There was once a legend—not from ancient times, but from a yesterday that still breathes among the stones and the flowers. Two souls, different in origin yet bound by the same destiny. An elf and a human; opposites like day and night, but so alike in what the heart dares not speak.
The young elf lived in Ilmenor, a city that shimmered between towers of crystal and suspended bridges, where magic still danced in the air—though its glow was fading with time. The wars of the past had left their mark: his people, once immortal, now lived barely a century, condemned to a fragility they had never known before.
She, on the other hand, came from Vertelf, a human city where the bell towers rang with fervor and the walls were covered in stained glass that told stories of faith… and of hatred toward the elves. There, beneath the veil of devotion, the young woman grew up, dedicated to a god who would not tolerate what was different.
They say that one day, in a field of flowers that seemed endless, their paths crossed. The wind blew softly, and the scent of lilacs mingled with the murmur of a nearby stream. They looked at each other without saying a word, and in that single instant, something impossible came to life. From that day on, their lives intertwined like roots beneath the earth: they shared laughter, dreams, and silences that spoke louder than any promise.
But love between an elf and a human was a sacrilege. And still, they embraced it with the innocence of those who believe love can defy the gods themselves.
When they realized there was no turning back, they sealed their bond in secret. On a moonless night, beneath the glow of candles, a saintly friend of theirs blessed their vow. No one else knew. No one was meant to know.
Time went on, and the crown of Ilmenor came to rest upon the young elf's head. She, meanwhile, remained in Vertelf, among prayers and penance. The distance between them grew, but so did the depth of their love. Every meeting was a miracle, every farewell a wound.
Until the miracle could no longer be hidden.
She carried within her the proof of their love—a child who belonged to neither world.
When the news spread, fury fell upon them like a storm. And they were hunted.
They were hunted like beasts, as if their love were a plague that needed to be torn out by the root. They were called heretics, defilers, paraded before the judgment of the people, their fate hanging by a thread that could snap with a single breath.
When all seemed lost, the great saint —their friend, their confidant— rose from among the crowd. With the light of her faith and the authority bestowed upon her by men, she absolved them of the sin they were accused of committing. She bent the rules with her power, not out of pride, but out of compassion.
Yet even the purest light can fade. One day, without warning or farewell, the saint departed… and never returned.
Time flowed on, and from that forbidden love, a child was born. An elf girl with crimson eyes and hair as red as a ruby. Her cries filled the halls of Ilmenor like a promise; the gods had sealed her fate with life, not punishment.
The little one, born of two opposing worlds, was proclaimed heir. She was destined to reign over the city of crystal and silence.
Perhaps the story should have ended there—with a sweet, eternal ending. But true legends do not know peace.
Because this was not a fable, but the story of Meliora and Thailon, the parents of Kiomi.
And their legend… continued.
Kiomi grew surrounded by love—by laughter, embraces, and hands that lifted her toward the sky. Her childhood was a warm garden, until the day death claimed one of her parents' dearest friends. A man beloved by all, a guardian who used to tell her stories until sleep finally took her. His passing was the first winter in the little girl's heart.
Not long after, without warning, her father disappeared. One morning, he simply left Ilmenor, leaving behind a silence that could never be filled. No one knew where he went, or why.
They all waited for him—his wife, his friends, his daughter. Days turned into years, and promises unraveled among the leaves of time.
—When will Daddy come back? —Kiomi would ask every dawn.
And her mother, with a trembling smile that barely held together, would always give the same answer:
—Soon.
Each day became a repetition of the last. Meliora waiting by the window, Kiomi counting the footsteps echoing through the hallway, hoping to hear his among them. Until the weight of waiting broke her.
One night, Meliora collapsed before her daughter. The tears she had always hidden overflowed, and her sorrow carved a wound deep into the girl's soul.
From that moment on, Meliora shut herself away in the church. The doors closed behind her, and the light that once filled her gaze faded, leaving only silence.
Kiomi's uncle took the throne of Ilmenor. The weight of the crown fell upon his shoulders, along with the duty of caring for the little girl left behind.
The kingdom seemed to be drowning in its own sorrow, yet Kiomi did not yield. She kept walking, even when her knees trembled. She kept breathing, even when it hurt to do so. She kept living—for those who no longer could.
Lucian became her protector. She would watch him train, fight, teach… and in his every motion, she found something beyond respect. She admired him with all her heart, dreaming that one day she might wear the armor of Ilmenor's knights.
When she finally gathered the courage to tell him, Lucian shook his head. Not harshly, but with that look of quiet sorrow—the kind that tries to protect, even if it means wounding.
Still, Kiomi did not stop. She trained on her own, driven by the burning determination of someone who refuses to be forgotten.
Time healed some wounds. Little by little, she spoke to her mother again, and through timid laughter and awkward silences, life seemed to straighten itself out. Meliora began to smile again; Kiomi began to believe again.
But that calm was only an illusion. Suddenly, her mother stopped coming home. At first, Kiomi thought it was because of her duties at the church, but soon the rumors reached her ears: Meliora was taking care of two kids.
Two strangers had taken the time, attention, and affection that had once been hers.
The emptiness inside her grew. And when she finally came face to face with one of them, rage blinded her. She blamed him for stealing her mother away.
But the boy, with unsettling calm, revealed the truth. Meliora wasn't only caring for him—he was also Lucian's disciple. And the disciple of the same saint who had once saved her parents' lives.
Kiomi felt the ground vanish beneath her feet. Everything she loved—her mother, her teacher, her very story—was slipping away like sand between her fingers.
She ran to her room, slammed the door shut, and fell to her knees. Tears blurred her vision, and her pain turned into a voice echoing inside her mind.
"Why not me? Why him? What does he have that I don't? Why did Lucian choose him… and my mother too?"
Her breathing turned into a choked sob. The echo of her questions bounced off the walls, unanswered, until a distant flash of lightning lit up her face.
For an instant, she swore she saw her reflection in the window—a broken gaze, so much like her mother's that day.