Moonlight Chamber , Spirit Palace
A high-ceilinged throne room made of translucent crystal and luminous spiritwood. The stars above shine through the arched ceiling. The Council of Elders stands in a semi-circle around Queen Serenia, who sits on her moonstone throne, one hand resting lightly on her daughter's shoulder.
The moonstone floor of the Spirit Court shimmered with the glow of a thousand floating lanterns, but the chamber felt cold—too cold for reverence. Whispers slithered through the air like snakes. They always did when her daughter's name was spoken.
High Priest Velenn:
"Your Majesty, we ask only for the child's origin to be clarified. The spirits are whispering, the people are restless. A child born of no union, no oath, no divine rite—"
Queen Serenia (voice like a still, deep lake):
"You dare say she was born of nothing?"
Councilwoman Tyressa:
"Not nothing, Your Grace. But surely you must understand... the child's bloodline—"
Queen Serenia (slowly rising, robes trailing like mist, eyes gleaming):
"The child's bloodline is mine. That is the only truth the stars need."
(Her voice deepens, not loud, but resonant — like thunder beneath still earth.)
"You speak of rites. But I speak of will. Of choosing love over law. And what I choose becomes law."
(She steps down from the throne, the light dimming slightly around her as if the palace itself listens.)
Queen Serenia (to all of them, her gaze sharp as ice):
"Do you forget who I am? The queen who held back the Nightfall War with a breath. The spirit who turned storms into rivers. You dare question my daughter's right to stand beneath these stars?"
(A hush falls. Illyria, holding tightly to her mother's robes, peeks up with wide violet eyes. Serenia looks down briefly, her tone softens — only for her.)
Queen Serenia (to Illyria):
"One day, they will kneel when you speak. But until then, they will answer to me."
(She turns back to the council, her voice now diamond-hard.)
Queen Serenia:
"This is the last time I tolerate such cowardice dressed as concern. If the council wishes to advise, then speak wisely. If not—
leave your sigils and step down."
(Silence. No one breathes. One of the younger councilmen lowers his eyes. Another shifts uncomfortably.)
Queen Serenia (coldly):
"I do not ask twice. "Have you all forgotten what I said five hundred years ago—on the day my daughter was born?"
Her voice echoed like thunder through the jade chamber.
"Did time dull your memory, Velenn? Did peace make you forget what was carved into this court when my blood watered its steps?" I warned you then—if you questioned her right to rule, you would be silencing the will of this realm itself."
Her hand lifted, and silence fell like frost.
"Five hundred years have passed since my daughter was born," she said, voice like a blade wrapped in velvet. "Five hundred years since I stood here, bleeding life into the soil of our realm, and told you exactly what I would do."
The air tensed, bending around her fury.
No one answered. No one breathed.
"You questioned her worth before she even opened her eyes. You demanded I take a consort, as if this realm had forgotten what it means to love one man without shame."
She stepped forward.
"But I told you then—and I tell you now—my daughter is of spirit and starfire. I birthed her for no throne, no alliance, no approval. She was born because I refused to let the world forget him."
A whisper of his name passed through her, but she held it.
"And now? You dare question her again?"
"You who watched her grow for five centuries in our own time—five centuries of grace, strength, and brilliance?"
Her voice cracked—only once.
"You will not shame her for the love that made her."
Silence. Not the fearful kind, but the kind that came when truth walked into the room.
Mesmerized by the Monarch's cold resolution, everyone remembered the same scene that happened five hundred years in the past.
*** 500 years ago
The palace trembled beneath her steps.
Queen Serenia moved through the Spirit Hall like a storm wrapped in velvet. Her silver-white hair flowed behind her like a banner, and the sapphire veil trailing her shoulders shimmered with the blessing of a thousand souls. She wore no crown—she never needed one. Her presence alone silenced even the most defiant of lords.
They waited for her in the High Chamber, cloaked in formality and fear. The council. Seven spirits who called themselves wise, eternal, just. Cowards, Serenia thought. Gentle hypocrites who smiled while weighing blood on their tongues.
"My Queen," Lord Vireon began, his voice steady despite the sweat on his brow. "There are matters we must reconsider before the royal child is born. You understand, of course—the people will not take kindly to a fatherless heir."
Serenia stopped. The light of the Hall bent around her like reality itself waited on her breath.
"You mistake something, Vireon," she said calmly. "This child will not be fatherless. She is the daughter of Caelus, the Destruction Dragon Monarch."
A wave of whispers. Gasps. Fear.
"That—that is not wise to admit," another murmured. "The people will demand proof. They'll ask why you never named a consort. Why you bore a child from a forgotten war."
"Because I loved him," Serenia said simply.
The room fell into stunned silence.
She stepped forward, her voice like winter rain.
"I will not lie to my people to make you comfortable. Caelus chose to fade from history for his sins, for the flames he once unleashed. But I carry no shame in loving him. This child is ours. And no one," her eyes narrowed, "no one will call her unworthy."
The council dared not speak.
"And if any among you think I should take another consort to soothe political unrest," she added, voice quiet and sharp as a blade, "then step forward and tell me which man dares to stand in his place."
Not one soul moved.
Serenia turned, silken robes sweeping behind her. "Then let it be known: the child born today is my heir. Born from my love. A true monarch."
---
The sky split open in a silent cry as the Spirit Queen gave birth.
No screams, no thunder. Just a quiet snowfall that drifted through the palace, and every petal in the garden turned toward the child as if bowing in welcome.
Serenia held the tiny girl close to her chest. She smelled of rain and starlight.
Her eyes—oh, her eyes.
Like Caelus'. Like the storm before the calm.
"Her name is Illyria," Serenia whispered. "The one who will survive."
---
Five hundred years later (Human Age: 5 yrs)
A child surrounded by spirits having Silvery-lavender waves like hair, often loose or braided with floating spirit beads, Opalescent violet with flecks of blue, reflecting emotion like still water eyes, Porcelain-pale skin with a faint luminescent glow under moonlight, Delicate and slender looking but with a strong, upright posture, wearing Flowing spirit silks in cool shades (mist blue, starlight white), often barefoot in the palace and having an Aura of Light and always curious — a soft breeze and innocent wisdom.
This may be the best description to notice our playful yet wise princess, Illyria.
She stood barefoot on the edge of the Skywater Lake, her toes curled over warm moss.
The wind in the Spirit World was always kind. It smelled of lavender, sea salt, and the oldest books. Floating isles drifted lazily above her head, carrying gardens of memory, firefly orchards, and soul-bound deer that shimmered like crystal. Water ran upward as easily as it did down, and the trees whispered in languages only children could hear.
There were spirits shaped like shadows, and spirits shaped like birds, and others who wore cloaks of laughter and danced on moonbeams.
But Illyria liked the quiet ones best. The ones who sat beside her in silence and glowed when she smiled.
"Mother says the world used to be bigger," she said aloud.
A soft whir of feathers passed above.
"And that I'm strange because I ask questions. But spirits don't ask questions, do they? They just feel."
She knelt beside the water and touched her reflection. It shimmered, then changed—showing her older, perhaps taller, eyes shadowed by something unnamed.
"Do I really have his eyes?" she whispered.
Behind her, the lake answered only with ripples.
---
In the Throne Chamber, Serenia signed scrolls that bore the names of old gods and new threats.
She paused only when a breeze entered through the open window, carrying Ilaria's laugh on its back. Her hand trembled slightly.
Caelus... if you could see her now.
Your daughter walks the stars like she owns them. But I see it. That sorrow you left in her bones. The quiet you planted in her chest. She will suffer, won't she?
And still, I chose this.
I chose her.
---
Later that evening, Illyria sat beside her mother on the moon-carved balcony. The stars were so close, she could count the colors inside them.
"Mother," she asked, "what do you love most in the world?"
Serenia smiled without looking away. "You."
"More than the Spirit World?"
"Yes."
"More than Father?"
That silence again. Soft, careful.
Then: "You are the only thing I love without regret."
Illyria didn't understand, not yet. But she pressed closer to her mother's side.
And from far beyond the edge of the world, something ancient turned in its slumber.