Later, in her room, Ellowyn sat huddled by the narrow window, staring at the glimmering lights of Yal Elunore. They had once seemed so beautiful.
Now, they flickered like dying stars.
The door creaked open.
"Aeryn," she breathed, seeing her brother's familiar form.
He knelt beside her, exhaustion lining his face.
"I heard," he said quietly.
"Do you ever wonder," Ellowyn murmured, "if this is all there is? Lanterns, lessons... keeping a Dome alive, for what?" She pressed a trembling hand to the glass. "We're told we protect Skyland. But how? We just... exist."
Aeryn hesitated. "It's not our place to question."
"But Talanar did," she said bitterly. "And now he's gone."
Aeryn's jaw tightened. He looked away.
"You know something," Ellowyn pressed. "You know what re-education really is."
She leaned closer, voice low and urgent.
"Aeryn... what is it, really?"
He stared at her, his jaw working.
"I..." He faltered, then shut his eyes briefly, crushing the words inside.
"Just forget it," he muttered hoarsely. "It's better not to talk about it."
"Aeryn—"
He shook his head, cutting her off. His voice dropped to a strained whisper.
"All you need to know... is you never come back the same."
He exhaled sharply, the sound tearing the room open.
A cold pit bloomed in Ellowyn's chest. She hugged herself, suddenly small against the vastness she could only glimpse — a truth her brother feared to name.
"There has to be more," she whispered fiercely. "Records. Truths. Something beyond the safe little lessons they feed us."
Aeryn shifted, glancing toward the window, as if the night itself might be listening.
"Ellie... this is dangerous talk. You don't understand how deep it goes."
"I do," she snapped — her voice trembling. "More than you think."
She grabbed his sleeve and pointed through the window.
"Look," she whispered.
Below, the city moved in perfect, practiced rhythm — merchants tidying wares, scholars crossing bridges, guardians on patrol.
Polite nods. Measured steps.
Faces serene — and utterly empty.
"Every day," Ellowyn said thickly, "they follow the same patterns. As if this is all we were made for."
She turned to him, desperate.
"Does it feel right to you, Aeryn? Truly right? To wake and work just to keep the Dome pulsing, while the world outside fades?"
He said nothing.
But he looked — really looked — for the first time in a long while.
Ellowyn saw it: the tension knotting his jaw, the tiny falter in his breath.
"I read the scrolls," she pressed on. "I listened to every lecture. They talk about balance, about protecting Sylvanmyr... but have you ever seen them do anything for it? Have you ever seen proof that the Dome helps Skyland — anyone but ourselves?"
Still he said nothing.
But something cracked in his proud, rigid posture.
Ellowyn stepped closer, voice raw:
"If we stay silent, Aeryn... if we pretend nothing is wrong... we're already dead inside."
His hands trembled at his sides.
For a long, aching moment, he fought with himself — fear, duty, and the undeniable truth warring inside him.
Finally, he exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair.
"There's a place," he muttered. "Beneath the Council Hall. A lower archive... hidden. Guarded. Only council members are allowed inside."
Ellowyn's heart leapt.
She seized his hands, fierce and pleading.
"Take me there," she breathed.
Aeryn recoiled slightly, horror flashing in his face.
"Ellie—no. That's exile. Prison for life. Worse."
"Please," she said, voice trembling. "If we don't seek the truth now... what are we even protecting?"
He stared at her, torn.
Wanting to shield her.
Wanting to tell her to forget.
But deep down, knowing it was too late.
With a low, muttered curse, he squeezed her hands roughly — almost angry at himself.
"Tonight," he said hoarsely. "After the third chime. South courtyard. I'll light a spark — two flickers. That's your signal."
Ellowyn nodded, fierce resolve shining in her eyes.
Aeryn hesitated, then whispered, barely audible:
"Be careful, Ellie. Some doors... once you open them... you can never shut again."
Then he disappeared into the shadows, leaving her standing alone, her heart thundering with both terror — and a terrible, irreversible hope.
—BREAK—
The city slept, veiled in thick mist that blurred the lanterns into soft, shivering halos.
Above it all, the Ether flows pulsed faintly — distant, watchful veins of silver across the sky.
Ellowyn moved across the rooftops like a shadow, the damp tiles slick beneath her boots.
Every creak, every gust of wind set her nerves jangling.
At last, from a high balcony across the courtyard, she saw it:
A tiny spark — flickering once... twice.
Aeryn's signal.
Her breath caught painfully in her throat.
This was real.
There would be no turning back.
She slipped down the side of a building, gripping the gnarled ivy vines clinging stubbornly to the stone.
The mist thickened, clinging to her skin, swallowing her footsteps.
At the base, crouched between two columns, Aeryn was waiting.
"This way," he whispered, barely more than breath.
He led her through a narrow servant's passage — a corridor so tight they had to stoop, the walls cold and damp against their shoulders.
The air reeked of earth and ancient dust.
Above, the faint thrum of the Dome pressed down, like a heartbeat muffled by stone.
They descended a spiral stairwell, steps slick with moss and curling roots.
The temperature dropped with every step.
Ellowyn hugged her cloak tighter, the ruined scarf hidden close to her heart.
At the bottom, the passage ended at a heavy ironwood door, worn smooth by time.
Carved across it were flowing glyphs — the ancient language of the Eldians, now barely taught except in the oldest lessons.
The markings shimmered under the Ether light, pulsing faintly, as if alive.
Aeryn pressed his palm flat against the wood, his fingers trembling.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the glyphs flared cold, silvery-blue — and the door shuddered open with a low, reluctant groan.
He turned to her, his face grim.
"You'll have minutes at most," he said, voice tight.
"Three knocks if there's danger. You run, Ellie. No questions. Promise me."
Ellowyn nodded, her heart hammering so hard she thought it might break her ribs.
She looked once at her brother — really looked — seeing the fear he tried so hard to hide.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Before he could answer, she slipped through the opening into the waiting dark.
The door closed behind her with a soft, final thud — sealing her inside the forbidden place where the truth had been buried.
—BREAK—
The air inside hit her like a wall — cold, dense, humming with a strange pressure, as if the stones themselves held their breath.
A faint metallic scent clung to the dampness, laced with the musty bite of ancient parchment and old Ether long forgotten.
It was so heavy she almost staggered, her chest tightening as she inhaled the age of the place.
Darkness smothered the archive.
Ellowyn pressed her palms together, fingers trembling, and whispered a chant — words she barely remembered from childhood.
The Ether between her hands stirred, glinting like stardust, weaving into a fragile orb of light.
It floated above her skin, casting a pale blue glow that awakened dust motes in slow, spiraling dances.
Rows of shelves loomed ahead, vanishing into the gloom.
Scrolls filled every crevice — some wrapped in cracked leather, others bound in gold-threaded silk, some so brittle they shivered at her breath.
The air was thick with forgotten oaths.
Her footsteps barely whispered as she moved between the towering shelves, brushing titles etched in the old Eldian tongue.
Most were indecipherable.
She caught glimpses — Treatise on Kosmic Flows, Chronicles of Ether Weaving, The Constellations of Sylvanmyr — but none held what she sought.
Some scrolls crackled faintly at her passing, but she pressed deeper into the labyrinth of dust and silence.
Nothing.
Nothing about Skyland.
Nothing about the lands beyond the Dome.
Only endless treatises on Ether, council edicts, histories scrubbed clean.
Despair gnawed at her.
Her Ether light wavered.
And then —
Out of the corner of her eye, a faint pulse of gold in the darkness.
She turned, breath catching.
A single scroll rested atop a lone pedestal, half-swallowed by the gloom.
Unlike the others, it was pristine — bound between plates of hammered gold, etched with twin sigils of sun and moon, their lines shimmering like woven starlight.
It pulsed softly.
A slow, rhythmic thrum — not heard, but felt deep in her bones, like the ghost of a whale's song trembling through stone.
It called to her — not with words, but with a thread of longing, a whisper of forgotten promises.
Ellowyn drifted forward, barely aware of her own steps.
The air thickened, specks of Ether gathering around her in a soft halo.
When her fingertips brushed the golden casing, the pulsing deepened — a low, resonant chime filling the vault like a held breath released.
Her Ether light flared wildly —
—and the scroll rose from its pedestal, floating with a gentle grace, as if recognizing her.
Hands trembling, she guided it to a central lectern worn smooth by countless years, carved with faded spirals of old energy.
The scroll settled with a sound like a sigh through ancient leaves.
Heart pounding, Ellowyn leaned in and unfastened the clasps.
The golden plates slid apart with a reluctant groan.
The scroll unfurled beneath her hands—
Revealing nothing.
Only blank, velvety parchment, glowing faintly under the flickering Ether light.
Emptiness.
The scroll's soft thrum faded, leaving only the hollow echo of her own breathing.
Almost without thinking, her hand found the tattered scarf tied close to her chest — Rikuin's scarf, worn and bloodstained, but still full of life in her memory.
She closed her eyes.
"I wish..."
Her voice cracked on the still air.
"I wish I could have seen your village. Just once."
The words barely left her lips when the scroll answered.
A pulse of golden light burst from the parchment, so sudden and fierce she staggered back, eyes wide.
The blank surface rippled like disturbed water, and then — like rivers flooding across dry land — lines of glowing blue ink blossomed into view.
Ancient Eldian script wove itself across the scroll, curling upward into the air — symbols drifting free like tiny constellations, spinning slowly around her.
The room filled with a warm hum, low and resonant — a sound like a distant whale's cry, vibrating in her bones.
The scent of wild rain and deep forests wrapped around her, as if the scroll was breathing life into the room itself.
Then the images came:
— A hidden village, deep beneath the forest floor, nestled in a secret fold between the roots of ancient Ether Trees.
— Soft tunnels carved by time and care, their walls glowing with veins of living light.
— Small, cozy dwellings tucked into the roots, their doorways framed by moss and crystal blossoms that pulsed faintly with Ether.
— Kinitu children darting between luminous pools, laughing with ethereal animals — deer with vine-like antlers, foxes with feathered tails.
— Elders weaving protective wards into the roots, whispering ancient songs into the soil to strengthen the Blue Forest above.
Lines of script shimmered between the visions, each word a breath against her skin:
"Guardians of the Deep Roots.
Weavers of Preservation.
They who cradle the wounded heart of Skyland."
Ellowyn pressed a hand over her chest, breath catching.
All this time, we thought we were protecting what was precious...
But it was them.
Not wanderers — caretakers. Healers.
Nurturing the land, the Ether, the Blue Forest — while we hid behind walls, drawing life from what they kept alive.
Why were we never told?
We should have protected them, she thought bitterly, a sob rising up her throat.
Instead... we closed our doors.
—
Then — her heart hammering — Ellowyn fumbled inside her cloak and pulled free the single blue feather Rikuin had once given her.
The feather shimmered faintly in her trembling hand, still holding the faintest trace of Ether.
"If this works..." she whispered, voice trembling, "Show me where this came from."
She held the feather toward the scroll.
A soft pulse answered her.
The scroll brightened, new script unfurling like ribbons of blue flame..
The scent changed — sharper now, colder — mountain rain and wind off stone.
New visions rose:
— Misty hills rolling endlessly beneath a storm-lit sky.
— Great, lumbering shapes — creatures feathered and vast, moving with silent grace through silver grasses.
— Their plumes shimmered like starlight, and their solemn golden eyes seemed to gaze into eternity.
The words wove into the mist:
"Aelariths.[1]
Ether-Bears found on the high mountains of Glimmerthund.
Who keep the balance from other endemic life to overgrow"
Ellowyn gasped, clutching the scarf and feather to her chest.
She understood now.
These creatures did not belong to Sylvanmyr.
They had traveled from their distant home, but why? — a sign, a warning.
Just as Rikuin had feared.
Something was moving in Skyland.
Ellowyn stood there trembling, the last visions of the Aelariths fading into the mist around her.
The scroll's golden pulse dimmed slightly, as if waiting, patient but expectant.
She clutched the feather and scarf tighter, her mind spinning.
Slowly, she whispered into the charged silence:
"What dangers threaten Skyland?"
But Nothing.
The scroll remained still — no pulse, no answer.
Her heart sank.
Maybe... maybe it wasn't about asking the right fear.
Maybe it was about asking the right truth.
She closed her eyes, pressing her forehead lightly against the edge of the lectern, desperate, aching.
What am I not seeing?
The scent of deep forests still clung to the air.
The low hum of the scroll trembled faintly, like a heartbeat slowing, waiting for the right touch.
Then — the memory of her lessons came unbidden:
The Eldians, guardians of balance, protectors of peace...
Her breath caught.
Very slowly, she lifted her head, voice shaking.
"What is the duty of the Eldians?"
The words barely left her lips when the scroll ignited with blinding brilliance.
The Ether orb she had conjured earlier extinguished at once — swallowed whole by a deeper, vaster light.
Symbols exploded from the scroll — not drifting now, but swirling into a roaring storm, golden and blue and silver letters weaving around her in dizzying spirals.
The air thickened, heavy with the scent of ancient rains, charred earth, and the sharpness of Ether raw from the veins of the world.
Her hair lifted in the current as the ether wrapped her in a cocoon of shimmering light.
And then—
The visions struck.
—
First came the Tree.
The Ether Tree, towering beyond mountains, its roots burrowed deep into the bones of Skyland, its branches a cathedral of living light.
Each root pulsed with life — sending rivers of Ether through the land, nourishing forests, seas, and skies.
Ellowyn gasped, tears springing to her eyes.
Beneath its massive boughs, figures appeared — radiant and proud — Eldians in flowing robes of silver and deep green, kneeling with hands pressed to the roots.
Above them, luminous and vast, floated a being of silver and stormlight — Shiruba U Windo, the First Guardian, blessing them with purpose.
Words burned into the air before her:
"Protect. Nurture. Preserve.
The Ether Tree is the heart.
The heart sustains the world.
The world sustains us all."
But then—
The light darkened.
A jagged tear ripped across the visions — and from the sundered skies poured blackness, a howling shape coalescing into Drako.
A beast of seething shadows, crowned in broken light, his roar a corruption of Ether itself.
Ellowyn staggered back as waves of darkness flooded the world below.
She saw it all unfold in a blur of horror:
— Shiruba swallowed by shadow, vanishing into a spiral of black and crimson.
— The Ether Tree's glow dimming, its roots shriveling as corruption gnawed at its core.
— Cities crumbling. Fields rotting into ash.
Then — the survivors:
— The Adanels building stone cities in Firya, raising walls high against the growing night.
— The Turocs retreating to the volcanic strongholds of Mogger, forging weapons not for conquest, but for survival.
— Glimmerthund falling to ruin, claimed by the dragonkin and the beasts of broken Ether.
And the Eldians...
Her people...
Ellowyn choked on a sob as she saw them — not fighting.
Not protecting.
Fleeing.
Building vast towers of crystal and gold.
Shaping the Kosmic Dome — an enormous shimmering barrier, encasing themselves away from the world they had been meant to serve.
Lines of ancient script carved themselves into the storm of visions:
"Abandonment.
Fear.
Pride.
Shelter bought at the price of silence."
Ellowyn sank to her knees, unable to breathe.
We left the Tree alone.
We left the world to rot.
The scroll showed more — no longer history, but prophecy:
— Skyland withering under the slow, inevitable march of shadow.
— The Ether Tree dying, its final glow fading.
— The Dome shattering like broken glass as Ether drained away, leaving nothing to shield the proud, empty towers.
And the final warning, scrawled in letters so large they filled the air, burning like fire:
"When the heart falls, the silent heavens fall with it.
None shall escape.
None shall endure."
The swirling letters began to slow, fading back toward the scroll's surface.
The light dimmed.
The scent of rain and burned wood lingered.
Ellowyn knelt there, trembling, her heart torn open.
We were meant to heal Skyland, she thought brokenly.
We chose to hide.
Silent tears streaked her face, dripping onto the stone floor.
Her whole life — every lesson, every tradition — had been built on a lie of fear and pride.
If they did nothing, it wasn't just Sylvanmyr that would fall.
It would be everything.
Skyland itself.
—BREAK—
A soft sound stirred her from her daze.
Footsteps — hurried, light.
Aeryn burst through the door, face pale with terror.
"Ellie!" he whispered harshly. "They're moving. Someone's awake — you have to go, now!"
He faltered as he saw her kneeling there, surrounded by the fading glow, her face slack with horror.
He rushed to her side, grabbing her shoulders.
"What did you see?" he breathed.
Ellowyn clutched the scarf, the feather, her whole body trembling.
She looked up at him, and the words spilled out, raw and ragged:
"Terrible things are coming.
And if we don't act...
Not just us — all of Skyland will be lost."
Aeryn's face tightened with fear — but also something else: a crack, the first crack, in his perfect loyalty.
He pulled her to her feet, squeezing her hand once.
"We'll talk later," he muttered. "Now, run."
Together, they slipped into the misty corridors, leaving behind the silent library — and the truth that could no longer be forgotten.
[1] Field Notes: Aelariths
Ethereal Lifeform – Native to the Glimmerthund (now Drakelands) Range
Aelariths are majestic Etherian mammals native to the peaks and rocky valleys of the Glimmerthund Mountains. Bearing traits of both bear and bird, they have powerful bodies covered in dense, shimmering blue feathers that blend into stone-gray terrain, granting them near-invisibility against cliffs.
Living in close-knit packs, Aelariths play a crucial ecological role by selectively hunting small mammals and vermin, preserving balance without overhunting. Their strong claws allow them to scale cliffs easily, nesting where Ether flows are strongest.
Despite their size, Aelariths are calm and avoid conflict, revered by early mountain peoples as silent guardians of longevity and balance.
— Excerpt from the Glimmerthund Ethereal Bestiary, Vol. IV