Reaching the doors of the Family Archive Tower, Fhena felt her excitement simmering just beneath her skin.
"Do you know how to open it, Sager?" she asked gently, her voice nearly drowned out by her own anticipation.
The door was forged from deep, aged oak—dark as midnight—with a lion's head emblazoned in the center, its mane gilded in gold. The lion's eyes gleamed like white opals, and its mouth was slightly ajar, revealing polished fangs and a tongue poised like a platform. Above the emblem, ancient Estelian script had been etched in delicate curves and strokes. A dead language once spoken by the earliest Solléonis scholars, it read: "The Sanctity of Family, in Lehoi's hand thrives."
"Yes," Sager replied, stepping beside her. "Only the blood of Solléonis can open it." He recalled seeing Duke Siarcanis unlock it once by placing his hand within the lion's mouth.
He gave Fhena a nod.
Without hesitation, she placed her hand into the lion's mouth. For a breathless moment, nothing happened—then, with a deep metallic clutch, something within the door clicked, and the heavy structure pushed inward with a soft hiss of air, as though the tower itself exhaled after holding its breath for centuries.
She and Sager stepped inside, cautious at first. But immediately, they were embraced by warm golden light from high-set windows, a gentle breeze stirring the old air, and the unmistakable scent of parchment and ink—aged and eternal.
Fhena's breath caught. From the outside, the Family Archive seemed like a modest tower annex—but inside, it was immense.
The entire room was perfectly circular, in keeping with the tower's shape. Shelves spread out along the curved walls, layered in tiers, while the center was open, ringed by spiral staircases and bridges that connected each tier. But it was the ceiling that stole her breath.
Above, the roof appeared to vanish—replaced by an endless sky painted in soft blues and white, where clouds drifted lazily and light shimmered like morning dew.
"Sager…" Fhena murmured in wonder. "But I thought the Grand Duke wasn't keen on magic in the castle?"
Sager chuckled and leapt onto a nearby desk. "He doesn't—at least, not new magic. This," he said, gesturing to a round mechanical device with a flat top and small aperture, "is an invention of one of your ancestors. It uses mirrored crystal lenses and enchanted glass to project illusions."
"An illusion projector?" she gasped, hurrying to his side.
"Yes. This one's old, but still works. If you look closely here," he pointed to a small panel with buttons marked in ornate script, "these are keys. You can enter up to three words at a time, though it has its limits."
Fhena's fingers danced over the keys. "Three words, huh… Let's see…"
"Night. Sky. Dance."
Instantly, the ceiling shifted. The gentle blue turned into a deep, velvety night, and above them blossomed waves of emerald and violet light—an aurora that danced and shimmered as though alive, painting the archive's walls and rows of books with a dreamlike glow.
Sager's tail flicked with awe, the tip curling as the illusion of auroras danced above them. He hopped lightly to the edge of the table, his eyes fixed on the mesmerizing ceiling—clearly as captivated as Fhena.
For a while, both he and Fhena indulged in the simple wonder of the projection device, laughing softly as different skies—stormy grays, twilight stars, even a blazing sunset—and cycling through scenes of sunlit orchards, snowfall over mountains, and skies lit with comets swept across the domed ceiling. But on their fourth try, Fhena paused mid-laugh.
Her pulse thrummed.
Something had changed.
She turned her head sharply toward the second-tier balcony that wrapped around the tower's interior. Near a large arched window, kissed by the afternoon light, sat a gemstone atop an old, dust-covered pedestal. It glowed faintly… in rhythm with her own heartbeat.
Fhena's breath caught. "There."
Leaving Sager at the projection device, she slipped away, her bare feet brushing quietly over the worn marble floor. Her body moved instinctively—light, deliberate, full of certainty. She reached the spiral staircase, but before taking the steps, she lifted her hand.
She willed her power.
A pulse of gentle magic coursed through her limbs, and she rose, just enough to reach the second floor without strain. She drifted toward the stand, eyes locked on the gem. It was a garnet, deep burgundy like rich wine, gleaming with restrained power. She hovered before it and slowly reached out.
Placing her palm above it, she whispered the word.
"Alicana."
The gem cracked—just slightly—and golden-red light spilled out, tendrils of magic lacing through her hand and up her arm. A warm, rich hue shimmered around her, cloaking her in the gem's energy. It surged gently, like being wrapped in a warm tide.
She inhaled deeply, accepting it.
But only half.
When the flow dimmed, Fhena lifted her palm. With a gentle flick of her fingers, she repaired the gem's fractured body, sealing the remaining power within. She cradled it carefully in her hand as Sager reappeared in a shimmer of smoke.
"Master," he asked, brows knit, "why did you stop?"
Still bathed in the afterglow of power, Fhena let out a soft, contented sigh and held the garnet close to her heart. "This body won't allow me to consume any more," she said quietly, her voice layered with both relief and restraint. "I'm still in the body of a five-year-old girl—malnourished, beaten, and far from what I once was. If I take in all of it, I fear this body would crumble under the weight of my power."
Sager nodded slowly, ears lowering with understanding.
Fhena glanced down at her thin arms, then back at the pulsing gem. "A few more years," she said, half to herself, "with training, proper food, and rest… perhaps then I'll be able to reclaim the rest."
"Should I carry the burden for you once again, Master?" Sager offered quietly. As her spirit guardian and familiar, it was not just his duty—but his desire—to ease her path. His golden eyes glowed with devotion. Sager was the extension of Fhena's powers.
Fhena hesitated, her brows furrowing as she looked down at the gem in her palm. She wondered why Sager still appeared in the form of a cub—translucent, like fog and starlight—rather than the great adult lion she once remembered. Before her execution, she had sealed a portion of her power within Sager, then abided by the Imperial Court's request to seal the rest within the five lunar gems of Wistelia. If her sealed power and disappearance from the earth were what had reduced Sager to his current state, then surely, with her power restored to her, his full form should have returned as well.
But if not… then Fhena's powers, she thought, had nothing to do with Sager's current state.
She glanced at Sager. "Would it not harm you, as you are now?" she asked gently, concern lacing her voice.
Sager smiled, that patient, warm, eternal smile of his. "You could never harm nor hurt me, Master. Not even if you tried."
Fhena exhaled and nodded. She extended her hand, letting her magic flow again, this time guiding the garnet gem toward Sager. It hovered between them, pulsing once before phasing through Sager's translucent chest, embedding itself into the core of his celestial essence.
There was a moment—a brief shimmer, like sunlight catching on water. Fhena held her breath.
But nothing changed.
Sager remained a cub—still shimmering like moonlight reflected on glass.
She blinked in disappointment. "How do I fix it?" she whispered. Her voice was calm, but her shoulders drooped just slightly. "I had hoped… maybe the gem's power would bring you back. At least, in form."
Sager padded over and rubbed against her leg. "It's alright. I am patient. As long as you're safe and healing, that's enough for now."
Fhena gave a small smile and turned toward the door. "We're done here. We should head back to my room."
But just as she took a step, a sudden clang echoed through the chamber—like bells being struck by invisible hands. Then, another sound followed—softer, more haunting—the twinkling of windchimes, delicate and strange, as though the air itself had become glass.
The light shifted.
The wind thickened.
And then the Archive room began to shimmer and spin, golden light pouring from the ceiling, white mist swirling around them. It wasn't chaotic—but beautiful, ordered, like the descent of a thousand tiny stars crashing gently from above.
"Sager!" Fhena gasped, her feet lifting from the ground as the air turned weightless.
"Master!" Sager cried, floating beside her, his small form glowing faintly.
The room tilted.
The books blurred.
Time itself wavered.
Then everything vanished into white.
Fhena clutched Sager tightly as they spiraled through the vortex, her arms wrapped protectively around his translucent form. Only she could hold him like this—only she, his Master, his heart. The whirlwind howled and shimmered, light bending around them like ribboned glass.
And then—silence.
They landed gently, softly, into a field of white lilies.
Fhena blinked, adjusting to the light. The air here was crisp, serene, filled with the sweet scent of lilies and the hush of an eternal breeze. The sky stretched above in the softest shade of blue, smeared with slow, wandering clouds. There were no trees, no hills, no buildings. Just an infinite meadow of delicate, ivory blooms.
She stood slowly, brushing petals off her skirt, and Sager rose beside her. They exchanged wary glances, their eyes scanning the horizon.
Then, the voice came—smooth and deep, like velvet flowing over warm stone.
"My child."
Fhena turned sharply.
A single tree stood behind them now—an oak so tall its white leaves rustled like paper kissed by wind. Beneath its graceful branches sat a figure in a robe of glistening gold. His hair was long, glowing faintly, trailing down to the grass like silk. His face, hidden beneath a sheer veil of white cloth, shone with an otherworldly gentleness.
Sager bowed immediately, reverent and low, his head nearly brushing the lilies.
Fhena's eyes widened, recognition dawning in her chest like the rising sun.
She followed Sager and bowed, her voice a whisper barely heard above the breeze.
"Aefhen…"
She remembered.
A dream long ago, back when she was still Nyala Nkosi. Broken. Confused. In pain. It was in that dream that he came to her—in a time of despair, right after her magic awakened in violence and fire. It was Aefhen who brought peace into that chaos. Aefhen, who whispered of purpose, of healing. Aefhen, who encouraged her to listen to Mazu.
Now here he was again.
"Come, my children," Aefhen called, lifting his hand in welcome. "Won't you sit next to me?"
And so, Fhena and Sager sat beneath the tree, across from Aefhen. The grass beneath them was soft and cool, and the white leaves above shimmered like starlight through snow.
"You must have a tower of questions, my dear," Aefhen said kindly, his veiled face turning gently toward her. "Nyala Nkosi of Talemerein… we meet again."
Fhena's lips parted slightly at the sound of her old name. It had been so long since she'd heard it aloud.
"I do, actually," she murmured, her fingers fidgeting at the sleeves of her day dress, nervous despite herself.
Aefhen chuckled, the sound like a soft chord from a long-lost harp. "Very well, then let's make it quick. Father has only allowed me a limited time to converse with you in this form."
He paused, as if gathering old memories like dusted books from an ancient shelf.
"After your execution," he began, "your soul was set to ascend to Shayim. But before it could, I was forced to intervene. A dark sorcerer sought not only to destroy your life—but to erase your very existence. Your soul, your name, your essence—everything."
Fhena felt a sudden chill run through her bones. Her breath caught in her throat.
"A dark sorcerer? Xiaozu? But… didn't we vanquish him?"
Aefhen's head gave a slow shake. "No. Not Xiaozu. His name was Hattoru Gizu."
Sager's tail stiffened as his ears lowered, picking up on the dread in Aefhen's tone.
"Master," Sager whispered, "how can one erase a soul? Don't all souls belong to Lehoi?"
"And even so," Fhena added, thinking aloud with a frown, "a sorcerer isn't higher than a guardian—or a deity. No being can match Lehoi's power. Even Lehoi Himself would never erase His children."
Aefhen's platinum eyes narrowed beneath the cloth.
"Indeed," he said. "That's why the answer… lies in Nephylos."
Both Fhena and Sager flinched at the name.
Nephylos.
Even here, in this timeless meadow, the mere mention of the name made the lilies sway as though recoiling.
Nephylos—the second son of Lehoi. Once a guardian of the sky, now the lord of the underworld. A being whose hunger for power had driven him to rebellion. Betrayer. Deceiver. He had once sought to rise above even his Father, only to be cast down, shackled in the deepest pits of the earth. And though he was forbidden to touch Lehoi's creations, he could still whisper—through temptation, lies, and sin.
Fhena's fists clenched in her lap.
"So then…" she pieced together slowly, "Hattoru Gizu… must have made a contract with Nephylos."
Aefhen nodded grimly.
"Yes. His dark magic was not his own. It was borrowed. Gifted—if one can call such a curse a gift. He drew upon Nephylos' corruption… destruction… annihilation. With that pact, he gained the power to erase not merely life, but existence itself. He wanted to wipe you from memory. From time. From history. Even from Lehoi's book of names."
Sager growled low in his throat, the golden tufts of his mane bristling with fury. "That's… unforgivable."
"And yet, it was nearly done," Aefhen said softly. "Had I not caught your soul in that instant between death and ascension, Hattoru's spell would have consumed you. You would have been unmade."
Fhena's heart thundered. Her hands shook.
"And so," Aefhen continued, "I hid you. I fragmented your soul, sealed your power, and entrusted your light to Lehoi's timing. That is why you were reborn. Why your power slumbers. Why you are here now."
Fhena swallowed, staring down at her hands—her small hands, still so fragile.
Fhena, like a lightbulb flickering to life, suddenly asked, "Aefhen… You hid me for four centuries because of Gizu. Now that I've been reborn, does that mean he's truly gone?" Her eyes lit up with cautious hope.
Aefhen chuckled softly. "Indeed. Gizu's bloodline withered soon after the shift of power. I no longer sense the stain of their lineage nor the dark power Nephylos had once granted them. So yes, my child—the soul of Nyala Nkosi, now reborn as Fhenadove Solléonis, is safe." His grin, though veiled by the sheer cloth, was warm and proud.
Fhena let out a sigh of deep relief. But the quiet stir of a question remained. "Then… why bring me back?" she asked gently.
Aefhen leaned his head back against the ancient tree and gazed upward, his voice softer now. "A token of my own gratitude. You have been favored by my Father and by me. You laid down your life to protect our house—Solléonis—and lived in unwavering devotion to Lehoi, our creator. To rebirth you, officially, into this bloodline… is both my thanks and a great honor to my house."
He turned to look at her through the translucent veil and smiled.
Fhena's eyes stung with tears, and she quickly wiped them away. With a composed breath and glistening eyes full of gratitude and resolve, she stood, bowed low, and said, "Thank you, Your Grace. This… is the greatest blessing I could ever receive."
Sager, moved beyond words, bowed deeply beside her, his golden eyes brimming with emotion.
Aefhen laughed heartily and gestured for them to sit once more. "Now, for the most important matter. Our time in Haven is ending soon, so I must be brief…"
He paused, and Fhena and Sager glanced at each other before settling back onto the soft grass, anticipation thick in the air.
"In twelve years' time," Aefhen began, his tone grave, "a shift of power—born from deceit, betrayal, murderous ambition, and great evil—will come to pass. The Velmorian Empire will witness history repeat itself. This time, however, they will be tested to their very core."
He turned his veiled gaze toward Fhena.
"Fhenadove Solléonis, you must prevent this shift. You must protect the Velmorian line. From it, a great king will rise—one who will stand against the encroaching darkness, a force born of Nephylos' growing influence. We do not yet know when this tide will break, but the signs will come. Guard the Velmorians, for they have found favor in my Father's eyes… and mine."
As his final words hung in the air, a gentle wind stirred. Then, like breath exhaled by the heavens, it grew—fierce and golden—lifting Fhena and Sager slowly off the ground.
"Wait!" Fhena gasped, reaching out as the world swirled around them.
Aefhen's voice rose over the wind. "Go to the Hammendir Magic Chamber. There, you will find a mage—one who will become one of your most loyal companions. He will guide you… and help you reclaim the power you once held—and even more."
The winds intensified again, whirling with divine light—but Fhena shouted one last plea.
"Aefhen! Solidify Sager—please!"
The winds stopped mid-spin. Fhena and Sager hung suspended in the glowing air. Aefhen lifted his gaze, his expression unreadable beneath the veil.
"Solidify?" Aefhen echoed, tilting his head.
"His true form," Fhena insisted, eyes wide and desperate. "His soul is bound to mine, is it not? I've been reborn and awakened—yet Sager's body remains that of a celestial cub. Why? Are you not also his father, as you are mine by spirit?"
Aefhen chuckled softly, a low, golden sound that stirred the lilies below. "Of course. Sager is my child as much as you are, Fhenadove." He raised his hand, and the winds briefly stilled. "Very well. I shall restore his body. But since you are still a child, Sager shall mirror your age in form—as it should be. Soulbound Master and Guardian."
Fhena's face lit up like sunrise. She turned to Sager, whose eyes overflowed with tears.
Tears streamed down Sager's translucent cheeks, his golden eyes wide with emotion. "M-Master…" he whimpered, voice cracking with overwhelming happiness.
Fhena laughed, her voice ringing like sunlight on glass. She opened her arms and embraced him again, forehead resting against his.
"Now," Aefhen huffed playfully, folding his arms, "I truly must send you back. I fear Siarcanis will turn the entire city of Hammendir upside down if you're gone any longer."
The wind howled anew, swirling around them with the same heavenly brilliance as before—stars, mist, and light folding in upon themselves.
In a blink—
Fhena awoke, lying at the foot of the tower staircase just outside the family archive. The scent of dust and stone grounded her, and fine particles clung to her daydress. Her hair was tousled from the sudden reentry, and sunlight streamed through a high window above. Her heart raced.
Maelith, who had been frantically pacing up and down the halls, halted in her tracks as she caught sight of a familiar figure slumped at the foot of the tower stairs. Her eyes widened in shock.
"The Young Miss is here!" she cried out, her voice ringing through the ancient halls like a bell.
In a flash, Maelith rushed forward and knelt beside Fhena. With a mix of panic and relief, she gently gathered the girl into her arms. "M'lady! Where have you been?" she whispered, brushing the dust from Fhena's cheek.
Moments later, the thunder of heavy boots and a cacophony of voices echoed from every corridor as Siarcanis, Rheomund, Matron Eula, the Oumer, and several servants stormed into view.
"Fhena!" Siarcanis's voice broke with desperation.
Maelith immediately stepped back and transferred the girl into her father's arms. Fhena clung to him tightly, and Siarcanis, nearly collapsing with relief, held her as though he would never let go.
"Where have you been wandering?" he asked, cradling her close. "You were gone for over an hour!"
Only then did Fhena realize—though barely any time had passed in the celestial lands, nearly an hour had already slipped by in the mortal realm. Time flowed differently between the mortal and celestial dimensions.
"I'm… alright, Father," she said softly, trying to collect herself. But her eyes darted quickly around.
Where was Sager? she thought.
Before she could speak, Matron Eula approached quietly, her voice low but firm. "Your Grace, perhaps it's best we return the young lady to her room. We'll shift preparations for a late afternoon luncheon. Maelith, go with them."
Siarcanis nodded, then carefully carried Fhena down the hall with Rheomund and Maelith close behind. The palace had returned to a quiet hum, but the worry had not yet faded from anyone's faces.
Inside her chamber, Siarcanis sat Fhena gently onto her bed. He sat beside her, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.
"What happened, sweetling?" he asked, voice low and tender. "What were you doing at the tower? You've come such a long way to get there…Did something… frighten you?"
"I… I got lost. I… forgot where everything… was…" Fhena answered hesitantly, her words drawn out with deliberate care—just enough to veil the truth without raising suspicion. Her speech, though still dotted with stammers, had improved much during her time within the Solléonis Estate.
Siarcanis let out a slow breath, the tension in his shoulders easing. He had been worried, but seeing her safe—and hearing her speak more clearly than before—brought him relief. "You're speaking better now…" he noted, his voice tinged with cautious pride.
Fhena glanced toward the doorway and softly murmured, "Maelith…"
While most would credit Lady Ossaria for Fhena's discipline—her infamous methods leaving little room for failure—it was truly Maelith who had nurtured her progress. It was Maelith who encouraged her, who repeated lessons with patience, who reminded her gently that kindness could teach just as well as harshness, if not better. Lady Ossaria had carved order into her, yes, but Maelith had helped her find her voice.
Siarcanis turned his gaze to the young maid standing quietly by the door. "You have my deepest gratitude, Maelith of Arrocel. Your loyalty and care for my daughter will not be forgotten."
Maelith flushed with surprise, a faint pink rising to her cheeks. She bowed with grace and humility. "Thank you, Your Grace… though I never did it to be noticed," she added in a quieter tone.
Siarcanis offered a soft, appreciative smile, then turned his attention back to his daughter, heart warmed in the stillness of the moment.
Fhena only now noticed another child standing beside Siarcanis—a boy, no older than ten, who bore such an uncanny resemblance to her father that it left her momentarily stunned. He was like a mirror image in miniature: hair dark as midnight, swept neatly back, and eyes of muted gold that held a quiet intensity. Her eyes widened as realization slowly took hold.
"B-Brother?" she blurted out, surprise etched across her face. All this time, she had imagined her brother as a distant teenager, someone just a few years older than herself. The gaps in her memory and their lack of interaction had made him seem like a shadow of the past.
The boy gave a slight smile, though his expression carried the same serious air as their father. "Yes. We don't have many memories of each other," he said, "but now that you're home, we'll make tons."
A wave of warmth rushed through Fhena at his words. Her heart fluttered with an unfamiliar yet comforting feeling, and she smiled—brightly, sincerely.
What she didn't know was that Rheomund had always been a doting older brother. From the moment she was born—especially after the duchess's passing—it was Rheomund who insisted on helping Matron Eula tend to the infant Fhena. He had been utterly devastated when she was sent away to the Solléonis Estate. And worse, into the hands of Lady Ossaria, whom he had always despised.
Even now, as he stood quietly, a flash of memory stirred in him—of whispered rumors, of punishment and pain—and his aura shifted in an instant. Delight turned deadly. His boyish calm hardened into something sharp and unforgiving. The light in his eyes dimmed, and his fists curled ever so slightly at his sides.
Fhena noticed the change and stared at him in astonishment and a touch of confusion.
Siarcanis, sensing the mood, scooted closer to his daughter and gently took her small hands in his own. His voice was low and firm. "I'm sorry," he said, locking eyes with her. "For leaving you in such cruel hands. I truly didn't know."
His gaze sharpened.
"But I swear to you, no one from Oswinch—especially Ossaria—will ever touch a hair on your head again. She will answer for her crimes, and I will see to it myself."
Fhena blinked, a sheepish smile tugging at her lips. Siarcanis brushed a thumb across her cheek. "You're home now, Fhena. You're safe."
Without another word, Fhena leapt forward and threw her arms around him. Siarcanis, caught in the moment, melted into her embrace.
Then she glanced over at Rheomund, still standing beside their father with a hopeful expression on his face—like a loyal pup waiting to be noticed. She grinned to herself. He's adorable.
Reaching out one arm, she beckoned him, "Brother, too."
Rheomund's eyes lit up like the sun breaking through storm clouds, and he dove into the hug without hesitation.
Siarcanis wrapped both arms around his children, holding them close. For a while, they stayed like that—no words needed—just letting the warmth of family slowly soak into old wounds.
After a time, Matron Eula stepped gently into the room. "Your late afternoon lunch is ready, Your Grace," she announced with her usual grace.
Fhena, heart full, sat back down on the bed.
Siarcanis turned once more to Fhena, his voice calm yet firm with fatherly resolve. "Maelith shall henceforth serve as your handmaiden, with three maids under her charge. The Matron Superior will oversee your education—lessons, tutorials, and courtly training—once four weeks have passed. For now, your only duty is to rest and regain your strength."
He leaned down and placed a soft kiss upon her forehead, a rare gesture that made Fhena blink in quiet awe.
Rising to his full height, Siarcanis addressed the attending maids, "See that she is dressed properly—no heavy garments. A day dress, light and simple, like the one she wore today, will suffice."
Maelith gave a graceful bow. "As you command, Your Grace."
With a final glance back, Siarcanis exited the room, Rheomund quietly following at his heels. Matron Eula and Maelith moved quickly and efficiently, preparing the bath and laying out fresh clothes. The gentle rhythm of their movement brought a sense of peace, and Fhena, watching them, allowed herself to truly relax for the first time in years.
She was safe now. Safer than she'd ever been in Lady Ossaria's cold grasp.
And yet… as warmth settled around her like a quilt, a single thought gnawed at the edge of her comfort.
Where in Lehoi's name was Sager?