Long before Lunivelle's first breath, before the new sky learned how to shine, a mysterious event tore through existence itself. Two worlds—one forged by humans, technology, wars, and modern convictions; the other woven with elves, arcane forces, ancient beasts, and monarchies older than stone—collided without warning.
Where they struck, reality cracked open.
Portals bled into each other. Physics unspooled and rewove its own script. Magic and machinery tangled like two serpents fighting over the same heart. Time reinvented its rhythm, astrology birthed new constellations with new laws, and beliefs mutated into shapes neither world had ever known.
When the collision settled, a newborn world emerged—alien to both its parents, and yet carved from their bones. A world where spells hummed inside engines, where machines could break enchantments, where myths and modernity collided daily in sparks and shadows.
TIME SKIP — FIVE HUNDRED YEARS
And in this stitched-together reality, Lunivelle was born—an elf child of the new age, in a world where arcane runes glowed on metal and steel factories rang with the heartbeat of ancient magic.
She would one day walk this strange ecosystem with her husband, Thirukumaran—a human whose destiny had been knotted with hers before either of them could speak.
Their story begins not with choice, but with echoes spoken long before they were old enough to understand the weight of their names.
Voices—many voices—rose like overlapping waves. Male and female, soft and stern, the tones of families locked in tradition and certainty.
"I will make my three-year-old elf-daughter, Lunivelle, marry the five-year-old human boy, Thirukumaran," they said. Their combined voices carried the unshaken authority of a custom older than the collision itself.
Child-marriage. A tradition neither child understood.
Lunivelle, tiny and wide-eyed, only blinked at the sound of her name. Thirukumaran, barely tall enough to see over a table, giggled at something no one else found funny.
Their laughter—light, innocent—echoed softly.
And that laughter followed them as time turned.
They grew into teenagers; their laughter deepened but remained bright. They grew into adults; their laughter matured but never lost the spark that tied them together.
Outside their quiet bond, the world roared forward.
Factories rose. Magic mixed with machinery to create the age of industrial revolutions. Across the streets and sky-bridges, crowds chanted in protest—unknown voices shouting in fierce unison:
"NO CHILD-MARRIAGE!"
Their world rattled between tradition and progress.
Then—
An alarm rang.
A soft, chiming sound, and on a floating display appeared the strange, restructured time format: A triangular-shaped clock only with number 1 to 6.
1:84 — Day: Zero'thday
Lunivellewoke gracefully, like a petal opening to morning light. She pushed herself upright from the warm sheets, her long white hair gathered into a messy, sleepy bun with silvery strands escaping down her cheeks. Her golden eyes glowed faintly in the dimness, and her pointed ears twitched at the soft hum of the home's enchantments.
The loose silk robe slipping around her shoulders made her look effortlessly elegant. Her pale skin shimmered with a natural luminescence, lips tinted a gentle reddish-pink without effort or paint.
She turned.
There he was—Thirukumaran, her husband. Sleeping in deep, quiet peace.
His features carried a grounded strength: eyes dark brown, nearly black even when closed; a straight, defined nose; thick curls of black hair; and skin of deep, smooth brown that contrasted beautifully with the white sheets.
Lunivelle smiled softly at him, then slipped from the bed.
She padded to the crib placed just inches away.
Inside, their baby girl—Tavriel, only two years old—slept in her small world of dreams. She babbled gently in her sleep, clutching a tiny blanket. Her dark curled hair mirrored her father's, her eyes the same as him, her skin pale as Lunivelle, her sleepy expressions an innocent echo of him.
Lunivelle's smile widened into pure warmth.
After a lingering moment, she moved quietly to the bathroom. She brushed her teeth, bathed, and returned wrapped now in a simple pink silk gown that drifted softly against her ankles.
Not wanting to wake her husband on Zero'thday, she made her way to the kitchen, prepared a strong cup of coffee, and settled onto the couch. The home radiated a familiar, tender peace—one she cherished in the early hours while the world slept.
She raised her hand toward the living-room device, a television unlike anything from the old worlds.
It resembled a polished wooden horizon, carved with galloping horses at both ends. And a mythic ruin design. At its center sat a spherical glass orb divided into five swirling layers—each representing one of the elements.
Earth: tiny shining stones and soft soil.
Water: real water flowing gently in its suspended layer.
Air: infused with magic, glowing dim blue.
Fire: a small living flame burning in perfect stillness.
Space: a sliver of meteor, shimmering with cosmic colors.
She snapped her fingers once.
The sphere exhaled a silver mist, and a holographic display blossomed into the air like a floating window. A TV made by blend of technology and magic.
Lunivelle sipped her coffee and sank into the couch's comfort as the hologramic news began—today's broadcast focusing on archaeology, old ruins rediscovered in a world that itself was a ruin rebuilt.
And in the quiet morning glow, her story finally began.
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