The king awoke from a deep, dreamless sleep—gasping, clawing at his throat as if unseen hands were choking him. His eyes snapped open, scanning the chamber for an attacker. But there was no one. Only silence. Only shadows.
He rose from the bed, his heart still pounding, and stepped out into the cool air of the palace courtyard. His feet carried him instinctively to the garden—the one their child had once tended with joy and magic.
"Almira…" he called softly.
The queen did not turn. Her hands moved gently over the plants, coaxing life from soil and memory. Her silence was familiar. It had become her armor ever since the day he punished their only child.
A hundred thousand years had passed.
A hundred thousand years without Solair.
A hundred thousand years of silence between them.
And yet, today, something shifted. The king exhaled, heavy with regret.
"Prepare yourself," he said. "We're going to visit Solastra. It's been years."
The queen stood abruptly. "Fifteen years," she corrected, her voice sharp as wind. With a flick of her fingers, she cleansed her hands with magic. "I'm ready."
They traveled by enchanted carriage, arriving at the hidden sanctuary where their granddaughter had been kept. The guards, stunned by the royal presence, bowed deeply, hands pressed to their hearts.
Without ceremony, the king and queen strode toward Solastra's chamber—only to be stopped by her caretaker, whose face was pale with dread.
She led them to a quiet room and offered seats. The queen sat, her gaze piercing through the caretaker's trembling hands.
"We've come to see the princess," Almira said, rising. "I haven't felt her presence in years."
The caretaker stepped forward, blocking her path.
"About the princess, Your Majesty…" she began, voice faltering.
"What about her?" Almira asked, her tone laced with unease.
The caretaker swallowed hard. She had rehearsed this moment in her mind countless times, but now that it had come, words failed her.
"Eigteen years ago…" she began, "…the princess's soul escaped."
The queen froze. The king stood, stunned.
"What?" he thundered. "Why wasn't this reported?"
"We believed we could retrieve her soul," the caretaker said, eyes downcast. "But…"
"But what?" Almira demanded, her voice trembling.
"We couldn't find it. We searched the realm of the fairfolk—where her soul fled. But even now, she remains lost."
Almira sank into her seat, her strength draining. The king placed a hand on her shoulder, but even he was shaken.
And then came the final blow.
"There's more, Your Majesties…" the caretaker whispered. "According to the dungeon captain… Zarethul has escaped. He fled toward the fairfolk realm."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
They returned to the palace in sorrow. Almira retreated to her chamber, refusing to face the king. Her fury simmered beneath the surface, dangerous and divine.
The king, unable to bear her silence, followed. He found her staring at a tapestry woven with memories—of Solair, of Solastra, of what could have been.
"Almira…"
"Not now," she said, her voice tight. "My temper is high."
"Almira, I know you're angry, but—"
"Yes, I'm angry," she snapped. "If you had let me visit Solastra, she might still be here."
"She's not a full goddess," he said, as if that justified everything.
Almira turned, her eyes blazing. Her hands shimmered with water and wind, her fury elemental.
"She is Solair's child. Our granddaughter. A princess of divine blood. Why is your mind so narrow? It's been a hundred thousand years—must I still fight for her worth?"
"What happened was wrong," the king replied, his voice rising.
"And Solair and Zarethul were punished," Almira countered. "But why punish Solastra? She bore no guilt. She was innocent."
Her gown—woven of silver, gold, and sapphire—began to blaze with fire. Her powers surged, water and wind and flame merging into one. Her form shifted, radiant and terrifying.
The king raised his shield, knowing her fury could shatter mountains.
"Enough, Almira…" he said, voice cutting through the storm. "Save your wrath. Zarethul has escaped. We must find Solastra before he does. If he reaches her first, he'll turn her into a weapon against us."
Almira's breath slowed. Her fists unclenched. The storm in her eyes began to settle.
"Solastra is no ordinary princess," she whispered. "She is a goddess in her own right. If Zarethul claims her… she may become his most devastating force."
The king lowered his guard, his voice softer now.
"I may not have accepted Solastra," he admitted, "but letting Zarethul reach her first… that would be a mistake we may never undo."
~~~~~~~~~~
Meanwhile, across the land, life continued. Students were busy with their training. Yrion, however, was staring at the Myrr—searching for something, it seemed, which puzzled his companions.
"You've been staring at my people, Yrion. It's like you're looking for something," Thalmyra observed, curious.
He face her, reading her like she might know the answer of her question "You know Dewyn?" he constantly ask
That make Thalmyra confused "Dewyn? Who's that?"
Here's the enhanced English translation of your chapter, with poetic flow, emotional depth, and a resonant closing:
He shook his head, already knowing the answer. He turned his gaze to the surroundings until it landed on five figures walking in the distance. He recognized them instantly by the clothes they wore.
He frowned as someone blocked his view.
"Who is Dewyn?" Thalmyra asked again.
Yrion took a deep breath and explained. But after hearing it, Thalmyra only grew more confused about the girl's existence.
"We don't have anyone like that. White-haired? None," she replied.
"Maybe she's an unknown… a spirit with unfinished business," Glaciele teased, making everyone laugh.
Yrion ignored the remark. No matter who he asked, the answer was always the same. And he knew—only one person could give him the truth. The girl he had spoken to twice.
While they were busy teasing each other, they suddenly stood and rushed to their posts as the sky darkened without warning.
The Archmentors moved swiftly to the front, shielding the students from whatever was coming.
Lior's companions grew uneasy as the once bright and sunny sky turned into a stormy mass of thunder and lightning.
But Lior didn't flinch. He walked straight ahead, searching for the plant mentioned in their spellbook.
"What happened to the clear skies?" Keal asked nervously.
"Is danger coming?" Thorne added.
He drew his magic sword—black, surrounded by dark flames readying himself for whatever threat might arrive.
"Lior!" Keal called out, prompting Lior to turn quickly.
He waited for his friend to speak, but when Keal said nothing, Lior continued walking, searching among the plants.
The school's garden was filled with herbs used for spells. They were cultivated to make it easier for students to gather ingredients, though some rare herbs still couldn't be found so easily.
"There it is…" Lior whispered to himself upon spotting the magic herbs he needed.
Just as she was about to pick them, someone pulled her back. She turned quickly—and was surprised to see the prince.
"Why did you pull me?" She asked, grabbing his hand back.
The prince looked at him with concern.
"I don't know if you are just use dark, but we're in danger. The sky changed—something big might be coming," he said, irritated.
Lior looked up and finally noticed the sky. It had turned completely black, streaked with thunder and lightning.
She turned to the prince. "Sorry, I didn't notice…"
Maybe she had been too focused on finding the herbs to realize the shift in the sky. She stared at it, as if trying to read its meaning.
Furious. Unforgiving.
Suddenly, her head throbbed with pain. She clutched it, closed her eyes, and rubed her forehead—but the pain only worsened.
Her body weakened, and she collapsed to her knees. Her friends, the prince, and the Archmentor rushed to her side.
She bowed her head, the pain splitting through her skull. Then, a vision appeared—a woman, goddess-like in appearance, but sorrowful.
"Veyar silen, na'thel omari veyrien, elenari." she said to her
Then she returned to herself—but immediately lost consciousness.
She woke up in her room. Carefully, she sat up and checked himself, especially her head. The pain was gone.
She thought about what she had seen. The woman who appeared was the same one from her dream. She turned toward the door as it opened, revealing the Moonweaver and a woman she hadn't seen before. She walked toward him swiftly.
She looked at the woman beside the Moonweaver. Her clothes were beautiful—a long white combines yellow dress. She looked like a moon goddess.
She frowned as she stared into her eyes. They were completely white. She looked back at her, and she stared even deeper.
Before she could ask, the Moonweaver introduced her.
"She is Elthara, the prophecy reader. Born with white eyes to see what the prophecy holds for the future."
She simply nodded. The Moonweaver left, leaving the two of them alone. Elthara sat on the chair beside her bed.
"May I?" she asked, opening her palm. She gave her, her hand.
She placed her other hand on top of her. As she watched her, she realized she was reading his palm—her fate.
But her brow furrowed as she let go.
"What are you?" she asked, confused.
Though puzzled, she answered, "I'm a black sorcerer."
But she shook her head, unconvinced.
"You're not a black magic user. Who are you? What are you?"
She frowned deeper, unsure of what she meant.
"If you don't believe me, then don't. I didn't force you to."
Shee stood from the bed and walked to the window. She thought she had left, since the room fell silent—but then she spoke again.
"I can see past and future. But when I look at yours, I couldn't. There's nothing. All plain white. No life…" she explained.
"So, what are you?" she asked again.
She didn't know the answer—because even she didn't know. She stared at Elthara, remembering what she said. She could see the past and future. And he realized—they were alike.
"I'm…" she began, but wasn't sure if it was right. "I'm…" she tried again.
She wanted to say they were the same, but she couldn't—because she knew she was something more. She clenched her fists and closed her eyes.
Then she opened them and smiled at her.
"Where can I find you?" she asked, changing the topic.
Elthara was surprised, but answered anyway.
"I'm at the Archmentors' Dormitory. You can find me at the last door," she said. "But why?"
"I will talk to you…" she turned away. "About something. Something I'm not sure of. But I will seek my parents first." She faced her again.
Elthara smiled before leaving. She stood by the window, staring at the sky, now blue again—as if nothing had happened.
"Grandfather… who am I?" she whispered to himself looking at the sky that now had returned to calm, but Lior's heart remained restless.
A question echoed louder than thunder, deeper than magic: 'Who am I?'
Not even prophecy could answer.
Not yet.
But somewhere beyond the clouds, beyond memory and fate, a truth waited to be found.
And when it is, the world will change.