On the next day, morning light spilled across the curved walls of Ellowyn's room, filtered through shimmering ether-laced vines that framed her window.
The soft hum of Yal Elunore waking drifted on the cool breeze — the distant chime of crystal bells, the muted footsteps of artisans opening their workshops.
For once, no summons awaited her.
The Ether gatherers were given respite today — a rare interval granted during the high mists, when the flow of Ether slowed just enough to allow the forests a breath of renewal.
Ellowyn stirred beneath the light linens, stretching slowly, when a soft knock sounded at the door.
Before she could answer, it cracked open, and a voice called in, bright with mischief:
"Finally awake, you lazy Nymble-tail[1]?"
A shadow stepped into the morning light — tall, silver-haired, arms folded with theatrical impatience.
Ellowyn laughed, rubbing sleep from her eyes. "Hardly fair, coming from someone who missed supper."
The figure grinned, leaning casually against the doorframe.
"My apologies, little sister. Guard duty by the riverbanks. Had to make sure the Syrends[2] stayed on their side of the stories."
She sat up straighter now, smiling at the familiar teasing voice. "Aeryn. You make it sound heroic."
He chuckled, crossing the room in a few lazy strides to ruffle her hair — which earned him a half-hearted swat.
"Someone has to protect you lot while you're off picking flowers and daydreaming about lost cities," he said.
Ellowyn smoothed her silver hair back into place, but her smile lingered.
Aeryn had always been different from their father — less rigid, less tangled in the silent pride that weighed on so many Eldians.
He carried his duty easily, like a worn cloak, but his eyes were still full of light.
"I'm heading to Eldorwyn tonight," he said, dropping onto the bench by her window, stretching his legs out with a groan. "Festival of the First Light. You coming?"
She brightened immediately. "Wouldn't miss it."
"Good," he said, flashing a rare, genuine smile. "We could all use a night of forgetting who we're supposed to be."
Something in his voice tugged at her — but before she could press, he pushed himself up again, clapping a hand lightly against the wall as he moved toward the door.
"See you there, sleepy Nymble-tail," he called over his shoulder.
The door swung shut, leaving Ellowyn alone with the golden hush of morning, and a heart strangely restless with anticipation.
—BREAK—
The soft glow of evening descended as Ellowyn walked the winding path toward Eldorwyn, her lantern casting long, delicate shadows across the mossy trail.
Above, the canopy of the Blue Forest parted just enough for glimpses of the Aelorian Lake.
Tonight, the village would celebrate the Festival of the First Light — an ancient tradition shared by Eldians, Elves, and Fwllings alike, honoring the Ether that nourished their lives.
Ellowyn smiled faintly as the first notes of lute and harp reached her long slenders ears, weaving through the forest air like distant fireflies.
As she crossed the simple arch of woven vines marking Eldorwyn's entrance, familiar faces turned toward her, their laughter and conversation painting the night with warmth.
"Ellie!"
A strong voice rang out above the music.
A figure wove through the small crowd to meet her — silver hair tousled, tunic casually loose — a rare break from the formality expected back home.
Aeryn's arms opened wide, and Ellowyn stepped into the brief, warm hug.
"You made it," he said, clapping a hand warmly on her shoulder.
She laughed, the festive air already lifting her spirit.
"Wouldn't dream of staying away."
Together they wandered toward the heart of the celebration — a wide clearing where low tables were laden with fruit, spiced breads, and honeyed drinks. The sweet, buttery scent of warm pastries blending with the crisp forest air. Lanterns floated in the air, their lights shifting gently with the rhythm of the breeze.
Elves in loose, flowing garments danced barefoot around the fire, laughter ringing like chimes. Their movements were effortless, joyful — so different from the careful steps taught in Yal Elunore.
Ellowyn watched, heart stirring with something between admiration and yearning.
Aeryn handed her a small glass of sweetened etherfruit wine. "Careful. One cup and you'll think you can out-dance the Elves," he joked.
A quiet laugh escaped her, taking a small sip.
The warmth of the wine blossomed through her, and soon she found herself drawn into the gentle whirl of music and laughter.
The Elves pulled her into their dances without hesitation, their steps light and free, spinning beneath lantern-lit skies.
For a while, Ellowyn forgot the weight of lessons, the careful exercises of bending Ether with perfect precision.
Here, in the simple weaving of hands and laughter, she tasted a kind of wonder purer than anything she had ever shaped from the flows of energy at home.
It was a wonder of life itself — messy, joyful, imperfect — and it filled her heart until she could hardly breathe from smiling.
Eventually, she drifted to the edge of the clearing, settling onto a patch of soft grass where the glow of the fire flickered gently across her skin.
It was then, from nearby, that she caught the low murmur of voices.
A group of young Eldians and Elves sat together in a loose circle, their tones lively, sharpened by drink and excitement.
One voice rose above the rest — bright, eager, carrying a reckless edge that made Ellowyn's ears tilt instinctively toward the sound.
"...I'm telling you, there's more beyond the Ether Woods," he said, leaning forward. "Not just cities of glass or black seas — ruins. Monsters. Things they never speak of inside the Dome."
His hand tightened briefly over his knee, knuckles pale in the firelight.
"They tell us Skyland is still shimmering, still safe — that by tending our forests, patrolling our borders, we're helping keep it alive. But how do we know? How do we know what's really out there anymore?"
A few of the Elves shifted, their laughter fading into uneasy glances — and among the Eldians, a hush settled like heavy mist.
Before the man could say more, a familiar figure moved toward him — calm but carrying a quiet, firm authority.
Aeryn placed a steady hand on his shoulder.
"That's enough talk for tonight, Talanar," he said, voice low but unyielding.
Aeryn gave a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Some doors, once opened, are not so easily closed." he added quietly.
Talanar flushed, glancing quickly at the few Eldian elders nearby who had turned their heads toward the commotion.
He gave a stiff bow, his voice low and almost casual — as if brushing it all away.
"My apologies," he muttered. "Perhaps the Moonleaf Brew speaks more boldly than I do."
A few nearby laughed lightly, grateful for the easy excuse.
But Ellowyn, watching from the edge, caught the way his eyes remained sharp, serious — a weight behind them that no drink could explain.
Aeryn gave his shoulder a firm squeeze — half reassurance, half warning — before letting him go.
For a moment, the circle sat in uneasy quiet, the fire crackling louder than before.
Then, as if nothing had happened, the music swelled again, and laughter rose over the clearing — lighter, but not quite as free.
Aeryn drifted back toward Ellowyn, his steps easy, the familiar lopsided smile returning to his lips.
But when he settled beside her, she saw the change in his eyes — a quietness, a weight he didn't voice.
"Not everyone here forgets the old warnings," he said softly, just for her.
Ellowyn nodded, though a small tremor stirred in her heart — a chill that no fire could quite chase away.
She lingered among the gathering for a while longer, letting the lilting songs and warm firelight wrap around her like a half-forgotten dream.
Yet even as laughter rose around her, a part of her wandered elsewhere — toward the edges of the clearing, where the shadows deepened beyond the lantern light.
Toward the unseen.
Toward the familiar pull that stirred beneath her ribs, silent and certain.
—BREAK—
Later that night, as the fires burned low and the dancers' laughter faded to soft murmurs, the faint scent of charred herbs drifted on the breeze.
Ellowyn stirred, feeling a sudden, playful tug at the hem of her gown.
Startled, she glanced down — and saw nothing.
But a second tug, firmer, urged her toward the treeline.
She followed, heart fluttering with a mix of excitement and unease.
Behind a heavy curtain of ivy, in a quiet hollow lit only by the drifting glow of a few wayward lanterns, a small figure crouched from the shades— copper-furred, with eyes like molten gold.
"Rikuin?, You startled me." she whispered, a laugh escaping before she could stop it.
He grinned, his foxlike ears twitching with amusement. "That was the idea."
She knelt beside him, brushing a lock of silver hair behind her ear, her eyes narrowing slightly in playful suspicion.
"What are you doing here?" she asked under her breath. "I thought your kind hated festivals — too loud, too crowded."
Rikuin's eyes sparkled mischievously.
"You'd be surprised," he said, tilting his head toward the gathering. "A few of my kin are out there right now, stuffing their faces with moonberry tarts."
Ellowyn blinked, a laugh bubbling up. "Moonberry tarts?"
He smirked. "Sticky little savories these Elves make. Sweet enough to glue your jaws shut. We can't resist."
Rikuin shrugged lightly, his tail flicking once.
"I also came to see you."
His gaze softened as he studied her, the playful glint dimming into something more solemn.
"I see the Ether Tree still shares her music here," he said quietly, tilting his head toward the distant hum of the lake's edge, where the winds wove whispers between the waters.
Ellowyn's smile faded slightly, sensing the change in him.
"You're more serious than usual," she said gently. "Is something wrong?"
Rikuin's smile faltered, his ears tilting back ever so slightly.
"There are things happening beyond the Blue Forest, Ellie," he said, voice low. "Things your people no longer hear... or choose not to."
She leaned closer. "What things?"
He looked away, amber eyes catching the faint glimmer of the drifting lanterns.
For a moment, he was silent — as if weighing words that were too heavy to share.
"Dark things," he said at last, voice barely above a whisper. "Things that don't fit inside the songs we sing by the fire."
Ellowyn's heart tightened, but she forced a small, hopeful smile.
"Maybe... maybe it's just old fears. Stories to scare us when the mists grow thick."
Rikuin gave a soft, almost sad chuckle — not mocking her, but weary.
"Maybe," he murmured.
"But some stories are left untold because they're not finished yet."
The breeze stirred around them, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant rain.
Ellowyn shivered slightly, though the night was still warm.
Rikuin leaned closer, his voice dropping to a thread of sound only she could hear.
"Just... listen closely, Ellie," he said. "Not all dangers come with horns and claws. Some come softly. Some look very much like home."
Rikuin reached into his satchel and withdrew something — a single feather, deep blue, its edges glimmering faintly with a strange, uneasy sheen.
He held it out silently.
Ellowyn took it carefully, the lightness of it belying the wrongness she felt tingling in her fingertips.
"What is it?" she whispered.
"A sign," Rikuin said simply. His voice held no fear — only sadness.
"One you won't find in your histories. Not anymore."
For a long moment, they sat in silence, the sigh of the forest and the fading music threading between them like a ghost.
Then Rikuin rose, brushing the fallen leaves from his cloak in a single, quiet movement.
"I should go," he said lightly, though the way he looked at her — long and almost aching — belied his easy tone.
"Before the Guardians wonder why the ivy moves without the wind."
Ellowyn stood as well, the feather clutched gently against her chest.
She offered a small, lopsided smile, trying to shake off the strange weight pressing on her heart.
"Same spot tomorrow?" she asked lightly, nodding toward the deeper woods where their secret glade waited.
Rikuin's grin returned, soft and easy — the way she knew it best.
"Of course," he said. "Until tomorrow, Ellie."
He stepped back into the ivy's shadow, the flicker of his copper tail the last thing she saw before the darkness swallowed him.
Only his voice drifted back to her — soft, almost like a memory already:
"Remember tonight. The music. The laughter.
The way the world feels when you're not afraid to see it."
And then he was gone.
Ellowyn lingered there, the blue feather trembling in her hand, as the first thin breath of dawn began to stir the mist along the forest floor — a dawn that somehow felt different, heavier, as if the world itself were holding its breath.
[1] Field Notes: Nymble-tail
Ethereal Lifeform – Native to the Blue Forest
The Nymble-tail is a small arboreal Etherian species, found exclusively in the Blue Forest's dense Ether fields. Similar to squirrels, they are distinguished by a glowing patch running from their back to their long, prehensile tail, used for signaling and minor Ether conduction.
Nymble-tails display instinctive Ether manipulation, gathering lightweight materials to weave underground dens beneath Ether Tree roots — a behavior unlike typical surface nesters. Their pointed ears are highly sensitive to Ether fluctuations, giving them acute environmental awareness.
Playful yet cautious, they rarely stray beyond stable Ether groves. Their presence signals healthy Ether conditions within the Blue Forest.
— Excerpt from the Sylvanmyr Faunal Survey, Vol. II
[2] Field Notes: Syrends
Ethereal Lifeform – Native to the Blue Forest
Syrends are large, slow-moving Etherian mammals found in the densest groves of the Blue Forest. Resembling oversized, rotund bears, they are often mistaken for more dangerous creatures due to their mass and the deep hum that occasionally resonates from their Ether-rich bodies.
Docile by nature, Syrends spend their days foraging low Ether flora and basking near ancient tree roots. Their immense size makes moving a resting Syrend nearly impossible — a known issue for nearby villages.
Though generally passive, they can unleash sudden bursts of Ether-charged strength if startled, but such aggression is rare. Syrends prefer retreat over confrontation and are seen as a stabilizing force within the forest's delicate Ether ecosystem.
Children’s tales often exaggerate their threat, but seasoned naturalists recognize their gentle role among the Blue Forest's Ether life.
— Excerpt from the Sylvanmyr Faunal Survey, Vol. II