The sun spilled like honey through the latticed windows, casting golden patterns across the worn wooden floor of the Cinderfall home. The scent of baked bread drifted from the kitchen, mingling with the faint trace of oil and metal from the small workshop where her father worked, the gentle clink of tools a steady rhythm in the quiet morning.
Zorya sat by the window, cradling a cup of tea between her palms. The tea was too sweet, as always, but she didn't mind. Her fingers lingered on the warm ceramic, her gaze wandering to the courtyard where her little sister, Thalassa Rose, knelt in the dirt, a small pink bundle of joy with hair like spun sugar.
"Grow, little one. Grow big and strong," Thalassa whispered, her voice soft as petals. Under her fingertips, the tiny sprout in her pot trembled, stretching toward the sun. Leaves unfurled, delicate and green, and a single bloom—lavender and pale—opened as if in answer.
Zorya smiled.
Beyond the courtyard walls, the city of Floralis murmured to life. Vendors called out their wares—glowing fruit from the East, rare minerals from the West, silken threads from the North. The distant bell of the Great Library chimed the hour, its echo weaving through the streets like a song.
At the far side of the courtyard, Vair balanced on the roof, hammer in hand, wind stirring his dark hair as he worked to patch a stubborn leak. Sparks danced around him, tiny arcs of metal bending and twisting at his command, his breath steady as the forge-fire.
Their father's voice rose from the kitchen, a low hum as he prepared breakfast. The scent of freshly baked bread and roasted herbs filled the air, wrapping the home in a warm, familiar embrace.
It was an ordinary morning.
A peaceful, perfect morning.
And Zorya felt—just for a moment—like everything was exactly as it should be.
The sun is setting , spilling gold over the rooftops of Floralis. Zorya's gaze wandered beyond the courtyard, to the neighboring house's garden—where a tree of strange beauty stood, tall and ancient. Its trunk was twisted like a braid of dark wood, and its branches unfurled with blossoms of impossible color: deep blue and soft violet, petals shimmering faintly like a dream caught between worlds.
They called it "Mirathiel"—the Tree of Whispering Blooms.
No one knew when or how it had appeared. One day, it simply was, blooming in the yard of an old cobbler who had long since moved away. The tree remained, untouched and undisturbed, as if the earth itself had chosen to plant it. Some said it was a gift from the saints, others whispered of forgotten magics—but Zorya only knew that it made her heart ache in a way she couldn't explain.
It was beautiful.
Today, the petals swayed gently in the breeze, drifting down like soft confetti. Zorya rested her chin on her hand, watching as a petal landed on the window ledge, its colors shifting in the light. A soft hum seemed to linger in the air—a quiet song only she could hear.
Mirathiel.
Her peaceful moment broke with a sudden clatter.
A thud from the roof, followed by a sharp, startled shout.
"Vair!" Zorya jolted up, nearly spilling her tea. She hurried outside, her slippers skimming across the sun-warmed stones of the courtyard.
Her brother sat in the grass by the wall, rubbing the back of his head, a crooked grin stretching across his face.
"Morning, starlight," Vair said, winking at her as if he hadn't just fallen off the roof. His dark hair tumbled into his eyes, and a faint breeze stirred around him, playing with the dust.
"Are you all right?" Zorya knelt beside him, concern flickering in her scarlet eyes. "You'll crack your head open one of these days."
"Bah, it's nothing. Roof's more stubborn than I thought." He winced a little, then grinned. "Besides, you'd miss me if I stopped falling off things, wouldn't you?"
Zorya rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched.
"Miss the noise, maybe," she teased.
He chuckled, pushing himself up. "That's the spirit. Someone's gotta keep the Cinderfall house from falling apart, eh? Father's too busy dreaming up new gadgets, and Thalassa's too busy turning the place into a jungle."
Zorya's gaze softened. "And I'm just...here."
Vair paused, his grin fading into something gentler. He ruffled her hair, a familiar warmth in his touch.
"You're not just here, Zor. You're here. That's enough for us."
The wind stirred again, ruffling the petals of Mirathiel.
Vair dusted himself off with a casual air, as if falling from rooftops was no more trouble than slipping on a wet cobblestone. The fading sunlight caught on his skin, and for a brief moment, Zorya thought she saw something shift—the faintest gleam of metal beneath his sleeves, a quiet glint in the bones of his hands.
He was strong. Too strong for someone who claimed to be an ordinary boy.
Of course, he was more than ordinary. Her brother had always been more.
Vair Cinderfall, the boy who could shape metal and command the wind with a flick of his fingers, who laughed at danger and stitched broken things back together in their father's workshop. Everyone said he had a gift—an inheritance of the saints' blessings.
And Thalassa, their little sister, could make flowers bloom from cracked pots and dead earth. She would hum to them softly, and they'd burst into life at her fingertips, vines curling around her small hands as if they loved her.
Even the world seemed to know its place. The wind belonged to Vair. The flowers belonged to Thalassa.
But Zorya...
Zorya was just Zorya.
She sat on the garden wall as evening fell, the petals of Mirathiel drifting down like quiet stars. The golden glow of sunset painted the sky, and the scents of simmering stew and baking bread floated from the kitchen window.
Her fingers brushed the edge of her skirt. No warmth sparked in her palms, no shiver of magic beneath her skin. Just skin and bone and breath.
Fifteen had come and gone—her birthday just a quiet day with tea and cake—and still...nothing.
The powers of the saints awakened by fifteen, they said. If they didn't, you were ordinary. A life of watching from the edges.
She tilted her head back, watching the petals fall. The tree seemed to hum in the stillness, and the world felt just out of reach.
The door creaked open, and Thalassa's voice drifted through, bright and sweet:
"Zorya! Dinner's ready!"
Zorya blinked, her gaze returning to the tree one last time before going inside.