Petals of sunlight unfurled across the silver sky, and the air shimmered with dew. From the roots of the moonlit trees to the wings of the smallest sprites, the whole realm seemed to wake in beauty. The Garden of Light — the heart of the fairy kingdom — pulsed with soft golden warmth.
Princess Lyriel stood at her balcony, her long gossamer gown trailing behind her like woven moonlight. Her wings — veined with blue fire and gold — flickered restlessly, catching the dawn like a thousand mirrors.
She was beautiful, yes, but there was something in her eyes that beauty could not soften: curiosity, sharp and wild, like lightning that had learned to smile.
Below her, the fairies sang their usual morning hymns. Flowers opened, rivers hummed, and the sun rose like it always did. Everything looked perfect — too perfect. Lyriel sighed, resting her chin on her hand.
"Another day under the same sky," she muttered. "You can almost see the edge now — the shimmer where our world ends. It's like we're trapped in a glass cage, Miren. How can they call this endless?"
Miren fluttered nervously beside her, her wings trembling with light.
"Trapped? Oh, Princess, don't say that! If the Queen hears you talking like this—"
Lyriel gave a small, tired laugh. "Let her. Maybe she's forgotten what the edge looks like."
"The Queen would banish you if she heard such talk! Eloria is endless, Princess. Why, we haven't even mapped the Dream Caves yet!"
Lyriel smiled faintly.
"Endless? Tell me, Miren, has anyone ever flown beyond the Veil?"
Miren's wings faltered, "Beyond the Veil? You mean—the boundary of our realm? You can't be serious!"
"I am," Lyriel said softly. "Do you not ever wonder what lies beyond it?"
"The world of men, Princess. A world without song or light. The Queen says it's a place of shadows."
"Shadows…" Lyriel turned her gaze toward the far horizon, where the golden forest ended and mist gathered like a secret. " I have to speak with mother."
***
The royal hall of Eloria shimmered like the inside of a star.
Every column was carved from crystal that glowed with living light, and the ceiling floated like a dream — clouds of soft gold that drifted above a floor of silver vines. The air smelled of honey and wind.
The Queen of Eloria sat upon her throne, wings vast and radiant as the dawn itself. She was not cruel, but her beauty carried the stillness of eternity — the kind that silences rather than comforts. Her eyes, pale and ancient, seemed to see everything and forgive nothing.
When Lyriel entered, every fairy bowed low. "Rise, my daughter," the Queen said, her voice like the calm before thunder. "You seem troubled again. Speak."
Lyriel hesitated, her voice a soft tremor.
"Mother… why do we keep the Veil sealed? Why are we forbidden to see the world of men?"
A flicker passed through the Queen's face — not anger, but something colder: fear.
"Because it is not our place," she said. "The world of men is a dying flame — one that burns all it touches. They forgot the balance. They destroy what they do not understand."
"But how can we know that if we've never seen it?" Lyriel pressed. "Perhaps there's still light there. Perhaps—"
The Queen rose, her wings flaring like sunrise.
"Enough, Lyriel! Curiosity is the first crack in the heart. Your father once said those very words — before he crossed the Veil and never returned." The room fell silent. Lyriel's breath caught.
"You mean… Father was in the human world?".
The Queen's eyes softened for just a moment. "He believed he could teach them harmony. But men do not listen to the song of life. They silenced him… and we lost him forever."
A lump formed in Lyriel's throat. She had always known her father was gone — but not how.
"So the world of men took him," she whispered.
"And it would take you too," the Queen said gently. "Swear to me, Lyriel — you will never go near the Veil."
Lyriel lowered her gaze. "I swear."
But even as she said it, the words tasted like ash.l
***
That night, long after the palace had gone still and the moon hung low, Lyriel stood again on her balcony. The wind carried faint whispers from the forest beyond — a melody unlike any fairy song. It was rough, imperfect, and yet… beautiful in its own way.
Miren fluttered beside her again, sleepy-eyed.
"Princess, it's late. You'll catch the dew chills."
"Listen," Lyriel murmured. "Do you hear it?"
Miren tilted her head, "Just the wind."
"No," Lyriel said softly, "it's something else. Like a voice calling from beyond the Veil."
"Voices from there are forbidden to answer," Miren said quickly, crossing her tiny arms. "You'll get both of us in trouble!"
Lyriel smiled faintly. "Then go back to bed, Miren. I'll just… watch the stars for a while."
When Miren left, Lyriel's wings shimmered with indecision. The forest beyond the palace glowed faintly — and somewhere within it, the Veil pulsed like a heartbeat.
"Father," she whispered, "if you could cross it, maybe I can too."
And as the night deepened, the moonlight bent toward her like a sign.
***
The next morning, Eloria burst into colour.
Every spring, the fairies celebrated the Festival of Blossoms, when the heart-trees awakened and the sky rained petals instead of light. Music rippled through the air; ribbons of magic drifted over the meadows like scented smoke.
Lyriel smiled for the crowd, her crown of pearl-dust gleaming. Yet, under the laughter, her heart thudded with another rhythm — one that beat with the pulse she'd felt the night before.
Miren hovered near her shoulder, whispering, "You're glowing even more than usual, Princess. The sprites will faint if you keep smiling like that."
Lyriel laughed softly. "Let them faint. For once, I want to feel… alive."
Behind the festival grounds, the Forest of Mirrors shimmered. Its trees held ancient glass-bark that reflected not what was, but what might be. The elders said no one should wander there during celebration; the forest listened, and sometimes answered.
When the dancers twirled and the flutes rose to their brightest note, Lyriel slipped away.The forest swallowed her in silver hush.The air was cool, heavy with the scent of dream-flowers.
"I know you're here," she said softly. "Whatever calls me — show yourself."
A faint giggle fluttered from behind a vine. A tiny creature peeked out: a pixie with mismatched wings and eyes like molten amber.
"You shouldn't be here, Princess," the pixie chimed. "Your mother's guards will turn my wings inside out if they catch me helping you."
"Then don't get caught," Lyriel said with a daring grin. "Show me the Veil."
The pixie tilted its head. "You've been dreaming of it, haven't you?"
"Every night."
"Dreams are doors, and doors are dangerous."
"So open one for me."
The pixie sighed theatrically, then snapped its tiny fingers. The forest shimmered. Between two crystal oaks appeared a wall of light — fluid, trembling, likeboiling water.
"The Gate of Veils," the pixie whispered. "It breathes once every full moon. If you step through now, it may not open again for a hundred years."