Chapter 1
Monax healed, at least on the surface. The ruins had been rebuilt stone by stone, the enchanted gardens bloomed again with silver roses and violet sunflowers, and the great waterfalls sang over crystal rocks just as they once did. The grand towers of the capital stood tall, their golden flags fluttering in the wind. Children ran through the newly repaired marketplace, traders shouted over the sound of clinking coins, and musicians played soft morning songs with flutes and harps.
But beneath the beauty, something was missing.
The laughter in the streets never reached full joy. The music never had the fire it once carried. Every celebration ended with eyes looking at the sky, wondering if she might return.
Princess Nina.
The girl who fought for Monax.
The girl who fell from the cliffs and vanished.
A full year had passed since that night. Not a body. Not a footprint. Not a dream vision. No prophet saw her in the threads of destiny. No guardian owl carried her scent in its feathers. Even the moon, who once loved her like a daughter, remained quiet.
The kingdom believed she was dead.
Except for one man.
Nephel.
Half man, half horse, and the only father Nina ever knew. He never stopped. Not for one day. He searched every mountain trench, every forbidden ridge, every moonlit forest and shadowed lake. He questioned ancient spirits in languages few still remembered. He hunted for clues until his hooves bled and his voice went hoarse.
His body showed the price.
His once polished coat had lost its gleam.
His long black hair was tangled like the branches of an old tree.
His beard had grown so wild it almost touched his chest.
The muscles in his arms and torso were still strong, but they carried the exhaustion of battles fought alone.
The kingdom whispered about him with a mix of pity and respect. He had not left Monax. He had not taken a break. He refused to rest. He simply worked and searched, day after day.
That morning, he was in the quiet woods outside the capital, chopping wood for the old temple kitchens. If he worked, he did not think. If he did not think, he did not break.
The forest was peaceful. Shafts of morning light slipped through the tall trees. Mist curled around the roots like sleeping spirits. The air smelled of pine and damp moss. Birds sang above him and small, magical creatures scuttled through the undergrowth.
Nephel lifted the axe and brought it down. Wood cracked. Splinters flew.
He lifted it again.
Behind him, a soft tremor of magic rippled through the air. The leaves shifted without wind. The birds went silent for a moment. A faint hum echoed like a distant wave striking a shore.
But Nephel did not turn.
He already knew who had come.
A portal opened behind him, shimmering with shifting shades of blue and sea green. Water dripped from the circular rim of light as though someone had cut a doorway through the bottom of the ocean.
Oceania, Queen of the Seas, Nina’s aunt, stepped through. Her long gown flowed like living water, embroidered with shells and scales that glowed softly. Her hair, the color of deep ocean tide, fell in waves past her waist. She carried the scent of salt and ancient tides.
She did not speak at first. She simply stood there, watching Nephel swing the axe again with tired determination.
“So,” Nephel finally said, without turning. His voice was rough, as if each word scraped his throat on the way out.
Oceania’s expression fell. Her blue eyes reflected the sorrow of someone with too many memories and not enough answers.
“We searched the deepest trenches,” she said, her voice controlled but heavy. “The Abyss of Kelron. The Ruins of the Frozen Sirens. The Spiral Caves. Nothing. There was no trace of her.”
Nephel placed another block of wood on the stump and raised the axe.
“Say it,” he muttered.
Oceania looked down at the moss-covered ground. She hated the next words. She had avoided them for months.
“Nephel… it has been a year. She is gone.”
The axe came down and stuck halfway into the wood, but Nephel’s hands stayed frozen. His shoulders shook slightly. He let the silence speak for him.
Oceania stepped closer, her voice gentler.
“There are no visions. No energy signatures. Even fate shows no thread for her. The world has already written her ending.”
Nephel slowly turned toward her. When his eyes met hers, Oceania felt something twist in her chest. His eyes were red, hollow, exhausted, but burning with something unbroken.
“If her soul left this world,” he said, each word slow and solid, “I would feel it. I raised her. I held her when she first learned to walk. I guarded her first spell. I heard her heartbeat when she was still a child afraid of thunder. I would know.”
Oceania closed her eyes.
She wanted to argue.
She wanted to push logic and truth.
But she also knew Nephel had something she did not.
A bond that blood itself envied.
She sighed softly.
“Nephel… I want you to heal. Teaching the kingdom to move forward does not mean forgetting her.”
Nephel looked at her with eyes that had cried too many silent tears.
“Nephel, we will honour her today. Meet us on the Incident Hill in three hour,” Oceania said, her voice steady but tinged with urgency. She gave him a last look, one filled with both hope and sorrow, before stepping back into the shimmering portal. The light rippled once and vanished, leaving only the quiet forest behind.
Nephel did not respond. He did not look up. He did not even slow his axe. The wood cracked and splintered under the swing. Sweat dripped down his forehead, mixing with the dirt and ash that had collected in the past year.
The forest was silent again, save for the steady rhythm of his chopping. Birds cautiously returned to the branches, though none dared to sing. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
He worked mechanically, muscles moving out of habit rather than thought. His mind, however, was elsewhere. Memories of Nina flickered through him, like sparks from a fire long thought dead. Her laugh, the way she had studied every book, her stubborn glare whenever he scolded her for sneaking into dangerous places—each memory made his chest ache.
Time passed slowly. One, maybe two hours. The sun climbed higher, golden rays filtering through the canopy, but Nephel did not notice. He did not rest. He did not pause.
The axe finally sank into the last piece of wood. He pulled it free and set it aside, but still he did not speak. His eyes were distant, focused on something unseen. The forest around him looked unchanged, yet he could feel it—the subtle shift in the air, the heartbeat of the world as if it waited for what was coming.
Finally, he exhaled.
The quiet forest seemed to respond to him, as if it understood that a father’s vigil never truly ended.
And deep inside, a small spark of certainty glimmered. She was alive.
No one else could know that. Not yet.
Nephel turned, slow and deliberate, and started toward the path leading out of the woods, toward the kingdom, toward Incident Hill. His hooves crushed fallen leaves and twigs with each step. The sun hit his eyes, but he did not flinch.
Today, they would honour her.
But tomorrow, he would begin the real search again.
And he would not rest until he found her.
