The forest had begun to thin, sunlight breaking through the thick canopy in long, golden lances. The air was heavy with the scent of rain-soaked moss and petrichor. Birds — or things that resembled birds — called from unseen perches, their cries echoing across the mist-veiled woodlands of Dun Mor.
Alatar walked among the six Lumenari, the faint sound of their boots brushing over the undergrowth. He moved in silence, yet not awkwardly — there was something natural about his stillness, something that made even silence seem alive.
It was Alatar who broke it first.
His voice, calm and even, threaded through the air like a fine note of wind in an ancient hall.
"I've never been to the outside world before," he said, his pale eyes scanning the towering trees. "It's my first time seeing members of your race. Who are you?"
The leader, who walked slightly ahead of the others, glanced back at him. Her horns caught a glint of the fading sunlight, curling back from her temples in smooth azure arcs. She studied him for a moment — this stranger who appeared from mist and silence — and then smiled faintly, as if deciding he deserved honesty.
"Then it seems our paths were meant to cross, traveler."
Her voice carried the clarity of command, yet with warmth — a tempered tone born from experience and discipline.
"My name is Lysera Thalen," she said, turning her head slightly as they walked. "Captain of the Ecliptic Hunt. And these," she gestured lightly to the others following behind, "are my company — Jor, Maelen, Sira, Tareth, and Vaen. We're of the Lumenari."
"Lumenari," Alatar repeated softly, tasting the sound as though testing its resonance with reality. "A name of light."
Lysera's lips curved upward. "You could say that. We call ourselves the Children of Sky and Stone. But yes — light runs through us. It is in our blood and in our breath."
Her pace slowed slightly, allowing Alatar to walk beside her. She continued, her tone slipping into the gentle rhythm of one accustomed to teaching:
"We are a people born of magic, and bound to it. Our home lies east of these woods — the Kingdom of Naeris, built upon the cliffs of the Azure Spires. You could walk a thousand leagues and not find a view as grand as our skies."
As she spoke, the others listened in silence. The forest seemed to hush with her words. Even Alatar felt the weight of her description — not the boasting of pride, but the reverence of belonging.
"Our skin," she said, brushing a gauntleted hand against her arm, where faint patches of blue shimmered beneath the grey tone, "is shaped by the winds that birthed us. We carry the touch of air and water in our veins — the gifts of the Sky Weavers, our ancestors. Their breath gave us the winds, their tears the rivers. From them, we learned to listen to the world's current rather than to fight it."
Alatar's gaze traced the iridescent marks upon her skin — faintly luminous, like light trapped under ice.
"You wield air and water?" he asked.
"Aye," she replied. "It's our birthright. The Lumenari are tied to the elements — we shape wind, summon rain, bend streams, calm storms. But more than that," she looked ahead, her eyes bright with quiet pride, "we live it. Our magic is not something we use; it is something we are."
Alatar nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. "You breathe it," he said softly. "Like the Sanctum breathes for me."
Lysera turned her head, curiosity flickering in her gaze. "The Sanctum?"
Alatar did not answer immediately. His eyes were distant, pale and contemplative, the kind of eyes that looked through memory as one looks through smoke.
"It was my home," he said finally. "A place far above the clouds — older than this world, perhaps. I was… forged there. Shaped. Taught."
The others exchanged glances. Vaen, one of the younger warriors, murmured something under his breath, but Lysera silenced him with a glance.
She spoke again, carefully. "Then perhaps it was fate that brought you down from the clouds, Alatar of the Sanctum."
At the mention of fate, something faint rippled within Alatar — not emotion, but awareness. His Entropic Sight, ever dormant beneath his calm, stirred like a slow current beneath still water. He glanced at Lysera — at the play of movement in her words, the measured grace of her breathing. He could see the causal lines of her existence, faint and beautiful, threads woven through centuries of choice and consequence.
He blinked, and the vision receded.
"I do not think fate often concerns itself with me," he said.
Lysera smiled softly. "You'd be surprised, stranger. Fate has a habit of finding those who believe they stand outside it."
They walked in silence for a while. The forest opened gradually, the path winding between tall silver-trunked trees whose leaves shimmered faintly blue in the dying light. Alatar watched how the Lumenari moved — tall, deliberate, almost graceful. They seemed attuned to the world in a way that mortals rarely were. Even their laughter, quiet and cautious, held rhythm.
At length, Lysera continued her explanation, voice softer now.
"The Lumenari are ruled by the Kingdom of Naeris, under Queen Vaelura the Ninth. But she does not rule alone. The Conclave of Azure guides her — mages, generals, artisans. We value wisdom, knowledge, and restraint above all else."
Alatar tilted his head. "Restraint?"
"Yes." Her tone turned thoughtful. "Power without restraint is ruin. Our ancestors taught us that magic devours the reckless. Even the sky collapses if it pulls too hard against its own winds."
Alatar almost smiled. "A truth spoken in all realms."
"You speak as one who knows it well."
"I do."
His gaze drifted to the horizon. "I have seen what happens when restraint fails. When power believes it is alone."
Something in his tone silenced her. There was a depth to it — a weight that did not come from arrogance, but experience far beyond her reach. She glanced at him then, at the faint glow in his eyes.
"You speak like one far older than you look."
Alatar's reply was quiet, almost amused. "Perhaps I am."
They walked on.
By now, the light had begun to dim, casting long shadows between the trunks. The group spoke little, though Lysera found herself glancing at Alatar more often than she meant to — something about his presence was… steadying. Even his silence seemed deliberate, as though the world arranged itself to accommodate it.
After a while, Lysera broke the quiet once more.
"You'll see the town soon," she said. "Vaelrin. It's small, but the people are kind. Many Lumenari live there, though you'll find others — humans, fey, wanderers. It lies under Naeris' protection."
Alatar inclined his head. "Then I will see it."
Lysera hesitated, then smiled faintly. "If you're truly new to this world, you'll have much to learn. The Lumenari may seem proud, but they value strength — of mind and spirit as much as body. You… will be noticed."
"I intend to be," Alatar said quietly.
She laughed, light and low, like water over glass. "Something tells me that will not be difficult for you."
As they neared the edge of the forest, the trees thinned until the first glimpse of distant lights shimmered across the valley below — soft, sapphire lanterns marking the town's borders. The wind grew cooler. Somewhere far off, bells rang faintly, signaling dusk.
Alatar slowed his pace slightly, turning his gaze once more to Lysera.
"You are a race of air and water," he said. "Yet you are rooted in stone. You rise but do not drift. You move but do not scatter. That is rare."
Lysera smiled, her expression tinged with something between pride and humility.
"We are born of storm and tide," she said. "But it is stone that holds us together."
Alatar nodded slowly, thoughtfully.
"Then perhaps," he said, "the world below still remembers what it means to endure."
And as they descended toward Vaelrin — the strange, serene being from the Sanctum and the six Lumenari of Naeris — the mists above them began to close again, as though the mountain itself watched in silence.
For the first time in centuries, Alatar walked among life.
Unseen, beneath his calm, the Eye of Elarion stirred — its iris faintly brightening, sensing new threads of causality being spun around him.