The night air clung to Ellowyn as she slipped back through the quiet streets of Yal Elunore.
Lanterns glowed softly in their cradles of woven vine, but the light felt thin, distant — like stars drowning behind a heavy mist.
Home stood just as she had left it, but somehow... smaller. Colder.
She found herself by the window of her room, forehead pressed lightly against the glass.
The Ether flows above the city pulsed in steady rhythm — a heartbeat she had once trusted, once loved.
Now it felt like the ticking of a clock, counting down something she couldn't yet name.
Behind her, the soft creak of a door.
"Ellie?"
It was her father's voice, roughened not by anger but concern.
He stepped into the room, his fine robe loose at the collar, his silver hair disheveled by the late hour.
"You're troubled," Caelarion said, moving closer. "Did something happen tonight?"
He offered a faint smile, almost teasing — as if expecting her sadness to be the petty grief of a girl.
Ellowyn hesitated, still gazing outward. The forest beyond the dome looked so far away.
She drew a shaky breath.
"Dad... would you always tell me the truth?" she whispered.
There was a pause — so slight that only someone desperate would notice.
Caelarion's hand rested lightly on her shoulder.
"I will always do what is best for you," he said. "For you, for our family. That is the truth that matters."
Ellowyn turned, searching his face — and in that moment, a crack opened wide inside her.
"Where is Talanar Vaelwyn?" she asked, voice trembling despite herself.
"I went to the Academy today. I wanted to wish him well, to see him. But..." her throat tightened, "they wouldn't even let me near him. They just... looked at me."
Her father's mouth pressed into a thin line.
"Talanar is well," he said firmly. "I saw him recently. His re-education is proceeding."
"But when will we see him again?" she pressed, the questions tumbling from her like loosened stones.
"Tomorrow? Next week?"
Caelarion's gaze hardened.
"That depends," he said. "Sometimes... re-education can take months. Years. It depends on whether the caretakers judge him ready."
Ellowyn blinked, stunned.
"Judge... him?" she echoed. "For what? What did he do that was so wrong?"
Her father's tone grew sharper.
"He spoke when he should have listened. He doubted when he should have trusted. That is all you need to know."
Ellowyn flinched as if struck. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself.
"And you?" she said, her voice brittle. "Do you truly believe that's all?"
"Enough."
Caelarion stepped back, his patience thinning.
"You are young, Ellowyn. You do not yet understand the dangers of doubt. Trust me. Trust your people. Trust the path laid before you."
For a moment, the silence stretched between them like a taut thread.
Then, as he turned to leave, Ellowyn whispered:
"Dad... what are shadows?"
He froze.
Slowly, Caelarion turned back toward her, a chuckle escaping — but it was forced, brittle.
"My dear moonshine," he said, voice lighter than before, "shadows are everywhere. Beneath every leaf, under every stone. There's nothing strange about them."
"But not those kinds of shadows," Ellowyn said, stepping forward.
She lifted her chin, trembling with something fierce and new.
"I mean... are there evil shadows? Creatures that lurk outside the Dome?"
The light drained from Caelarion's face.
"Where," he said very slowly, "did you hear such nonsense?"
Ellowyn faltered. "I... I overheard travelers," she lied quickly.
He studied her for a long moment, and then his mouth twisted into a hard, bitter smile.
"I should have known," he said. "That Kinitu. Their poisoned songs. Their love of sowing fear."
His voice sharpened, each word honed like a blade:
"I allowed that foxling to visit because I believed he would respect our peace. Our rules."
Ellowyn's hands balled into fists at her sides.
"You knew about him," she said. "And you said nothing."
"I trusted he would not break our pact," her father said coldly. "But it seems even wild things cannot resist corrupting the innocent."
The words broke something open inside her.
Tears filled her eyes — not of helplessness, but of rising anger.
"He came for help," Ellowyn said first, her voice shaking, barely more than a whisper.
Caelarion narrowed his eyes. "What help?"
She swallowed hard, clutching the scarf tighter against her chest.
"Their village... something was attacking them. Creatures. Shadows. He said they were losing. He asked me to help — to bend the Ether and drive the shadows away."
Her voice broke, full of raw pain.
"I almost went... but I was afraid. I thought obeying was the right path to follow. But now..."
Tears slipped down her cheeks.
"My heart aches, Father," she whispered. "I ache because I know... I chose wrong."
She pulled the bloodstained scarf from her satchel and held it out like a banner of accusation, her hand trembling.
"Rikuin is dead," she said, her voice cracking. "He came asking for help — and I turned him away."
For a moment, Caelarion said nothing.
Then, slowly, his face hardened — not with sorrow, but with something colder.
"The insolence," he hissed under his breath. "That little creature dared to ask you to abandon your place? To defy your duties?"
He shook his head, his silver hair catching the dim light like a blade.
"You did right to stay," he said, voice rising, sharp and unyielding.
"You listened to the voice of reason. You followed the way of your people. That is the Eldian way. That is what keeps us safe while fools beyond the Dome perish in their own folly."
Ellowyn stood motionless, the scarf trembling in her fingers.
But in her heart, something recoiled.
Caelarion's eyes flashed with quiet fury.
"I will see that these matters are addressed," he said sharply. "The council will take proper steps to ensure this never happens again."
Ellowyn stepped back as if burned.
"And what about his people?" she asked hoarsely. "Will you send help?"
For a moment, Caelarion simply looked at her —
Then he merely inclined his head — a cold, mechanical bow, more duty than comfort.
"Goodnight, Ellowyn," he said. "Grieve if you must. But remember who you are."
The words were soft, almost tender — but there was steel beneath them.
Without another glance, he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him — soft, final, like a coffin closing.
Ellowyn sank slowly to the floor by the window long after the footsteps faded, clutching the ruined scarf as if it were all that tethered her to the world she no longer recognized.
The night outside pressed against the glass, vast and impenetrable, swallowing her small reflection in its endless dark.
—BREAK—
The next morning, Ellowyn moved like a ghost through her duties.
The Blue Forest shimmered under the pale light, its Ether blooms swaying in silent song.
She worked with the herbalist teams, fingers weaving the same practiced motions — pluck, seal, sort — but her mind was far away.
The ruined scarf was folded carefully in the pocket of her robe, pressing like a stone against her side with every step.
Around her, life in Yal Elunore flowed on — serene, orderly, untouched.
As if nothing had happened.
As if no hearts had broken.
She was gathering a cluster of Moonlace blossoms when the first chime sounded — a low, deliberate toll that echoed through the glades.
Then another.
And another.
The chimes deepened, rolling like thunder through the trees.
Ellowyn straightened sharply, the others around her pausing, murmuring.
Heads lifted.
Satchels were dropped.
A voice, clear and commanding, wove itself into the Ether currents — carried by unseen energy through every branch and stone:
"All citizens of Yal Elunore, assemble at the Central Spire. A decree from the Council shall be announced."
The words thrummed against Ellowyn's ribs.
She brushed the dust from her hands, heart drumming strangely, and followed the slow, gathering tide of her people — toward the city's heart, toward the place where everything would change.
The streets narrowed as the crowd thickened, a river of pale robes and bowed heads.
Ether lanterns swung from the high arches, their light cold and distant, casting long, trembling shadows across the stone.
Ellowyn moved through it all like a leaf caught in a current, her mind numb, her fingers still curled unconsciously around the fold of the scarf hidden in her sleeve.
As she pushed through the murmuring throng, a familiar figure caught her eye.
"Aeryn," she breathed, reaching for him.
Her brother turned at the sound of her voice, his face drawn and pale, the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced than she had ever seen.
They stood shoulder to shoulder in the crowd.
"Do you know what this is about?" Ellowyn whispered.
Aeryn shook his head, his jaw tight.
"No," he said lowly. "But whatever it is... it feels wrong."
Together, they faced the center of the plaza, where the great Spire loomed against the swirling mist, and the banners of Yal Elunore hung limp in the still air.
When the Herald appeared — robed in deep blue and silver — a hush fell over the square, smothering even the smallest breath.
He unfurled a long scroll — shimmering like woven Ether — and his voice rang out, crisp and cold as winter glass:
"By decree of the Eldian Council, for the safety and preservation of Sylvanmyr—"
A low murmur ran through the crowd. Ellowyn felt Aeryn stiffen beside her.
"All Kinitu are henceforth forbidden entry to Yal Elunore and its surrounding regions within the Dome perimeter."
"Any Kinitu found trespassing shall be apprehended."
A sharp gasp burst from the assembly — a wave of whispers crashing against the walls.
Some faces turned pale; others tightened in grim satisfaction, as if hearing a long-awaited justice spoken aloud.
"Any citizen found consorting with them shall be subject to re-education—"
This time, the crowd rippled not with shock, but with cold approval.
Ellowyn stood motionless, the decree sinking into her bones like a chill she could not shake.
She searched the faces around her — hoping to find even one mirror of her horror — but found only nodding heads.
Slow. Somber. Convinced.
Eyes sharpened into flint.
Lips drawn into grim, thin lines.
The mouths of people who had already decided what was necessary — what was justified.
Her stomach twisted.
Beside her, Aeryn stood rigid, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles gleamed white.
Ellowyn pressed the ruined scarf closer to her chest, feeling its tattered weight tremble like a second, frantic heartbeat.
For the first time, the warmth she had always felt within the Dome seemed to flicker — replaced by something colder, heavier.
Not anger. Not outrage. Pride.
Pride carved into silence.
It was a heaven of order.
A heaven of peace.
A silent heaven.
And deep within her, something stirred.
The seed once buried in soft soil — small, sleeping, harmless — cracked open.
It sprouted upward through her ribs, sharp and trembling.
A yearning.
A question.
A hunger for truths no one dared speak aloud.
In the back of her mind, a memory surfaced.
Rikuin's voice, rough with laughter and something older, sadder:
"Not all dangers come with horns and claws.
Some come softly. Some look very much like home."
Ellowyn pressed the scarf tighter against her heart, her breath catching.
She did not yet understand what was breaking apart inside her —
only that it had begun, and would not be stopped.
The seed unfurled, wild and inevitable, drinking in every crack in the silent heaven around her.
And though her lips stayed still, a promise formed quietly in her chest:
She would find the truth. No matter what it cost.
—BREAK—
The evening after the decree, Ellowyn barely made it home before the dam inside her broke.
She burst into the sitting room, the ruined scarf still clutched in her hand like a weapon. The familiar scent of wild herbs and Ether lanterns barely registered in her burning mind.
Caelarion, seated by the hearth, looked up in surprise — then concern as he rose.
"Ellowyn—"
"How could you?" she snapped, voice raw. "How could you do this? Because of you — because of me — the Kinitu are banished!"
He straightened, his face composed, but there was a crack beneath the calm. "I did what I must to protect our people."
Ellowyn shook her head, tears stinging her vision. "No. You did what you must to protect your pride."
Caelarion's mouth tightened, the silver at his temples glinting under the low light. "You speak of things you don't understand."
"Then make me understand!" she cried, voice breaking. "Tell me why we must live behind walls! Tell me why silence is peace! "
But he said nothing. Only stood there, weighed down by silence.
"I trusted you," Ellowyn whispered. "I thought... maybe if I tried harder, obeyed longer, it would all make sense."
She turned before he could answer, fleeing up the stairs, leaving him standing stiff and stunned, as if her words had carved something out of him.