Timeless

They say perfection is a virtue. In Elyndra, everything seems to have been built to prove it.

The walls are white, the sheets soft as clouds. Breakfast always arrives at the same time: freshly baked bread, precisely sliced fruit, and a cup of jasmine tea with exactly the right amount of honey. The air is pure, filtered through purification spells that prevent even the slightest impurity from disturbing that harmony.

Nothing is ever out of place here. Nothing is done too early or too late. Everything has its time, its measure, and its purpose. There are no mistakes because there is no room to make them.

There are only rules. Only obedience.

A cage is still a cage, no matter how much gold you cover it with.

Sometimes I dream that I can fly. That I spread my wings and soar across that endless sky until I feel the wind against my face, far from the white walls and everything expected of me.

But I always wake up.

The sun comes through the same window at the same hour, lighting the white walls once again. Everything is still exactly where it belongs.

Beautiful. Perfect.

False.

The morning breeze drifted in through the open window, making the white curtains billow around the bed. One of them slipped across the sheets and brushed gently against Lyciah’s face as she slept curled on her side, tucked into a little ball beneath the bedding, her arms drawn up beside her face.

The sheet had slipped during the night, revealing the white fabric of a simple nightgown, its skirt rumpled around her legs, which were covered by stockings that reached her knees.

Her white hair spread across the pillow in long, smooth strands, illuminated by the morning light that bathed her face and the sheets as well, surrounding her figure in a soft blend of white and brightness.

The quiet of the room was interrupted by a gentle knock at the door, stirring the girl beneath the sheets. She slowly opened her eyes, revealing the bright blue of her irises, still heavy with sleep.

As she sat up, she caught sight of her reflection in the full-length mirror across from the bed. There she was, always the same: small, fragile. She never liked looking at herself for too long, so she turned her gaze away as her hair slipped down her back. She brushed a few strands away from her face and picked up the ribbon she had left on the bedside table, wrapping it around her head before tying it at one side. The small blue bow stood out against her hair, the same shade as the sky she could never touch.

The hallway was empty when she opened the door. As every morning, her breakfast tray was waiting on the floor, in exactly the same place. She carried it to the bed and sat down with the cup between her hands, letting the warmth seep into her fingers as she ate slowly. She could take as long as she wanted with each bite; it was the only thing she could decide for herself.

The bookcase took up much of one wall, packed with books that had nothing new left to offer her. She had to stand on tiptoe to reach the ones on the top shelves, though she knew most of those titles by heart: History of the lumens, The Seven Ancestrals, The Omen and the Universal Balance...

That day, she picked one at random. On the first page, she found a sentence she had read far too many times.

“Light does not submit; light guides the eternal order of the universe…”

The book landed on the table with a dull thud.

“As if memorizing this is going to awaken my power…”

The chair creaked beneath her as she dropped into it, and her gaze drifted back toward the window. Beyond the glass, the sky stretched as far as the eye could see, without walls, without boundaries.

The soft click of the door made her look away from the window. Her twin appeared in the doorway: he had the same blue eyes and pale hair as she did, but that was where the similarities ended: in him, every gesture seemed measured, every movement precise, held in check by a calm Lyciah had never been able to imitate.

“Did you finish today’s lesson?”

Straight to the point, as always. Not even a greeting. Lyciah let out a small sigh before answering.

“Do you want me to recite it all again?”

The young man stepped away from the door and leaned back against the bookcase, calmly folding his arms.

“I’m not trying to annoy you,” he replied. “I just want to make sure you’re keeping up with the routine.”

Lyciah puffed out her cheeks in a small pout.

“I know it all already, Sorian. Demons, the Seven, the Omen… I could recite it in my sleep.”

“Then do it,” he replied. “If you get through it without making a mistake, I’ll speak to Queen Heliora and ask her to give you a break. Although, actually, I came to see you precisely because—”

“A break? Really?” The possibility was enough to make Lyciah sit bolt upright, cutting him off.

Her excitement did not last long. The edge of the rug caught one of her feet and nearly sent her sprawling. She managed to regain her balance and, as though the whole thing had been completely intentional, finished with an exaggerated bow that made the blue ribbon brush against her cheek.

“About five thousand years ago,” she intoned solemnly, imitating the historians in her books, “the first demons were born: the Seven Ancestrals. The first and most powerful of them all. They are immortal and… kind of scary.”

Sorian had been listening with his eyes closed and his arms crossed, but at that, his eyes flew open and he gave her a look she knew far too well.

“Lyciah…”

She flinched.

“What? It’s true!”

The solemnity vanished from her voice, replaced by a quieter, embarrassed tone.

“Especially the Seventh, Ekchron. They say he killed the Sixth and enjoys playing with humans before finishing them off. I don’t know how anyone could face something like that without being afraid.”

Sorian unfolded his arms and stepped a little closer to her.

“Because we are lumens. Our duty is to face demons, not fear them.”

Lyciah did not answer. She lowered her gaze to the book and ran a finger along the edge of the page before continuing, as though that part of the lesson did not interest her very much.

“Then came the Pillars. The first seven lumens who emerged to counter the Ancestrals when no one else could stand against them. Their purpose was to destroy them… although they have been asleep for five thousand years, and no one knows why.”

She turned the page with her thumb, following the lines with her eyes before continuing.

“More demons appeared, more lumens and… well, we all know the rest.”

Lyciah tilted her head, and her bangs fell over her eyes, hiding them while her fingers remained still against the book. When she finally continued, her voice was much quieter.

“Then there’s the Omen. It awakens every so often, after years of sleep, and when it does, it brings chaos with it. That’s when the Dawnbringer appears to seal it away.”

“Like Mom did,” Sorian added quietly.

Lyciah set the book down on the bed.

“Yes… like Mom. But she was strong. I’m not. They keep me locked in here, repeating the same things every day, waiting for the power I inherited to awaken. What if I can’t? What if I’m defective, Sorian?”

Her brother did not know what to say, and she waited a few seconds before continuing.

“I want to leave Elyndra. I want to see the human world. I want to feel something other than this golden prison. Is that really so dangerous?”

The breeze stirred the curtains again, allowing a strip of light to stretch across the floor between them. Sorian then sat down beside her on the edge of the bed.

“If you leave, they’ll come looking for you,” he said at last. “Demons, lumens… No one will see Lyciah. They’ll only see Mom’s power. And that… that is what Queen Heliora wants to protect.”

Lyciah turned her gaze back toward the window. The same answer again. The same reasons, even though none of them had ever managed to convince her.

“Are you planning to keep staring into nothing until you grow roots?” a voice called from the doorway, making her turn around.

Momoru was leaning against the doorframe, smiling with the gentle warmth that always managed to put her at ease, his upright ears twitching slightly in the draft. The moment she recognized him, all the frustration she had been carrying seemed to fade into insignificance, and she sprang from her chair and ran toward him, throwing her arms around him so tightly that Momoru could not hold back a laugh.

“You’re still a wild one,” he teased, running a hand through her white hair. “Or maybe I’m just getting soft.”

“Momo! I missed you,” she said with a laugh. “You’re not allowed to disappear for that long.”

Momoru’s smile softened as he withdrew his hand from her hair.

“If it were up to me, I’d never leave. But the queen has other plans for me… you know how it is. Errands, spells, useful distractions. Kitsune are always useful for something.”

Lyciah pulled back slightly so she could look at him.

“Useful. What a lovely word for ‘slavery.’”

He tilted his head, making one of the long strands of his orange hair slide over his shoulder.

“That’s why I’m here. To remind you that even foxes know how to slip out of traps. A couple of well-placed illusions, and the guards still think I’m in the west wing.” He winked. “Believe me, it hasn’t been easy. This cage has more layers of security than a palace.”

Lyciah let out a small laugh at that and hugged him again, burying her face against his chest. Momoru rested a hand on her back, giving it a few gentle pats, and she stayed there, still amused.

“Are you two finished yet?” a dry voice interrupted.

Sorian had left the edge of the bed and was now standing beside it, arms crossed and wearing an expression that made his opinion of the reunion perfectly clear.

“Oh, come on, brother,” Lyciah said, trying to defuse the situation. “Don’t make that face. Momo just came to say hello.”

“Yes, of course,” he replied, turning his attention back to the kitsune. “A greeting that could get him exiled. And I’m not covering for him.”

Momoru’s smile remained in place, although there was nothing warm left in it. His eyes stayed calmly fixed on Sorian as that pleasant expression began to take on something unsettling.

“I don’t need you to cover for me. If the queen wants to keep Lyciah locked away—”

“She isn’t locked away,” Sorian interrupted. “She’s protected.”

Lyciah stepped away from Momoru when she recognized where the conversation was heading. She said nothing at first, simply standing there and listening to them trade the same words they always did, until her patience finally ran out.

“Enough,” she cut in, stepping between them. “I don’t want another one of your endless arguments.”

A heavy sigh escaped Sorian as he brought a hand to his forehead, as though that conversation had just aged him several years all at once.

“I didn’t come here to argue,” he said at last, turning to his sister. “I came because the queen wants to see you, Lyciah. Now.”

The girl took a couple of unconscious steps backward until she found herself beside Momoru again.

“See me?” she repeated. “Don’t tell me… Is she finally going to let me out into the outside world?”

The joke left her lips, but she no longer expected it to be true. After so many years of waiting for her mother’s power to awaken within her, she knew perfectly well what this summons could mean. There was one word she had spent far too long trying not to think about.

Defective.

Sorian did not answer, but he did not need to. The absence of a reprimand or any of his usual remarks was enough for Lyciah to understand that this was not the time for jokes.

“Then… I suppose I shouldn’t keep Her Majesty waiting.”

Sorian headed for the door, and when he reached it, he turned and motioned for her to follow. Lyciah nodded, but before leaving, she turned back to Momoru and hugged him tightly.

“Thank you for coming, Momo. Even if it was only for a little while.”

They stayed like that for a few seconds before slowly pulling apart.

“I should get going too,” Momoru said. “Before the guards realize I’m missing.”

With one last smile, Lyciah followed her brother.

Once outside, Momoru raised a hand in farewell and waited until the twins’ silhouettes disappeared into the distance. Only then did he sink down onto one of the stone steps, resting his elbows on his knees as he closed his eyes.

“What a mess, Lyciah…” he murmured.

“Lyciah?” a female voice repeated behind him.

The sudden fright made him jump off the step as though someone had just dumped a bucket of ice water over his head.

“What the—?” He sprang to his feet, ready to attack.

Two long, wavy pigtails of light brown hair framed the face of a girl standing in front of him, her hands clasped behind her back and the most innocent smile imaginable on her face.

“Seliane…” Momoru pressed a hand to his chest, trying to calm his racing heart. “Are you trying to kill me? Because you nearly succeeded.”

She giggled and tilted her head, making her pigtails sway gently as the little bell attached to one of the ribbons jingled.

“What are you doing here, Momo?” she asked. “And… was Lyciah outside? Did they let her out?”

Momoru took a moment to answer. Seliane’s gaze remained fixed on the path where the twins had disappeared before he finally nodded.

“The queen summoned her.”

Surprise crossed Seliane’s face.

“After a decade?”

“I don’t know what she wants,” Momoru admitted, “but it can’t be anything good.”

Seliane lowered her hands from behind her back until they hung at her sides, and all traces of her earlier lightheartedness vanished.

“If it comes to it… we’ll help her.”

“Yes. But keep that to yourself. Around here, even the stones have ears.”

Seliane nodded with a seriousness that seemed completely at odds with the cheerful smile she had been wearing only minutes before.

Beyond the gardens, the sound of Lyciah and Sorian’s footsteps carried through a long marble corridor. Morning light streamed through the tall windows, casting bright strips across the floor as they walked in silence.

“Well, well…” a voice called from the other end of the corridor, breaking the steady rhythm of their footsteps.

Lyciah tensed when she recognized it. A man in an immaculate military uniform was walking toward them, his dark hair slicked back and a crooked smile becoming more pronounced as he drew closer. When he reached the twins, he stopped directly in their path.

“If it isn’t the kingdom’s most heavily guarded jewel,” he said in a syrupy tone. “Will you honor us with your presence today?”

Lyciah opened her mouth to answer, but the words came tumbling out in a rush.

“No… it’s not that I want to be here… I mean, I do want to, just not because I like it, because I really don’t like it at all. It’s not fun, but it’s not horrible either… well, actually, it is, but not that much, or… forget it!” Her cheeks began to burn. “General.”

The man raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.

“Charming. The Dawnbringer, master of destiny… and she still gets nervous like a shy little girl?”

Sorian stepped forward, placing himself between them in a protective gesture.

“Enough, Eryon. You’re not here to waste time provoking her.”

“I’m only saying what everyone else is thinking.”

The general shrugged with insolent calm before adding, “And if your sister cannot even control her own power, what exactly is all this protection for?”

Lyciah wanted to answer, wanted to shout that it was not her fault, but the lump in her throat and her shyness won out. She lowered her gaze in embarrassment, her hands clasped together in front of her.

“Move,” Sorian ordered.

A low laugh accompanied Eryon’s turn on his heel.

“As you wish, General Sorian. But remember: the queen has little patience for weakness.”

His boots echoed against the marble as he walked away down the corridor.

Sorian waited until he was out of sight before continuing, Lyciah following behind him, her pulse still racing.

The corridor ended at the throne room doors, guarded by two sentries. When they recognized Sorian, both bowed their heads and stepped aside to let them pass.

The throne room stretched out before them, vast and silent, with rows of white columns rising until they disappeared into the shadows of the ceiling. At the far end, atop a three-step dais, stood the throne.

Queen Heliora was already waiting for them.

Her long, perfectly straight black hair fell over her shoulders. Beneath the light, hints of violet ran through the dark strands whenever she moved. Her eyes were the same intense, unusual shade of violet, standing out against her face with a brilliance no human color could ever reproduce.

She did not need to rise or say a word to command the room.

As the twins approached, those violet eyes settled first on Sorian and then on Lyciah, looking her up and down before returning to her face.

She lowered her head in a bow, as she had been taught.

“Your Majesty,” Sorian murmured, copying the gesture.

The queen moved two fingers, indicating that they could straighten.

“At eighteen years of age, you have yet to awaken the Dawnbringer’s power,” Queen Heliora said in a clear, firm voice. “Your control remains unstable, and your training has yielded no significant progress.”

Lyciah felt her fingers tense inside her sleeves. This did not sound like a simple reprimand. There was something more behind those words, something she had spent years dreading.

The queen rested her elbow on the arm of the throne and leaned her chin against her hand before adding:

“You are defective.”

The world seemed to shrink down to those two words.

Lyciah’s chin dropped toward her chest, and her white hair slipped over her shoulders, leaving a few strands hanging in front of her face and partially hiding her flushed cheeks.

“No… I’m not…”

Heliora raised a hand, and the gesture silenced her.

“Your worth as an individual is irrelevant,” she continued. “But your bloodline… is useful. The Dawnbringer cannot fail. If you cannot fulfill that role, your daughter will.”

She spoke of Lyciah’s future as though it had already been decided. And then came the next words.

“Aelion of House Nahariel will take you as his wife. He is strong, healthy, and of a pure bloodline. You will have an heir. The power will pass to her, just as it passed from Misaha, your mother, to you.”

Mom.

The word appeared in her mind before she could stop it. Suddenly, she was no longer in that throne room. She was back in that farewell, back in Misaha’s arms as they held her tightly, remembering the tremble she had tried to hide as she embraced her. She remembered her smile, that forced smile that had failed to fool her.

Mom…

“After the birth,” Heliora continued, “you will die.”

Lyciah’s arms dropped limply to her sides. She no longer tried to defend herself, or even answer.

“This is not a punishment. It is a service. The greatest one you can offer. Your daughter will carry the light, and your existence will have fulfilled its purpose.”

The echo of a single footstep carried through the throne room.

“Your Majesty, this is…” Sorian began. “This is outrageous! There has to be another way! Lyciah is—”

“General Sorian.” Heliora’s voice did not rise, but the mere utterance of his name was enough to stop him. “One more word, and your loyalty will be called into question.”

Sorian’s fists clenched at his sides. The protest that had been about to leave him was reduced to a gesture of tightly controlled anger.

“Remember,” the queen added, “disloyalty is paid for in blood.”

Sorian’s head finally bowed, his teeth clenched behind his lips, and Lyciah’s chest burned. She wanted to tell him not to do it, not to keep standing up to Heliora for her, but she could not even bring herself to say his name.

“Take her home,” Heliora finally said. “Aelion will come to see her tomorrow. I want her prepared.”

Sorian bowed his head again. Then he gently took his sister by the arm and led her toward the exit. Lyciah did not resist.

The throne room doors fell behind them, and the sound of their footsteps once again carried through the marble corridors. For a while, neither of them said anything. Sorian walked beside her with his shoulders rigid until he finally broke the silence.

“Everything will be all right.”

His voice came out in a whisper, though he tried to keep it steady.

“Even if they force you to marry… there’s still time for your power to awaken. If you can do it before the… before the birth, everything will change.”

A short, broken laugh escaped Lyciah.

“Time?” She turned toward him, her eyes clouded with tears. “Ten years, Sorian. Ten! Do you really think I’m going to accomplish in a few months what I haven’t managed to do in a decade?”

Sorian stopped and placed his hands on her shoulders.

“As long as you’re breathing, there is hope.”

“Hope?”

The word barely left her lips.

“When that girl is born, I’ll die. You know that. The power is only inherited when the mother dies.”

For a moment, Sorian had no answer. His hands remained on Lyciah’s shoulders, and a tremor ran through his fingers.

“I’ll find a way,” he murmured at last. “I swear.”

Lyciah gently removed his hands. She could no longer cling to promises.

She kept walking, but she could no longer hear Sorian’s footsteps or the echo of her own. There was only that one word.

Defective.