EPISODE 3: The Whispers of Light

The Light Realm glowed beneath the silver touch of night. Towers of pale marble rose into the sky, their spires crowned with crystals that caught every gleam of the moon. In the palace gardens, streams wound like ribbons of glass, carrying soft music as they flowed. Golden blossoms perfumed the air, their petals opening to starlight.

Here, the world was brightness. Here, shadows dared not linger.

And yet, Seraphina’s heart was not free of them.

She sat alone at the edge of the crystal lake, the reflection of the moon trembling across its waters. When she looked down, she did not see only her own golden hair and pale eyes — for a breath, she saw him.

Silver eyes. Dark hair. Wings that curved like midnight itself.

Her chest tightened. Her hand lifted toward the water, as though she might touch him through the fragile veil. But the ripples stirred, and the shadowed prince dissolved into nothing more than her own face.

A sigh slipped from her lips. Why do you haunt me still?

“Seraphina?”

The voice was gentle, steady, achingly familiar.

She turned to see Lucien approaching across the garden path. The moonlight wrapped around him as though he belonged to it — his golden hair gleaming faintly, his tall frame clothed in a simple white tunic belted at the waist. His blue eyes held the warmth of summer skies, though now they softened with concern.

“You linger here too often,” Lucien said as he sat beside her, his white wings folding neatly against his back. “Anyone might think you have secrets to tell the moon.”

Seraphina smiled faintly, though it did not reach her eyes. “Perhaps I do.”

Lucien studied her carefully. He had grown up with her laughter and her silences, and he could read what she left unsaid. His hand skimmed across the lake’s surface, sending tiny ripples out into the night.

“If something weighs on you,” he murmured, “you can tell me. You know I would listen.”

She turned her gaze to him, and for an instant, the truth trembled at the edge of her lips. She almost told him of the dreams, of the shadowed prince whose silver eyes chained her heart. But the words withered in her throat.

Some truths were too dangerous to share.

“Some things cannot be spoken aloud,” she whispered.

Lucien’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. His heart ached with words he had never dared confess, yet he smiled gently instead, keeping his silence.

“Seraphina! Lucien!”

The voice chimed like bells. Elira came running toward them, her lantern casting a circle of warm light over the garden. Her brown hair, braided with silver threads, swayed as she hurried across the grass, her white gown brushing the blossoms.

“You vanish without a word,” Elira said, slowing at last, cheeks flushed. “I feared you would drift away like mist.”

Seraphina smiled, but Lucien rose immediately to offer Elira his hand. She accepted, her fingers lingering against his as he steadied her. For a heartbeat, Elira’s heart leapt — warmth flooding her chest — but when Lucien’s eyes drifted back to Seraphina, that warmth turned to ache.

Elira masked it with a laugh, but inside, she broke a little more.

Before they could speak again, a calm, commanding voice threaded through the night.

“Seraphina.”

They turned. The Queen of Light, Selene, stood at the garden’s archway. Her gown shimmered like woven starlight, her crown a circlet of diamonds. White wings shimmered faintly gold behind her as she crossed the grass with regal grace.

Seraphina rose quickly, bowing her head. “Mother.”

Selene’s gaze lingered on her daughter, gentle yet heavy with knowledge. “You dream again.”

Seraphina froze. “You… know?”

“You whisper in your sleep,” Selene replied softly, brushing a strand of golden hair from her daughter’s cheek. “A name unspoken, yet carried on your breath. Shadows reach for you, even here in the heart of light.”

Seraphina turned away, shame prickling at her skin. “I cannot help what I feel.”

Selene’s hand rested against her shoulder for a moment, then fell away. “Not all dreams are harmless, child. Some are the voice of fate.”

Before Seraphina could answer, another figure entered the garden — tall and broad-shouldered, with hair of silver and deep blue eyes that gleamed with quiet strength. His white wings spread behind him like a mantle of judgment.

The King of Light, Alaric.

“Selene,” his voice was deep, resonant, “you place too much upon her shoulders.”

“She must know,” Selene replied firmly.

Seraphina’s breath caught. “Know what?”

Alaric’s eyes softened as they met hers. “The Veil exists to protect us. When light and shadow draw too close, the world trembles. You must tread carefully, Seraphina.”

Before the weight of his words could settle, hurried footsteps echoed across the grass.

Lucien stepped forward, his wings shifting with urgency. “Majesties,” he said quickly, “the Oracle has spoken. She calls for Seraphina. At once.”

The garden stilled. Elira’s grip on the lantern tightened, her wide eyes darting between Seraphina and Lucien — though Lucien’s gaze was fixed only on Seraphina, full of worry he dared not name.

Selene’s expression faltered, rare unease breaking her calm.

“The Oracle?” she whispered.

Lucien nodded, his voice low. “She says the Veil trembles. And that Seraphina must hear the prophecy herself.”

Seraphina’s heart pounded, the shadow of her dreams pressing close. The prince, the veil, the prophecy — all threads weaving into one.

Her lips parted on a whisper only she could hear.

It begins.

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