The morning sun spread its golden light over Emeraldia, bathing the kingdom in hues of warmth and profound tranquility. The crystalline towers seemed to sing a silent, resonant note as they caught the light. The rivers shimmered like liquid silver, winding through the cobbled streets, carrying whispered secrets from ages past in their glowing currents. The ancient, silver-leafed trees stood tall and serene, their leaves reflecting the soft light and humming a soft, magical lullaby that was carried on the breeze.
Alina had grown accustomed to the rhythm of this impossible world. She had learned the way magic was woven into its very fabric, tangible in the taste of the food and the feel of the air on her skin. She had come to understand the way time itself felt different here, stretching lazily in the sunlit afternoons and racing with thrilling speed during twilight explorations. It was a world that felt more real, more alive, than the one she had left behind.
She didn't know today would be her last day.
She stretched lazily on a patch of cool, soft grass just outside the bustling market square, watching the people of Emeraldia go about their day with a carefree, easy grace she wished she could bottle and take with her.
Alfred sat perched on a low stone wall beside her, preening his magnificent golden feathers with a distracted, almost fussy air.
"You look deep in thought," he remarked without glancing at her, his voice a crisp note in the calm morning.
A faint, genuine smile touched Alina's lips. "I'm always deep in thought."
Alfred huffed, a small, indignant puff of air. "You say that as if it's a virtue."
She chuckled, her eyes tracing the path of a floating lantern as it drifted lazily overhead. "Maybe it is. Maybe thinking too much is what keeps me grounded."
"Or," Alfred countered, finally turning to fix her with his intelligent, beady gaze, "it is what keeps you trapped."
She didn't respond to that. The truth in his words struck too close to home, a sharp reminder of the invisible cage her own mind had been for so many years. Instead, she gazed out at the kingdom, taking in its breathtaking beauty, letting the sight of it fill the empty, anxious spaces inside her. It was unlike anything she had ever known—unlike anything she had ever believed could possibly exist.
After a long, comfortable silence, she spoke again, her voice soft.
"Tell me something, Alfred. Tell me about this place. Tell me how Emeraldia came to be."
The dove ruffled his golden feathers, seeming mildly amused by the sudden, grand request. "Are you asking for a history lesson, Princess? Or a story?"
"A story," she answered without a moment's hesitation, turning to look at him properly. "Tell me something real, but make it feel like a dream."
Alfred considered this for a moment, his head tilted. Then, with a slow, deliberate nod, he settled himself more comfortably, his ancient eyes seeming to look past the present and into the deep mists of time.
And then he began.
"It is said," his voice was a soft, melodic whisper, like rustling leaves and distant chimes, "that before Emeraldia was the kingdom it is now, it was only a land of drifting stars. A place where the sky met the ground in a shimmering, unbroken horizon, and the air itself was thick with raw, wild magic. Constellations bloomed like flowers in the soil, and rivers of pure starlight flowed through valleys of moon-dust. There were no rulers, no borders, only an endless, silent stretch of wonder, untouched by greed, ambition, or war."
"But that cosmic stillness changed when the first king arrived."
"His name was Eldrin, and he came not from the ambient magic, but from blood and bone. He was a man who had once been mortal, from a world much like your own, but was called by the stars themselves to govern a place that had never known a ruler. He was a paradox—a finite man tasked with shaping an infinite land."
"Eldrin was not alone. He brought with him those who believed in his vision of a kingdom—fierce warriors to guard its borders, wise scholars to read its stars, hopeful dreamers to imagine its future, and masterful builders to give those dreams form. Together, they did not conquer the land; they courted it. They shaped the magic, built its crystalline towers from solidified light, carved its glowing rivers with songs of direction, and tamed its swirling sky with pacts of balance. They did not destroy the magic, no. They worked with it, binding it into the kingdom's very veins, making it a part of its laws, its people, its heart."
"And so, Emeraldia was born. A kingdom unlike any other, where magic did not lurk in hidden, shadowy places but thrived openly, breathing in the light of day."
"Eldrin ruled wisely, and for centuries the kingdom flourished in peace. But a kingdom, no matter how mighty, cannot exist on strength alone. It needs grace. It needs a queen."
"And his queen," Alfred paused, his voice dropping lower, "came from a faraway land."
"The records speak little of her origins. Only whispers and fragmented poems remain. But they all agree on this: she did not belong to the stars of this sky, nor did she belong to the waters of these rivers, nor was she born from the magic of this earth. She came from a place beyond the known boundaries of this world, a place unreachable, unknown. A place… like yours."
"She was kind but deeply quiet, wise yet heartbreakingly distant, as if her heart remained tethered to the world she had left behind. She bore the king two children—two daughters, born of two worlds, meant to inherit the impossible weight of the crown."
"One was Esmeralda, who grew in the perfect image of her father—regal, commanding, her spirit forged in the image of the kingdom itself, bound to duty and strength."
"And the other…" Alfred's gaze met Alina's, profound and meaningful. "Well. You know her name, don't you?"
Alina stiffened, her breath catching in her throat. The story was no longer a dream; it felt like a memory. Her memory. She didn't speak.
Alfred continued, his voice a steady, gentle current, as if he hadn't noticed her reaction.
"But the queen, the visitor from another world, did not stay."
"One day, she was simply gone. The records do not say if she left by choice, or if something greater, some cosmic law, took her. Some say she vanished into the stars, a final, desperate attempt to return to wherever she came from. Others say she was never meant to be here at all—that she was only a visitor, bound by forces and promises beyond her control."
"But her absence left a wound in the heart of the kingdom. A silence that could never be filled."
"The king mourned for the rest of his days."
"Esmeralda, the firstborn, ruled in his stead."
"And the other daughter… the younger one… Well. She was lost before she was ever truly found."
Alina swallowed hard, the weight of the unspoken words pressing down on her, an invisible, crushing force. She wasn't sure why she had asked Alfred to tell her about Emeraldia. Maybe she had wanted a simple story to distract her from the impossible truth of her own situation. Maybe she had just wanted something beautiful to hold onto.
But now, as she listened to him, she felt something different. Something deeper.
Something colder.
A profound and sudden exhaustion swept over her, a weariness that went bone-deep. She suddenly felt so very, very tired.
Her limbs felt heavier than before, her body slow and sluggish to respond. It wasn't the pleasant tiredness that comes after a long, happy day. It was a draining, pulling sensation, as if the very energy was being leached out of her.
Alfred noticed the subtle shift.
"You should rest, Princess," he said gently, his voice losing its storyteller's cadence and filled now with a soft concern.
Alina could only nod, the effort feeling monumental. She leaned back against the cool grass, letting the swirling, vibrant sky swallow her whole.
"Keep talking," she murmured, her own voice sounding distant, fading at the edges. "I want to hear more."
Alfred watched her carefully, his golden form the last thing she focused on as her eyelids grew heavy.
And then he spoke again, his voice a soft farewell.
But Alina didn't hear him.
Because by then, she had already drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.
And the world, her old, gray, forgotten world, was beginning to pull her back.