There are many realms scattered across the vast and magical land of Feyland. Each one holds its own ancient secrets, its own breathtaking wonders, and its own kind of enchantment.
Some shimmer with golden trees that never lose their leaves. Others sing with melodies only those born with magic can hear. But among them all, there is one realm that glows softer than the rest—quiet, luminous, and timeless in its beauty.
That realm is Luminara, the radiant homeland of the Luminous Fey.
Luminara feels like a dream painted in pastels. Its skies are always brushed with a gentle pink, as though caught in a sunrise that never ends. The fields bloom endlessly with lavender, peach, and mint-colored grasses. Wildflowers sway in the breeze, their petals floating through the air like weightless snow. Streams glisten with shades of lilac and baby blue, their waters so clear they reflect the light like glass. Every step within the realm feels like walking through a painting, kissed by the soft warmth of a morning that never fades.
It is a land built on beauty, healing, and peace.
But even the most radiant places carry shadows.
Long ago, Luminara suffered a loss so deep that it was spoken of only in whispers. The King and Queen vanished, their fates never explained. No one knew what happened. The elders kept their silence, and the people, heartbroken and uncertain, slowly stopped asking. Over time, the tragedy was buried beneath quiet acceptance.
But the royal line did not end with their disappearance.
Their daughter remained.
Still young and untested, she stood in the light left behind by her parents. She was the last royal, and eventually, she became the hope of an entire realm.
Her name was Lumielle.
Now crowned as Queen, Lumielle embodies everything the Luminous Fey treasure. Her skin glows with a soft, pearlescent shimmer. Her long hair cascades like strands of pale gold, catching the light like silk. Her eyes, a gentle shade of violet, carry the calm and strength of a new dawn. Her very presence is soothing, like the quiet just before morning breaks.
From her parents, Lumielle inherited rare and powerful gifts. She can heal even the deepest wounds—those of flesh, heart, and soul. She sees emotion the way others see color, able to read the shifting hues of auras that surround everyone. She can create protective shields that embrace others like warm light, and her rituals can purify even the most stubborn curses. These abilities are sacred. Only a few Fey in history have held them, and none as young or as kind as Lumielle.
She is more than a ruler. She is the heart of Luminara. The one her people turn to not just for guidance, but for comfort, strength, and hope.
But even for someone as gifted as her, being queen is not easy.
Her powers, as revered as they are, were never meant for war. They were designed to mend, not to fight. While the Fey flutter warriors train in battle magic and defensive spells, Lumielle was taught to nurture and protect. She was never prepared for darkness. And now, darkness has come.
Recently, children have started to disappear.
At first, it was quiet. A single child who went missing near the edge of the forest. Then another. Then more. One by one, without sound or warning. Their laughter no longer fills the fields. Their footsteps have vanished from the paths they once played on. Homes have grown heavy with silence. Hearts have grown heavier still.
In the beginning, some hoped they were only lost, wandering too far in their playful innocence. But as days passed and more children vanished, hope turned to dread.
Someone was taking them.
The fear spread fast. It moved like wildfire from village to village, tightening its grip across the realm. Doors were locked earlier each night. Mothers held their children closer. Families whispered to one another, eyes always looking toward the forests or the skies.
Then came the rumors. And with the rumors, a name.
Nyxaria.
The name passed from lips in fearful whispers. It echoed through the realm like a shadow, cold and creeping. It was not a name often spoken aloud, and never without trembling.
Nyxaria was not just a threat. She was an Abyssal Fey—the last of her kind.
Long ago, the Abyssal Fey were feared and respected for their immense power. They were creatures born of shadow and mystery, wielding magic as deep and ancient as the void between stars. Many believed their race had gone extinct. Some even believed they had never existed at all.
But Nyxaria remained.
She was the only one left. The only one whose existence reminded Feyland of what had once been. Her power was legendary. Her presence, terrifying. Her name, a warning.
No one knew exactly why she was taking the children. Her purpose was buried in the same darkness she ruled. But one belief echoed in every heart.
Nyxaria was the most powerful Fey that had ever lived.
She was not just feared for her strength, but for the way the world seemed to bend in her presence. Few had ever seen her in person, but those who had described her with awe and dread.
She had long, glowing black hair that moved like it was alive, rippling with every breath of wind. Her skin was pale, glowing faintly like cold moonlight. Her lips were a soft, natural pink. Her eyes, sharp and violet, pierced through those who dared to meet her gaze. Most terrifying of all were her wings—huge, dark angelic wings glowing at the edges like flickering stardust. Whenever she appeared, it was said that the air grew heavy and the earth held its breath.
No one dared challenge her. Not the warriors. Not the elders. Not even the bravest souls in Luminara.
That is why the mystery remained unsolved. The children kept disappearing. And no one stepped forward to stop it.
Everyone remained silent.
Everyone except the grieving.
Queen Lumielle could no longer bear the sound of her people's cries. The weight of their sorrow pressed against her heart. Mothers clung to her robes. Fathers bowed their heads and begged for answers. The pain of loss flooded the realm, and yet, voices around her warned her to do nothing.
"There are warriors for a reason," they told her.
"Let them handle it," they insisted.
But Lumielle could not shake the questions from her mind. How many children would vanish before someone took action? How long would her people suffer while she stood by and waited?
She was their queen.
She was supposed to protect them.
And even though fear clawed at her heart, and even though whispers begged her to stay safe, she knew what she had to ask herself.
How many children must be lost before silence becomes betrayal?