Nymera

Walking onto the balcony, I rested my hands on the marble railing to take in the view before me. Towering white trees reached skyward against a teal-blue sky. Beneath them, the ground burned crimson, covered in soft red grass.

Even in broad daylight, the two moons remained visible. Not far from them, fragments of a shattered planet—once known as Calythar—glimmered in the sky.

Roughly twenty-five years ago, their planet was shattered. The royal family perished in the destruction, and only a handful survived, finding refuge among us. Kaeroth was one of the few who escaped.

He quickly rose through the ranks to become a general and even served as an advisor to my father, the king.

“Nymera!” My mother suddenly appeared beside me, her eyes wide with a mix of surprise and disappointment. “What are you doing?”

Before I could utter a single word, she gently draped the delicate, sheer veil over my face. “You know you must keep the veil on,” she reminded me, her tone was gentle but firm, highlighting the importance of the moment.

“I don’t understand the fuss.” I muttered. “It’s not like anyone saw me. I just wanted to feel the breeze on my face.”

My mother met my eyes. “As the princess, you know the protocol. Until you are betrothed, the veil stays on. That is our way.”

“This is so unfair,” I muttered, folding my arms before me. “You never had to wear one before you married Dad.”

Her eyes held mine. “That’s because I wasn’t the heir… like yourself.”

Stupid tradition.

I would have preferred to wear a crown instead of a veil.

“Let’s go inside,” my mother urged, as she stepped toward the grand entrance. “We need to prepare for the banquet honoring Kaeroth’s years of dedicated service as he prepares to step down as general.”

I let out a sigh. I didn’t want to go but since I was the princess I didn’t have a choice.

“Your father made a promise to him, vowing to grant him whatever he desired in gratitude for all the years of dedication he bestowed upon our people.” She continued.

Before I could step inside after my mother, a bird suddenly soared toward our window, unaware of the glass before it. With a soft thud, it collided with the glass and tumbled to the ground.

I paused. As I stood there, I wondered if the little bird slipped into unconsciousness or had it perished when he hit the window.

“Let it be,” my mother urged gently, as I inched closer to the fragile creature.

It must have hit the window hard. The poor thing. Its tiny body curled into itself. One of its wings was twisted at a painful angle.

“Nymera.” My mother warned me, but I didn't pay her attention.

Carefully, I cupped the bird in my hands. It was so fragile I was afraid even my touch might hurt it further.

I carefully closed my fingers around it and released a deep breath.

Then came the light as it covered my hands entirely—a radiant violet haze that pulsed from my skin, cascading around my fingers like liquid starlight.

I focused on the broken wing.

The bird’s trembles gradually eased while mine intensified.

Pain surged in my shoulder, creeping down my arm like ice shattering through glass. My muscles seized, mimicking the very injury I was healing.

Even if I felt the very same pain I healed, it never stopped me to keep going.

When the light from my hand finally faded as its injury was healed, the bird blinked up at me.

I opened my hands slowly.

“You’re alright now,” I whispered. “Be more careful next time.”

As the little creature took off into the sky, I clutched my shoulder as I looked at it flying away.

My mother was at my side in the blink of an eye, her concern evident in the way her eyes widened. “Nymera, are you okay?”

I gingerly rubbed my shoulder, nodding steadily despite the slight ache. “I am. It’s just a little side effect.”

Her expression darkened as she frowned, her eyebrows knitting together in a mixture of worry and disapproval. “A side effect,” she repeated, her voice firm. “You need to be more careful. What would you have done if it had been its neck that broke instead of its wing?”

“The bird was injured. It wouldn’t have survived with a broken wing if I hadn’t healed the poor little creature,” I said, my voice trembling as I tried to justify my actions.

She shook her head. “And if it had died, that would have been its fate,” her fingers softly cupping my face. “You are not meant to intervene every time nature chooses to take something.”

I exhaled slowly, the weight of my frustration escaping with each breath. “Then what’s the point of having this gift if I can’t even use it?”

“My dear daughter, you can’t save everyone. And if you try, you’ll break yourself before you can help those who truly need you.”

I kept rubbing my shoulder as the pain faded little by little. My mother had a point. I couldn’t use my power every time the chance appeared.

I can’t be reckless with it.

“I’m so proud of you.”

I looked up, surprised.

She smiled and brushed my hair behind my ear. “You have such a good heart, Nymera. The kind that would save a life without hesitation.” Then she leaned down and kissed my forehead. “And that is a rare kind of strength.”

“Now, let’s get ready for the banquet. We can’t afford to be late,” my mother said, her voice tinged with urgency as she began to walk away.

Before she could fully step out of my reach, I seized the moment and gently took her hand, pulling her close for a warm embrace.

“Thank you, Mother,” I whispered, feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude.

“For what?” she replied, her brow furrowing in curiosity.

“For everything,” I said, my heart full with appreciation for all the love and patience she had shown me.

“My beautiful daughter,” she said gently, “you don’t have to thank me. You are the most important being in my life. It is my job to be here for you, no matter what challenges come our way.” As she spoke, she leaned down and pressed a soft kiss on my forehead.

“Thank you anyway,” I replied, my voice filled with gratitude.

“You are most welcome,” she responded with a serene smile.

I followed her inside, as I made my way to my room to prepare for the banquet.