The morning came slowly, stretching its golden fingers across a horizon painted in hues of soft rose and lilac. Alina blinked against the sunlight, a gentle, pervasive warmth spilling through the delicate, cloud-laced canopy of the sky above. The air smelled impossibly fresh, crisp and clean, carrying the scent of something floral, ancient, and alive all at once. It was the smell of a world that had never been touched by pollution or decay.
It took her a moment, suspended in that peaceful, half-awake state, to register where she was. Not her cramped apartment with its peeling wallpaper and the incessant drone of city traffic.
Emeraldia.
The memories of the previous night—the disorienting fall, the unnerving man in emerald, the talking golden dove—rushed back not with terror, but with a strange sense of distance, as if they had happened to someone else. She had spent those first dark hours denying the truth, running from the impossible idea that she was meant to be here. But now, in the soft, forgiving embrace of daylight, that frantic resistance had faded, replaced by a quiet, thrilling curiosity. She wasn't thinking about magic rings, or royal titles, or cryptic men, she was thinking about adventure, and she wasn't alone.
The golden-feathered dove, perched on a nearby stone railing that overlooked a breathtaking valley, let out a disgruntled, human-like sigh.
A grin spread across Alina's face, genuine and unrestrained. "Morning, Alfred."
The bird twitched, its head tilting in a sharp, disapproving motion. Its voice, when it came, was a crisp, pedantic tone that was utterly at odds with its tiny, feathered form. "You are mistaken. That is not my designation."
"Nope," Alina said, stretching her arms high above her head with a deep, satisfying groan. "I've decided your name is Alfred. It suits your stuffy personality."
The dove fluttered from the railing to land gracefully on the ground beside her, his intelligent, beady gaze filled with exasperation. "I do not approve of this arbitrary nomenclature."
"Doesn't matter."
"It most certainly does. I have a name, one of great honour and history."
"Not to me, you don't," Alina countered playfully. "To me, you're Alfred."
Alfred let out a deep, tired sigh—the kind that spoke of immense resignation rather than actual defeat. "If this is the burden I must bear to fulfill my duty, then I shall accept it."
Alina smirked, feeling a lightness she hadn't experienced in years. "Glad to hear it."
With the sun climbing higher, painting the silver-leafed trees in strokes of gold, she felt a strange, unfamiliar excitement bubbling inside her. She had never woken up with this kind of raw anticipation before, as if the day itself was a wide-open, unwritten page, daring her to fill it with something bold. The kingdom sprawled out before her, its crystalline towers and lush green rooftops glimmering under the light, promising wonders she had only ever dreamed of.
Today, she was going to explore. And not cautiously, with a map and a plan, as the old Alina would have.
She was going to explore like a woman who had never had the chance to be reckless.
The streets of Emeraldia were a symphony for the senses, unlike anything she had ever known. The central market square was filled with stalls that shimmered like living things, their canopies woven from a fabric that shifted through a rainbow of hues depending on the angle of the light. Merchants with kind, otherworldly faces sold everything from enchanted mirrors that whispered cryptic but intriguing fortunes, to delicate glass bottles filled with swirling blue mist that claimed to be captured dreams.
Alina passed a bakery where the air was thick with the scent of cinnamon and something akin to honeyed sunlight. The pastries didn't sit on trays; they floated lazily above the counter, waiting for customers to select them. A small, elfin-looking child with pointed ears giggled as they reached for a glistening cinnamon roll, only for the treat to playfully dodge their grasp before finally allowing itself to be caught.
Further down, a musician stood at a corner, not on a box but on a patch of pavement that glowed in time with his music. His violin sent ripples of golden sound into the air—notes that swirled in visible, shimmering patterns before fading into soft, harmless sparks that rained down on laughing passersby.
Alina could hardly contain herself, a wide, wondrous smile plastered on her face.
"This place is ridiculous," she whispered, her voice full of awe.
Alfred, perched calmly on her shoulder now, clicked his beak. "It is home."
"It's insane. It's amazing. It's completely unreal."
Alfred only hummed a soft, melodic note in response, but she could sense his quiet, unwavering pride.
She passed a stall where an elderly merchant with a long, white beard and eyes that seemed to hold the light of the stars waved her over. His display was filled with gemstones that flickered and pulsed like captured fireflies.
"A memory for the traveler?" the man urged, his voice like rustling parchment. "Each stone holds a different echo of the past."
Alina hesitated, a flicker of her old caution returning, before her new adventurous spirit won out. She picked up a deep, amber-coloured gem, its surface warm and smooth.
The moment it touched her skin, a jolt went through her. A warmth flooded her mind, and for the briefest, most vivid of seconds—she saw it.
It was not her memory. It was not a place or a time she had ever lived.
She was standing in a vast, sun-drenched meadow, the air thick with the scent of wildflowers and the sound of distant laughter. Golden sunshine spilled over rows upon rows of unfamiliar, flowering crops. She felt a hand on her shoulder, gentle and strong, and turned. A woman with hair the colour of spun gold was smiling at her, her lips forming a name—not Alina.
Elyria.
The vision shattered as quickly as it had formed, leaving behind a faint echo of phantom joy.
Alina gasped, her fingers fumbling as she dropped the stone back onto its velvet cushion.
Alfred watched her carefully from his perch, but she refused to meet his gaze. She wasn't thinking about that. Not today. Today was for the present.
She nodded politely to the merchant before walking away, her pace quicker this time.
As noon approached, the scents of fresh fruit and exotic roasted delicacies filled the air, mingling with the ever-present aroma of magic. Alina had never been a fan of crowded places, the press of bodies in her old world always making her feel smaller and more invisible. But something about Emeraldia made everything feel different. The people—a graceful mix of humans, elves, and other beings she couldn't name—were joyful and unhurried, moving through the streets with an easy, flowing grace. It was like the kingdom itself was alive, and every corner was simply waiting to be discovered.
She stopped by a small stall where colourful fruit sat piled in neat, glistening rows. The vendor, an older woman with kind, soft eyes and intricate silver braids, was speaking to another customer. The fruit itself was mesmerizing. It glowed faintly from within, its skin swirling with soft, galaxy-like patterns.
Drawn by an irresistible urge, Alina reached out and picked up a fruit that looked like a shimmering, sunset-coloured peach. It was warm in her hand, pulsing with a faint, sweet energy.
The moment her fingers curled around it, the vendor turned her kind eyes to her.
"That will be three silver pieces, dear."
Alina froze, the warmth of the fruit suddenly feeling like a hot coal in her hand. The familiar, sickening lurch of embarrassment hit her.
"Oh," she stammered, her voice small. "I—uh—I don't—"
She didn't have money. She didn't have anything. She was a castaway in a world of wonders she couldn't afford.
Alfred, perched beside her, let out his now-familiar tired sigh. "My sincerest apologies, madam. I will cover the payment for my charge."
The vendor looked at the dove with mild, good-natured amusement. "And how, little one, will a bird pay for fruit?"
With a flourish that was entirely too dramatic for a bird, Alfred opened his wing, revealing a small, brightly shining golden coin tucked securely beneath his feathers.
Alina blinked in astonishment.
But before the vendor could take it, before reason could reassert itself, Alina did something incredibly, wonderfully stupid.
Fueled by a sudden, intoxicating impulse, she clamped her hand over Alfred, securing him to her shoulder, clutched the fruit, and ran.
The thrill of pure, unadulterated rebellion ignited something wild and joyful inside her. She laughed—a loud, clear, happy sound that she didn't recognize as her own. She had never done anything like this before. She had never broken rules, never stolen so much as a paperclip, never run just for the glorious sake of running.
She wasn't afraid. Not today.
"You are absolutely, certifiably mad!" Alfred squawked as she darted between stalls, expertly dodging merchants and weaving through the laughing crowds.
"You love it!" she shot back, her voice breathless with glee.
"I most certainly do not—!"
"Yes, you do."
The streets stretched before her, the golden rooftops reflecting the brilliant afternoon sunlight, the happy buzz of the market swirling around her like music. She didn't know where she was going, and for the first time in her entire life—she didn't care.
She was alive. She had never been this alive before.
They didn't stop running until they reached the edge of the city, where the bustling streets gave way to a gentle, sun-drenched hill overlooking the kingdom.
Alina collapsed onto a soft patch of grass, her chest heaving, still breathless and holding the stolen fruit tightly in her hand.
She turned to Alfred, who was preening his ruffled feathers with a look of thorough exasperation.
"You could have simply let me pay," he muttered, though his beady eyes held a glint of something that looked suspiciously like amusement.
Alina grinned, wiping her brow with the back of her hand before biting into the stolen fruit. The flavour exploded in her mouth—a cascade of sweet, rich, complex tastes unlike anything she had ever known, like biting into summer itself.
"But where's the fun in that?" she teased.
Alfred sighed, but his feathers ruffled in what she was certain was quiet amusement. "You are reckless."
"And you," she said, her heart full, "are stuck with me."
He gave her an unimpressed look before settling on the grass beside her, basking in the warmth.
Alina took another bite, the sweet juice dribbling down her chin. The taste filled her senses, the warmth of the sun pressed against her skin, and the panoramic view of the magical city filled her eyes. For the first time in a very long, lonely time—she wasn't worried about anything.
She wasn't sad. She wasn't anxious.
She wasn't invisible.
She was here, in this impossible kingdom, running through the streets, stealing magical fruit, dragging a talking golden dove into mischief, and laughing like she had never laughed before.
She didn't know what tomorrow would bring. She didn't know who the man in emerald was, or what being 'Princess Elyria' truly meant.
And right now, she didn't care.
Right now, in this perfect, sunlit moment, she was happy.
And that was more than enough.