He raised his hands, then let them drop helplessly, a gesture of bitter surrender. "All of this... because I was a coward. Because I failed."
But Aleria stood unwavering, her expression as unyielding as stone. She took a step forward, her gaze pinning him with relentless certainty.
"You're wrong." Her words were short, sharp—a sword-strike severing a taut rope. "You are not a coward. You are not weak. You're—" Here, her voice softened, but lost none of its strength, "—broken. There's a world of difference." She reached out, her hand warm against his arm—a spark of heat in their cold, suspended world. "We're here—Luna and I—and we are not unhappy. This island isn't a prison. It's a sanctuary. One we built together. We are proof of your love for your family... and it's a love we return, unconditionally."
Mogan looked down at her small hand on his forearm, then slowly raised his eyes toward something distant. Silence settled between them, broken only by the whisper of leaves from the lone tree. They could hear Luna's steady breathing as she slept against the giant peace lily a quiet pulse of life in a landscape of loss.
Under the pale blue sky, now cold and unfeeling, stood two smooth gray stone slabs. Simple graves. Unmarked. Unadorned. Nameless.
Then, slowly, Mogan lifted a finger. On the left gravestone—the one closest to him—there was a faint layer of dust. He brushed his fingertip over it with unbearable gentleness, like wiping a tear from an infant's cheek. A small gesture, weighted with grief. His gaze remained fixed on the mute stone as a single, silent tear traced the hollow of his cheek, mingling with the gray of his beard a wordless testament to the war still raging inside him. He said nothing. No words could contain that old pain, throbbing between the graves and his chest. The silence itself was the truest scream.
Then, memory struck.
Fragments, sharp and merciless, tore through the quiet of his mind:
The metallic sting of blood flooding his nostrils.
The piercing shrieks of two children, laced with terror, splitting the night.
A small human head rolling across cold marble.
A towering figure with gray eyes, standing amid the wreckage. A face carved from ice, devoid of humanity. Hands raised drenched to the elbows in blood, strands of flesh clinging to his fingers.
Aleria saw the tremor ripple through his broad shoulders, saw his fists clench until his knuckles whitened. She stepped closer, resting her hand lightly on his back. His muscles tensed beneath her touch as if her fingers burned.
Mogan tilted his face toward the sky the same sky that caged his family, and himself.
Time hung heavy before the two graves, thick with unspoken words and pain that had no outlet but the single silent tear on Mogan's cheek. Here, on this floating island, time was as weightless as the surrounding void—yet the gravity of the moment stretched seconds into hours.
Finally, Mogan let out a slow breath, steadying himself. He turned to Aleria. His eyes still carried shadows of grief, but beneath them, something else was forming a heat, an electric glint condensing into something sharper.
"I have to go now, Aleria."
The words were simple. Final. They carried the weight of duty, merciless and unyielding. She didn't argue. Didn't beg him to stay. Her gaze only sharpened, meeting his with painful understanding—and beneath it, admiration, love. A small smile touched her lips, fragile yet brighter than any sunlight. Pure light.
Before he could move, a faint rustle came from the giant peace lily. Luna stirred awake, as if her sleep had been timed to the end of their heavy conversation. She rubbed her tiny eyes sleepily, then blinked around until she found her father. A wide grin burst across her face.
"Papa! Leaving?" she called, her voice still soft with drowsiness.
"Yes, my little moon. Papa has work to do."
Luna scrambled up and dashed to him, abandoning her floral guardian. She wrapped her small arms around his leg, pressing her cheek against him for a moment. Then she peered up, her honey eyes gleaming with promise. "Don't forget! Next time… a new magic trick!" Her tone was brimming with trust, with anticipation.
Mogan bent down, his heart caught between the ache of love and the ache of departure. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I won't forget. A very special trick just for my brave girl." His voice was warm, though the lump in his throat threatened to betray him.