Breath.
In… out.
Sharp at first. Then warm. Then heavy.
My chest lifted on its own. I didn't tell it to. I didn't even want it to.
But I was breathing.
I was alive.
Not again. Not for the third time.
The ceiling above me blurred in gold and ivory. Not a straw roof, not cracked wood. Smooth panels of polished cedar stretched like a painted sky. Ribbons of silk hung from the corners. Above them—glass stars, crystal droplets strung like frozen tears, swaying gently in the still air.
A chandelier.
In a room that could only belong to someone important.
My fingers moved. Slowly. They curled into the sheets, unfamiliar and too clean. The fabric whispered against my skin like breath—soft, pale, scented faintly with lavender and something floral I couldn't name. Nothing smelled of firewood or herbs. No cabbage stew. No chicken feathers stuck to the corner of my mouth.
Everything here was wrong.
My body shifted. Limbs slow, unsure. Heavier than I remembered. Longer. Not a baby anymore. But I was still small. Still soft.
Six.
I turned six today.
Somehow, I remembered that. The memory clung like a last leaf in winter.
But the others—
Mum's voice, cracked raw, screaming for me.
Harold's arms wrapped around me, trying to pull me back. His voice was deeper. Desperate. The earth rumbling beneath his boots.
And that thing—That ripple—That shadow rising—
And then—
The power.
It came from inside me. I didn't summon it. I didn't speak any spell. But it moved through me like breath. Like instinct.
Like wrath.
Purple light surged. The world trembled.
And then—
Nothing.
Now… this.
A bed too big for me. Sheets too fine. A window framed in velvet, letting in warm, golden light like melted honey. The air itself was soft. Like the room had never been touched by cold, or fear, or screams.
But I had.
I swung my legs over the bed. They dangled too far from the ground.
I was here.
Alive.
Still me.
Still—
The door creaked.
My whole body tensed. I didn't know why, but I expected something worse. A monster. A shadow. The echo of something I'd unleashed.
Instead, two figures stepped in.
The first was a woman—tall, poised, moving like she didn't need permission to be in any room. Her gown shimmered faintly as she walked. Cream silk, embroidered with threads that caught the sun like stardust. A crown circled her curls low—not perched like a trophy, but resting like a burden. Her eyes… were warm.
Not kindly warm. Wounded warm. Like she had lost too much and learned how to survive the ache.
Behind her was a man—taller still. White hair fell in sleek waves past his shoulders. His ears were long and pointed, unmistakably elven. But his robes—dark blue, etched with silver glyphs—marked him as something else.
A scholar. A mage. Or both.
His expression was unreadable, but not cold. Calm, like a man who had seen the world break and chose silence over panic.
The woman's voice came first.
"Pepper," she murmured to the elf beside her, "Two days she slept. What do you think?"
The elf's reply was simple. "She is rare."
My spine straightened. "Excuse me? Rare? That's the first thing you say? I just woke up and you're already cataloging me like a precious stone?"
The woman laughed. Not out of mockery—but surprise. The sound cracked through the stillness like a window opened in spring.
She stepped closer. Slowly. Her eyes didn't leave mine.
She was watching me the way one watches a fox in a trap—cautious, not afraid. Ready to help. But knowing I might bite.
I clutched the sheets tighter. "Who are you? Where's… where are they? My parents? What happened? Where am I?"
She sat beside me, careful not to touch me. Her hands folded in her lap.
"You're in Celestoria," she said gently. "The capital of Astraith. A place where many lives begin… and some are reborn."
I didn't speak.
The name meant nothing. Too big. Too neat. It didn't taste like home.
She continued.
"Two days ago, something shook the western horizon. Not a quake. A ripple. Like magic breaking through the crust of the world."
She looked away for a moment.
"We sent scouts."
Her voice thinned.
"They found the Valley."
I waited. My hands were fists in the sheets now.
She inhaled.
"But it wasn't there anymore."
The words knocked the air out of me.
"Only violet ashes," she whispered. "No structures. No smoke. No signs of fire or beasts. Just… dust. Deep, quiet dust. Like everything had been… erased."
My vision blurred. Not with tears. Just… pressure.
Ashes.
Not debris. Not corpses.
No sounds. No cries. No bones.
Just me.
Left in the middle. Unburned. Unbroken. Unharmed.
Sleeping.
My voice cracked. "I didn't mean to…"
The elf, Pepper, stepped forward and knelt. His expression didn't change. But he looked at me like he'd seen this before. Like he knew exactly what I had become.
"Intent matters little," he said. "Control does. And you… carry something older than language. Buried deep. Not cursed. But not normal."
I wanted to scream.
I wanted someone to slap me and say I was dreaming.
I wanted my mother to yank me out of bed and tell me I'd overslept again.
I wanted Harold's clumsy boots stomping outside, cursing chickens.
But there was nothing.
Just a clean room.
A crown.
And a void where my home used to be.
My head dropped into the pillow.
No tears came.
Only dry, silent gulps of air. My throat burned from the emptiness. My chest felt like it had caved in.
The Queen reached forward and pulled me into her arms.
She smelled of rose oil and something older—like parchment and storm air.
Her embrace didn't squeeze.
She held me like she'd done it before. Like someone who knew how to hold a child who couldn't cry.
"You don't have to be strong," she whispered. "Not now. Not here. You're allowed to break."
I didn't respond.
But I didn't pull away.
She held me until my shoulders stopped shaking.
Until the room didn't feel like a cage anymore.
Then she pulled back. Smiling—but the kind that never touched her eyes.
She wiped a spot on my cheek with her thumb.
"Today," she said softly, "is your sixth birthday."
The number felt hollow.
Meaningless.
"I cannot give back the life you had," she said. "I will never try to name your pain. But I can give you something for the life ahead."
She straightened.
"A name."
My eyes met hers.
"From this day forward, you are Elysia. Princess of Celestoria."
Her voice didn't ask. It told.
"Daughter of the throne. My daughter."
The name rang like a bell underwater.
Not what I chose.
Not what I lost.
Not me.
But I said nothing.
Pepper bowed.
The Queen smiled, softly. As if I'd agreed. And in the quiet that followed, something inside me hardened. Something curled around the space my village once filled.
A whisper, low and cold:
If I'm to live again—
And now,a new arc begins.
The story of Princess Elysia has just begun: