Elyra was… strange.
Not in the dangerous way.
Not in the ancient, cosmic, terrifying way.
Just strange in the way someone soft and earnest can be.
If you asked people in Vaeloria who she was, they'd give answers that didn't match:
"The girl who loves cats."
"The one who hums when she's happy."
"That tiny pink-haired girl who smiles at birds like they're old friends."
"The one who eats angel cake like it's sacred."
None of these are wrong.
Elyra liked simple things—tiny, delicate things.
Cats curled in sunbeams.
Warm pastries.
Soft blankets.
Holding someone's sleeve when she was nervous.
Laughing at jokes that weren't funny.
Trying to cook and failing spectacularly every time.
She had the bad habit of twirling her hair when she daydreamed.
The worse habit of hiding her hand in her sleeve when she was scared.
And the truly terrible habit of picking up every stray cat she saw, regardless of whether it wanted to be picked up.
Some people thought she was childish.
Some thought she was fragile.
Some thought she was harmless.
None of them really understood her.
Elyra wasn't harmless.
She wasn't fragile.
She wasn't childish.
She was simply kind.
Kind in a world that punished kindness.
Kind in a way that didn't make sense.
Kind in a way that made people want to protect her—even when they had no idea why.
Kairo once said she smiled like she was apologising for existing.
Faran said she talked like every word was carefully chosen.
But if you asked Elyra who she was?
She'd say something quiet.
Something small.
Something like:
"…I'm just Elyra."
And maybe that's enough.
Not a guardian.
Not a warrior.
Not a chosen anything.
Just a girl who loves cats, angel cake, and the tiny moments people forget to appreciate.
One day, the world will learn what she truly is.
But today?
Elyra is simply the girl feeding a stray cat beneath a sunlit window, humming a tune she doesn't remember learning.