Morning arrived softly, washing over the spires of the Luminerian Palace like melted gold. Aria awoke to the unfamiliar sound of distant bells and the faint chirping of birds that didn't exist on Earth. For a moment she simply lay still, staring at the silken canopy above her bed, trying to piece together everything that had happened.
Tokyo felt like a dream now — the trains, her cramped apartment, the dull rhythm of lectures and empty nights. She had fallen through light and thunder into a new world, a summoning circle, disappointed faces, murmurs that still rang in her head: "A girl? The gods sent a girl?"
She sighed, sitting up. Her whole body felt like it had been rearranged and hastily put back together. But she was alive — and that had to count for something.
After she dressed in the simple cream outfit laid out for her, a knock came.
The maid from the night before entered with a small smile. "Good morning, Lady Aria. The king has asked that you rest today. I've brought breakfast."
Aria nodded shyly. "Thank you… um—"
"Lena," the girl supplied warmly. "You may call me Lena."
"Thanks, Lena."
The food was strange — soft bread sweetened with fruit, and a cup of shimmering tea that tasted like sunlight. For the first time since the fall, Aria's heartbeat began to steady.
When she finished, Lena lingered near the door. "Would you like to see the palace grounds? Or perhaps the library? It's quiet there."
Aria hesitated, then said, "Library, please."
The Library of Luminera
The corridors seemed to stretch endlessly, their marble floors reflecting the morning light. Everywhere she went, eyes followed her — the servants whispering behind polite smiles, the guards stiff and silent. The echoes of judgment were heavier than the crown jewels.
When Lena pushed open the tall bronze-bound doors of the library, the air changed. Warm, dust-sweet, timeless. Thousands of books rose on towering shelves, ladders trailing up into a haze of golden light.
"This is…" Aria's breath caught. "It's beautiful."
Lena smiled. "They say all knowledge of Elyndra sleeps here. Perhaps it will help you understand our world."
Aria wandered slowly through the aisles. The spines of the books shimmered with runes instead of letters. She brushed one; the script rippled and rearranged itself into words she could suddenly read.
The Five Nations of Elyndra.
She pulled it down. The leather was soft from age. Dust danced in the sunlight as she opened it.
The Five Nations
The first map she saw was breathtaking — mountains shaped like silver spines, rivers glowing faintly blue, and five colored crests surrounding a central area of Luminera.
Verarthium, the kingdom of light — fertile plains, golden wheat, cities of glass. Known for its knights and scholars.
Nochtyr, the northern realm — endless snow and aurora skies, where magic thrived in silence.
Vyrell, the coastal domain — its people lived with the sea, crafting ships that could ride both wind and current.
Aervalis, the forest nation — deep green, alive, its people bonded with the spirits of beasts and roots.
Grimforge, the southern expanse — red sands, black cliffs, the land of forge and flame.
Each nation was linked by a single line of script that curved through the center of the map:
Five nations once stood, five protectors guided them — until the Sundering.
Aria's eyes narrowed. "Protectors?"
She flipped the page, scanning faster now. Then she saw the word — bold, ancient, almost humming with its own light:
AETHERBOUND.
Her heart skipped.
That word—
She had heard it.
When she was falling through that storm of color during the summoning, voices had whispered around her: "…Find the Aetherbound…"
Her fingers trembled slightly. So it wasn't just a dream sound. It's real. They exist — or existed.
She turned the page again, hungry for more, but the book gave only fragments:
Chosen by the Ether. Wielders of divine essence.
Their souls shone brighter than fire, and through them, the nations thrived.
But when the stars turned, their unity was lost… and the world fell silent.
That was all. The rest of the page had been burned away.
Aria looked up, pulse quickening. "Lena," she called softly, "are there any other books about… this?" She pointed to the word.
Lena tilted her head. "Aetherbound? You know that name?"
"I— I heard it before. Somewhere. Please, can you show me?"
The maid seemed uncertain but nodded, leading her toward the oldest section of the library — a dim corner where the shelves leaned slightly and dust lay thick like ash.
"These are the archives," Lena whispered. "Most of these books haven't been opened in centuries."
Aria trailed her fingers along the spines until four caught her eye — all similar in size, all nearly falling apart.
The first was deep blue, its title barely legible:
"The Vein of Chaos."
The second, red:
"The Vein of Power."
The third, emerald:
"The Vein of Harmony."
The fourth, a golden-brown hue:
"The Vein of Hope."
But there was a fifth space — empty, the dust pattern still showing where a book once lay.
"Only four," Aria murmured. "There should be five."
Lena blinked. "Five?"
"The book I read mentioned five protectors — one for each nation."
The maid nodded slowly. "Then the last must have been lost to time. There was a fire here, decades ago. Some of the oldest texts were destroyed."
Aria crouched and lifted the golden-brown one. Unlike the others, it still felt… alive. The cover was warm beneath her palms, faintly pulsing.
When she opened it, the pages flared with dull light. The ink was faded, but the words remained.
He sang to the ashes, and they rose to dance with him.
He burned for a dream that never came true, but never let the fire die.
Aria's breath caught. It was beautiful and sad — and something inside her stirred, an ache she couldn't explain.
A rough sketch filled the next page — a lone warrior standing before a city in flames, his eyes shadowed, one hand reaching toward the falling embers.
She whispered, almost involuntarily, "Who were you?"
And in her mind, faint as an echo through time, she heard a single name — Suvarn Eltar — though she didn't know where it came from.
The runes on the cover flickered faint gold, responding to her voice, before fading back into stillness.
Lena gasped softly. "Lady Aria… what did you do?"
"I don't know," Aria said truthfully. "I just… thought of a name."
They both stared at the book for a moment longer, until the glow was completely gone.
Lena crossed herself in an old gesture of respect. "Perhaps the gods are showing you something."
"Or maybe," Aria murmured, "they're telling me why I'm here."
________________________________________
By the time Aria left the archives, the sun had set. Torches lined the corridors, casting long, wavering shadows. Servants passed by with lowered eyes. Somewhere distant, nobles were laughing — feasts and dances continuing as though the world outside the palace wasn't trembling.
Aria's steps echoed softly. Every whisper of silk and armor reminded her she didn't belong.
A girl? That's who the sages called?
No blade in her hand, no aura of divinity.
We're doomed.
Their voices replayed in her head like old recordings she couldn't turn off.
When she reached her room, she closed the door, pressed her back against it, and let out a shaky breath.
Soon, the golden-brown book laid on her desk, waiting.
She sat down, brushed the cover once more, and whispered, "Aetherbound…"
The word felt powerful now — not foreign, but familiar, like a thread connecting her to something vast and ancient.
Somewhere deep in her chest, she felt a faint tug — a promise or perhaps a warning.
And far away, beyond the horizon of Elyndra, five dormant lights flickered in the dark — as though something had just called their names.
…
A single candle burned on the desk near her bed. Its flame trembled whenever she shifted, scattering faint shadows across the open book before her. The leather binding was rough and flaking, its edges darkened with age. The Vein of Hope, the title read in curling letters barely visible under centuries of dust.
She traced a finger across the page. The paper felt brittle, like the wings of a moth. Each paragraph was half-missing, words eaten by time. And yet she read, slowly, carefully, murmuring what she could piece together.
"He… walked among the ruins… not chosen… but still he rose."
"The flame that would not yield."
There were drawings between the words: a man holding a short dagger, standing before a collapsing bridge of fire. His stance looked unsure, almost frightened — and somehow that made him feel real.
Aria smiled faintly. "Not chosen," she whispered. "Guess we've got that in common."
The candle flickered again, catching a faint glow across the ink. She leaned closer. The words seemed to breathe — light threads of gold seeping from the paper before fading. Her heart thudded. For an instant she thought she heard a voice, soft as breath: Do you hear me?