The Spirit Realm shimmered under a stardust sky, kissed by the milky glow of twin moons. Lanterns shaped like mythical beasts floated lazily through the air, glowing with soft pastels. Petals drifted from towering spirit trees whose boughs sparkled with elemental crystals. Today was the Festival of Blooming Stars Thousand Lights —the grandest celebration of the realm, marking the union of nature and spirit, of all elemental bloodlines born under the moons.
Illyria stood at the edge of the court gardens, her back straight, a silver sash tied perfectly around her lavender robes. Her face bore the same polite elegance that had earned her the admiration of the palace elders. From a distance, she looked every bit the poised Spirit Princess—the heir of timeless serenity.
But that was only half the truth.
Illyria loved this festival. Here, she wasn't Princess Illyria, Daughter of the Spirit Queen . She was just a girl in a simple dress of moon-silver silk, darting between stalls with friends, hair unbound and catching the light like water. The scent of honeyed cakes and roasted chestnuts lingered in the air, and she grinned as Kaelira, her ever-watchful shadow guard, struggled to keep up.
"You'll get lost," Kaelira warned, weaving past a group of dancers.
"I'll find my way," Illyria shot back playfully, tossing a piece of candied fruit into her mouth. "Besides, aren't you my shadow?"
A small tug at her sleeve brought a rare smile to her lips. "Princess! Come! We're racing wind-fox kites!"
Illyria turned to find Meya, her childhood friend from the Wind Sect, bouncing with excitement. Beyond her, the other young spirits—heirs of different sects and tribes—were already gathering near the floating bridges, laughing, chasing each other, and sending kites soaring.
Illyria dropped her practiced grace and let out a small laugh. "Alright, alright. But if I win again, you owe me a crystal peach bun."
"You cheated last year with your shadow tricks!"
"Strategy, Meya. Not cheating."
Illyria dashed forward, laughter trailing behind her, the silver sash fluttering like a comet tail.
Her friends laughed, tugging her toward a game stall where painted rings were thrown over crystal poles. She joined in without hesitation, her laughter mixing with theirs as the rings clinked and spun in the warm light. For a few precious moments, she felt like nothing more than a normal spirit child, with no crown, no court, no ancient eyes watching her every move.
But the world wasn't as simple anymore.
The moment her hand brushed against a stall keeper's palm while accepting a prize, a flicker of something not hers slid into her mind—a memory. The stall keeper, much younger, standing under a cherry tree in spring, waiting for someone who never came. Illyria's breath caught.
It happened again when she bumped into an elder spirit carrying a tray of sweets: an image of dark rain, an empty home, a name whispered in grief.
She shook her head as if to dislodge the visions. Not now. Not here. This was supposed to be her day.
But the more she laughed, the more her smiles felt like they belonged to two different people—the child she wanted to be, and the heir her father's blood demanded she become.
***
Across the plaza, Seraphyne stood among a group of spirit nobles, her tall figure cloaked in deep midnight silk. In this realm, she wore the guise of a young woman—long black hair cascading like a river at night, eyes a deep, molten gold. But there was something in her stillness, in the way she watched the world, that reminded Illyria of a coiled storm.
Seraphyne was not of this place, yet she belonged here as if the wind had carried her in from an older story.
She wore no noble crest, only a simple cloak woven from obsidian dragonhide. Most in the crowd gave her a wide berth, uncertain what she was or why she felt... other.
And yet, her eyes never left Illyria.
From the moment she'd seen the Princess at the lakeside three days ago, something had started stirring—a quiet echo in her bones, like a song half-remembered. Illyria's laughter rang in the air again, and the dragon girl's fingers twitched slightly, as if chasing a memory that was not hers.
"You again," a voice said beside her. It was Kaelira, the silent shadow guard.
Seraphyne tilted her head, watching the other girl.
"You keep staring at her," Kaelira murmured. "Why?"
Seraphyne's gaze remained steady. "I don't know. But I think... I came here for her."
Kaelira studied her for a long moment before replying, "Then don't hurt her. She's not as whole as she looks."
---
Back among the floating pavilions, Illyria now held a paper fox-kite above her head, trying to get it to catch the breeze. Her fingers glowed faintly as she summoned a gust of her own.
The kite took off, spiraling into the starlit sky. Cheers rose from around her, and Meya groaned, "You used magic again!"
Illyria grinned mischievously, panting from laughter. "Spirit-born advantage. What can I say?"
In that moment, with starlight on her skin and joy bubbling in her chest, she almost forgot who she was supposed to be. The poised princess vanished, replaced by a girl who just wanted to laugh, to fly, to belong.
But then she saw Seraphyne across the bridge.
The world paused.
The crowd blurred into color and echo. All Illyria could see was the strange girl in black—a foreign storm inside her calm world.
Seraphyne met her gaze. And though they'd barely spoken, it felt like their hearts collided through time.
Illyria looked away first.
---
That evening, fireworks bloomed like phoenixes across the sky. Music hummed through the trees. Spirits and nobles danced in floating courtyards.
Illyria sat with her elders for a while, gracefully responding to blessings and light jokes, the perfect mask of a princess. But her eyes kept drifting.
Seraphyne now stood alone near the lantern pond, watching the lotus flames drift. A lantern floated too close, and she gently pushed it away.
Illyria found herself walking toward her before she realized it.
"You should join the others," she said softly.
Seraphyne turned. Her eyes were a galaxy of storms. "I don't belong here."
Illyria crossed her arms. "Neither do I."
That startled a blink from the dragon girl. "You're the princess."
"Only when they're watching."
A silence passed between them, filled with starlight and things unsaid.
---
At first, she simply observed, polite and composed, though her gaze lingered on the festival's colors as if trying to memorize them. Then, when Illyria's laughter drifted her way, something in those gold eyes softened.
She joined the festivities—not with the careless joy of Illyria, but with the cautious curiosity of someone rediscovering how to live. She tasted the spiced tea offered by the vendors, admired the delicate lanterns painted by children, and even allowed herself to be drawn into a slow, ceremonial dance.
But beneath her smile, a shadow moved. Somewhere inside her, she knew she had come to the Spirit Realm for a reason. A responsibility. A role that pressed against the edges of her forgotten memory like an unopened letter. And every time her gaze strayed toward Illyria, the faint, familiar scent of a dragon curled through her senses—an echo of someone she could not name.
It unsettled her, though she didn't let it show.
By nightfall, the festival reached its peak. Thousands of lanterns were lit, their flames glowing like tiny suns. The plaza became a sea of drifting lights, each one carrying a prayer or wish for the coming year.
Illyria stood with Kaelira and her friends, a lantern cradled in her palms. She had written no wish this year. What could she ask for? A life free of responsibilities? To stop seeing memories that weren't hers? Or perhaps… for the strange, golden-eyed woman who kept looking her way to stay in her life?
She lifted the lantern with the others, letting it rise into the starlit sky. The glow illuminated her face for a moment before the wind carried it higher.
Far behind her, a quiet conversation unfolded between two court elders:
"…No one is to speak his name. Not before the princess. The Empress forbade it."
"Of course. But if the Beast Queen ever remembers why she came—"
"Then it will be too late. The order has already shifted."
The words were lost to the hum of celebration, but Seraphyne's sharp ears caught fragments. Beast Queen. Remember. Order shifted.
She frowned, watching Illyria's silhouette against the lantern-lit sky. Something in her chest ached with both longing and fear.
And then—just as the last lantern vanished into the stars—Illyria stumbled. Her vision swam with an image not her own: a black dragon standing before her father, Caelus, the name roaring in her mind even though no one had spoken it in years.
She gasped, steadying herself.
From across the plaza, Seraphyne's golden eyes locked with hers.
The festival's music swelled, but to Illyria, it sounded like the prelude to something vast and inevitable.