My father trembles as he raises his finger, points at me, and asks in a voice shattered by disgust, “What kind of creature is that?”

  His words strike me like a dagger to the heart. But before I can react, I notice how the gazes of everyone present pass right through me, as if I were invisible. Confused, I turn around – and freeze.

  There, right behind me, it stands. The figure I saw in the storm-lashed sky the night before, framed by flashing lightning.

  You are...,” I whisper, my voice barely more than a breath. My eyes search for its own, but the shadows of its hood swallow all. Only now do I feel its immense size—it towers over me by at least three heads, a presence that seems to fill the air itself.

  “It was clear from the beginning that you’re not a normal child!” King Mukuta shouts, his words sharp as a whip. He spits contemptuously on the ground. “I should have killed you back then, when your whore mother brought you into this world! White hair – who is even born with white hair?”

  His insults are nothing new to me, but they still hurt. My whole life, he has treated me like a blemish, a monster. But this time, something is different. This time, we are facing each other not just with words.

  “Guards!” he roars, not even bothering to glance at me. “Grab the monster – and the creature behind her!”

  A sad smile flits across my lips. He has never acknowledged me as his daughter. And now, to him, I’m not even human.

  The guards charge forward, their swords flashing like fire in the torchlight. My heart thunders, confusion colliding with fear. A sudden, ruthless tug wrenches me backward. The world blurs as we hurtle toward the walls. Panic blooms in my chest, and I shut my eyes, bracing for the inevitable crash. But it never comes. Instead, I am wrapped in an impossible softness—a cool breeze whispering against my skin

  I cautiously open my eyes. Above me, the endless night sky stretches out, stars shimmering like silver in the water below. The figure carries me effortlessly across the smooth surface of the sea, where the ocean stretches endlessly ahead, dark and full of secrets.

  I glance back. The kingdom—a place that once defined me—is now a mere speck on the horizon, shrinking to nothingness, no larger than a grain of corn.

  Within moments, we halt abruptly in mid-air, the motion fading like the final breath of a storm. Slowly, we begin to descend. The ocean rises to meet us, its smooth, dark surface gleaming coldly under the moonlight. My chest tightens, not from the water’s depth, but from the unfathomable mysteries waiting beneath those dark waves. I’ve never set foot in the sea, let alone learned to swim. The knot in my stomach twists tighter, coiling into something unbearable.

  But instead of plunging into the cold waves, I suddenly feel solid ground beneath my feet. Bewildered, I look down – I am standing above the water. The surface of the sea supports me like an unbreakable sheet of glass. The wind brushes gently against my cheeks, but my heart pounds loudly in my ears.

  I look toward the figure that rescued me from the king’s grasp, but before I can say anything, something unexpected happens: The figure begins to split in two. A faint shimmer of light, barely perceptible, divides the middle of the form until one figure becomes two. My breath catches. Was the second person there all along? Or has something supernatural unfolded before my eyes?

  The two figures remove their hoods, and for a moment, my heart stops. Standing before me are Lord Velqorin and Lord Sylas, the two men I met during my wedding.

  “Forgive us, my princess,” Lord Velqorin begins with a serious tone, running his hand through his shoulder-length brown curls. His gaze is full of regret, and his green eyes seem to glow with sadness. “We could not intervene earlier. Whatever happened to you in that room with that monstrosity, we deeply regret.”

  His words pierce through me. They tear apart the fragile wall I had built in the last few hours from fear, panic, and determination. Everything I tried to suppress comes back like an unstoppable tidal wave.

  The events of this evening shoot through my mind like burning arrows. The king’s words, his rejection, the attack of the guards, and—most terrible of all—the horrifying moment when Lord Louweris tried to take my dignity. It was more than I could bear, yet somehow, I had functioned until this point. Now, it feels as if my mind and body are capitulating.

  My knees give way, and I sink onto the ocean, which feels like a soft cushion beneath me. The water supports me, but inside, the dams break. The tears I have held back for so long burn hot and finally flow freely down my cheeks. My whole body trembles under the weight of suppressed emotions—anger, pain, humiliation, and an overwhelming, infinite sorrow.

  I lose all sense of time. Minutes or hours could have passed while I wept my pain into the endless ocean. The two men before me remain silent, their gazes filled with quiet empathy. They don’t intervene, don’t try to soothe me. Instead, they give me the time I need to release everything I’ve kept locked inside.

  For the first time in years, I feel a spark of lightness stir within me, hidden beneath the weight. It is not redemption, but it is a beginning.

  Lord Sylas kneels in front of me, his eyes concerned as he studies the bruises on my face. But when his hand approaches, I instinctively pull back. It is not fear of him—no, he carries no guilt. My body simply reacts on its own.

  Sylas notices my hesitation and withdraws with a look of regret.

  “What has he done to you?” he whispers, shocked. His voice trembles slightly as he turns to his father. “Father, what should we do?”

  “As long as she doesn’t want it, you won’t be able to do anything,” Lord Velqorin replies with a sigh. “Princess, I understand that everything is overwhelming. But I assure you, we will not harm you.”

  Slowly, I push up the sleeve of my blouse and reveal the burn mark left by Lord Louweris’s cigar. I silently point to it. Sylas sucks in a sharp breath.

  “Let me ease your pain,” he offers quietly.

  I hesitate, the words echoing in my mind. Even though Sylas has done no wrong, I cannot bear the thought of being touched by a man again. Memories of that dreadful moment with Lord Louweris overshadow every action. But the pain drains me. Sighing, I finally stretch out my arm, hoping the suffering will end.

  Suddenly, I feel a pleasant, cool wave on my skin. Surprised, I look at Lord Sylas, who isn’t touching my skin directly. Between his palm and my arm, a soft glow flickers, and the pain vanishes entirely.

  “How...?” I ask, confused, looking at the burn. It’s still there, but the pain is gone.

  “A scar will remain,” he admits, his voice heavy. “Forgive me, Prin—”

  “Who are you?” I interrupt, looking back and forth between him and his father, both cloaked in black. These men are no lords, that much is clear.

  “Certainly not lords,” confirms Lord—no, not Lord—Zyar with a faint smile. Has he read my thoughts? Can he do that? “We are here because of you.”

  “What do you want from me?” I ask, pulling my arm back. “Thank you,” I add, but my words are cold, tinged with distrust. “I don’t trust you...”

  “Zyar,” he says, his voice steady as he raises both hands in a calming gesture. “Just Zyar. I am neither a lord, nor is my son one. I took on this identity solely to bring us to this moment.”

  “This moment?” I ask, my curiosity overcoming my skepticism. “Why did you save me from the king?”

  Zyar looks directly into my eyes, as if searching for something. My gaze shifts to Sylas, who is studying me with the same intensity.

  “This is not the place to speak of it,” Zyar finally says. “But in Solnya, we will have plenty of time.”

  “Solnya?” I repeat, frowning. “A village in the south? Or the east?”

  He shakes his head. “No, Solnya is a place in another dimension.”

  A dry laugh escapes me before I catch it. Despite the pain and sorrow inside me, I can’t bring myself to trust anyone. My laughter is bitter, full of distrust.

  “Another dimension,” I repeat sarcastically. “The king could have come up with a more believable lie.”

  I realize I no longer call him “father.” Is it because of his reaction when I had desperately asked him for a reason for his behavior?

  “You can trust us,” Sylas says softly. His words sound sincere, but my heart remains closed. Did he really treat me with kindness in the ballroom, or was there something else behind it? “I will prove it to you.”

  The young man kneels before me and speaks with a firm voice: “I, Sylas Velqorin, son of the Legate of the Elements, Zyar Velqorin, swear here and now to protect you with my life—until my last breath.”

  Before I can react, something unfathomable happens. Blood-red threads spill from his chest, pulsing and alive, as if they are flowing directly from his heart. Like bloody vines, thorns wind over the ground, and in some places, blood drips into the still water beneath. Sylas remains motionless, his body seemingly trapped in a spell as the dark magic surrounds him.

  Confused and with a uneasy feeling in my stomach, I turn to Zyar. He meets my gaze and says calmly, “My son offers you a blood bond. This is the highest form of trust we can offer in Elindros. If something happens to you, his life will end as well.”

  Elindros? What is that? I stare at Sylas. The charming man who made my heart flutter in the ballroom is now kneeling before me, risking his life – for me? For someone he barely knows? But why? Why would he do such a thing for a stranger?

  “I know this is your decision,” Zyar continues, pulling my attention back to him. His voice is calm, but I can feel the seriousness behind it. “But consider this: this blood bond is nothing but a torment for the one who takes it on. I would rather not see my son suffer.”

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  A father who worries for his child? It’s a thought that touches me strangely. Zyar looks so sincere, so full of concern for his son. It’s a worry that tugs at my own heart. Did my mother, in the two years we had together, ever feel like that for me? Or was she, like the king, indifferent to my fate?

  I take a deep breath and finally say, “Give me a reason to trust you.” My eyes wander to Sylas, whose face is marked by pain, even though he says nothing about it. “A reason that goes beyond the blood bond.”

  Zyar hesitates. His gaze becomes thoughtful, and he glances briefly at his son before sighing quietly. Then he speaks: “Your mother, Isilyn, and I were once close friends.”

  “That’s a lie,” I hiss, crossing my arms over my chest. The burn on my arm no longer hurts, but my skepticism remains. “Everyone in the kingdom knows her name and could say that.”

  Zyar holds my gaze, his voice steady: “Maybe people know her name, but few know her words. She wrote a poem in one of her diaries that she often hummed as a song when she was a teenager. She told me it originally wasn’t verses, but thoughts that wouldn’t let her go on a quiet night.”

  ’When the stars meet the water,

  and shadows shimmer in the depths,

  listen to the silence – there lies the truth,

  in the whisper of the winds, in the dancing flickers.

  A heart that beats can break and bleed,

  but if it breaks, it carries the way forward.

  Who dares to trust, carries all dangers,

  but also the key to the most hidden place.′

  “She often hummed these lines,” Zyar adds, his voice growing quieter. “Especially when she was sad. I never saw her diary, but these words she sang with such fervor that they’ve never left my mind.”

  My breath catches. These words… they are in the diary I found in a dusty box with my mother’s few belongings. It was one of the things Queen Mayyira had carelessly put into an old cupboard after her death, as if to keep no memory of her.

  “Where did…?” My voice cracks.

  “I know trust is hard to come by,” Zyar says softly. “But these words are your connection to her. And I swear to you, by everything that is sacred to me, that I once gave your mother my own trust. It is up to you to decide what you think of us.”

  His words echo in me, and for a moment, it seems the darkness inside me loses some of its power.

  “How can I accept this blood bond?” I ask, though I would rather reject the pact. Yet it seems to be the only guarantee that nothing will happen to me. “How can I end your son’s suffering?”

  “Simply speak your name and declare that you accept his offer,” Zyar says, his eyes serious. “The remaining words will surely come easily to your lips.”

  “I, Princess Vespera Valdyris, daughter of King Mukuta Valdyris…” I begin, but suddenly, lightning crackles along the thorn vines, and the air becomes charged with electricity. The energy crawls through the room, as if it is about to burst into flames.

  “You must speak your true name,” Zyar interrupts in an almost ominous voice. I look up at him, narrowing my eyes. “You are Vespera Entium, daughter of Isilyn Entium, from the realm of Losnat, the rightful heir to the throne of Elindros.”

  His words echo in the air, and the truth strikes me like a storm. My heart beats faster, the weight of my true identity pressing down on me.

  So I am the rightful heir to the throne of Elindros?

  The words echo in my mind, heavy as a burden I can barely grasp. Zyar watches me quietly, his voice muted but serious.

  I nod, but inside me, a storm of doubts and fears rages. My eyes meet Sylas’s. This young man, whom I only met a few hours ago, and yet… our connection feels deep and inevitable. Something inside me knows it is tied to Elindros. My heart has already recognized the truth: I don’t truly belong in this world.

  With a trembling voice, I speak the words that will change everything. “I, Vespera Entium, daughter of Isilyn Entium, from the realm of Losnat, rightful heir to the throne of Elindros, accept.”

  No sooner have I spoken the last word than I feel the thorns burrow deep into my chest. A gasp escapes me as my eyes widen in shock and pain. Helplessly, I look at Zyar, but his gaze remains cold, unmoved. For him, this ritual is a mere formality. In his eyes, I see only quiet curiosity, no surprise, no concern. Should I find that unsettling?

  Before I can think further, pain explodes through my body. The thorns begin to pulse as if they carry life. Suddenly, I am struck by a wave of electric shocks, relentless and deep, as if they are tearing through my very core. My breath hitches, and I fight the urge to scream. Every heartbeat feels as though it is driving me closer to the abyss.

  Sylas remains still, motionless. Either he feels no pain – or he endures it with a strength I cannot comprehend.

  “THIS HAS TO STOP!” I scream desperately inside, but my body remains paralyzed.

  A scream presses against my lips, but nothing but silence escapes. The agony tearing me apart seems to last an eternity, but in reality, only seconds pass. Finally, the thorns retract, disappearing into Sylas’ chest, and he rises in silence. His gaze is serious and penetrating, as if he is reading my very soul. Without a word, he places his hand in mine, and automatically, my eyes travel to our interlaced palms. This time, I do not pull away – my body allows it, as if it wants the touch itself.

  “As your protector, I bear the half-circle symbol,” he says, his gaze resting on our hands. “It represents my imperfection. Your symbol, Princess, is a completed circle – it represents your perfection. My life now belongs to you.”

  His words sound like a solemn oath, and there is something in his eyes that I cannot comprehend. A look that speaks of pride where fear should be. Why would a stranger sacrifice his life for me? Live and die for me?

  “We can set aside the formalities now,” says Zyar, pulling out a small golden orb that seems to be made of pure gold. “Vespera now knows she is not a princess. After all, she was never the king’s daughter. Let us leave.”

  I was never the king’s daughter. During the blood bond, all these details had slipped my mind. Entium... Is that my mother’s surname? But then, who is this Mukuta Valdyris, and why was I raised under his care?

  “If it’s alright with you, Father, I will continue to address Vespera formally,” says Sylas. “To me, she remains a princess. Should she ascend the throne of Elindros, she will be our queen.”

  Queen? Why would I have a claim to the throne of Elindros? In another place... No, in another dimension!

  “No, my son,” Zyar answers without hesitation. “In Elindros, Vespera’s return is already expected. Once she arrives, our enemies will have already been informed. The less we reveal about her, the fewer witnesses they will have.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, realizing I have long abandoned the formal address. “Who are these enemies, and how could they know of my whereabouts? What exactly is a Legate of the Elements? Or Losnat? And how did Sylas heal my arm?”

  “I know you seek answers to all these questions,” says Zyar, looking at the orb in his hand. “But that will take us a lot of time. Once we are in Elindros, I will sit with you and explain everything. For now, we must pass through the Nexari, and the Astralis will help us.” He gestures toward the orb and hands it to me. “It has always belonged to you.”

  “What should I do with this?” I ask, confused, as the questions pile up in my head. “Astralis? Nexari? You’re making up terms!”

  “Quite the opposite,” replies Zyar, smiling. “The Nexari is the interdimensional space that connects this world, our world, and all other existing worlds. With the help of the Astralis, we can enter. It’s a kind of permission.”

  “And why does the Astralis belong to me?” I ask, frowning. “Is it a legacy of my mother’s?”

  “Sort of,” Zyar says, clapping his hands. “The more time passes, the more questions you’ll have. So we should head straight into the interdimensional space. But let me warn you: The Nexari knows no boundaries. No one knows if it even has an end. And the Synnx, the guardians of this dimension... They are dangerous. So far, Sylas and I have only entered the Nexari a few times, but we always had to be cautious. Now you’ll enter without having obtained permission, and thus, you are an intruder. If we encounter them, we’ll have to prepare for the worst.”

  The Synnx? What kind of creatures are they? If they pose a danger, I should probably avoid entering the Nexari. But what other choice do I have? If Zyar wants, I could already be drowned. I stand in the open sea, and if he claims I am the rightful heir to the throne, he will hardly just let me go.

  “Please let the Astralis slip from your hand,” Zyar says calmly, gesturing to the golden orb. I stare at it, then back at him, my confusion evident. “Trust me.”

  Again, this word—trust. Why does everyone ask me for something so fragile, without proof, without security? Yet something in Zyar’s voice is unwavering, compelling. Despite my hesitation, I follow his instructions and let the Astralis slowly slip from my fingers. I watch as the orb falls, my instinct telling me to catch it—but it hangs in the air, as if an invisible force is holding it up.

  Another impossibility. How many such events can I endure before my reason breaks? But while my mind is still trying to comprehend the scene, the Astralis begins to emit an unnaturally bright light. Instinctively, I raise my arm to shield my eyes from the blinding glare. The water beneath us reflects the light, dancing and breaking it into bizarre patterns, as though the world has lost its mind.

  A deep tone begins to vibrate, deep in my chest, as if it comes from another plane of existence. When the light finally fades, I cautiously glance ahead—and my breath catches in my throat.

  Before me, something opens that exceeds all imagination. It looks like a tear in space itself, a massive whirl of darkness speckled with shimmering colors that pulse like screaming stars. It’s as though someone has torn the fabric of reality and uncovered another world beneath it. In the center, a chasm seems to pulse like a living heart. Whispers fill the air, strange yet eerily familiar, as if the Nexari is calling my name. For a brief moment, I hear a sweet melody... was that the sound of a harp?

  “What... is that?” My voice is barely a whisper, drowned out by the cosmic cacophony now pouring from the shimmering void.

  “That’s the entrance to the Nexari,” Zyar explains with a calmness that unsettles me. “The threshold between worlds. And now, Vespera, it is time for us to pass through.”

  A chill runs down my spine as I stare at the pulsating hole. The air around us seems to warp, bending as if the very space itself is curling around the tear. The thought of stepping into this screaming, pulsing void sends a cold panic through my limbs—but what other choice do I have?

  Zyar steps calmly into the Nexari, his silhouette blurring in the vibrating light of the transition. I clench my fists, unable to ignore the trembling tension running through my limbs. A part of me shakes with fear, another with anticipation—a childish urge to step into what no human has ever seen before. My days, trapped in a barren room, seem insignificant compared to this moment. Why do I fear the unknown so much? Death, loneliness—both old acquaintances. What is it that paralyzes me?

  “You’re ready,” Sylas whispers, his voice soft like the breath of a warm summer wind. I open my eyes, which I had tightly squeezed shut. “I will protect you. With everything I am.”

  An unexpected comfort flows through me, as if his voice has opened a hidden door in my soul. The paralyzing fear fades, replaced by a sense of courage that doesn’t seem to come solely from me. Hand in hand, we step through the shimmering veil into the interdimensional space.

  Instantly, a storm of abstract impressions whirls around us. Gusts of wind carry the sound of colors that penetrate my senses in a way I cannot comprehend. Time and space seem meaningless as the world spins kaleidoscopically around us. The ground beneath us reshapes itself over and over, turning into floating islands of light and shimmering mist. At the edges of my vision, geometric shapes dance, moving like breathing shadows.

  A beige stream winds like a sleeping dragon through the space, its flow not water but a whisper of memories. Whose memories might they be? Above us stretches a sky of golden nothingness, once again pierced by screaming stars that flash and explode, offering no light or warmth. Mountains rise on the horizon, but they are made of shattered glass that moves in waves and shatters with an incessant, mournful song.

  I feel dizzy from this chaos, my consciousness thrown from one dimension to the next as though we are trapped in a speeding carriage. Sylas notices my weakness and supports me with a touch I do not reject.

  “Sorry,” Sylas says softly, his voice tinged with genuine regret. “I didn’t mean to be intrusive. It was just a reflex—you looked like you were about to fall.”

  “It’s fine,” I reply, my voice shaky. Every touch of a man brings Lord Louweris’s face before my eyes. “You just wanted to help me.”

  The wind dies down, and we enter an unnatural calm, infused with a subtle harmony. Before us stands Zyar, calm as a monument, but the landscape behind him defies all logic. Trees grow upside down from a sky that glows in a kaleidoscope of colors, like an endless sunset. The grasses beneath our feet are made of liquid light, flowing gently and coolly like water but maintaining their form.

  On the horizon, mountains shimmer like glass sculptures, imperceptibly shifting from one side to the other, as though the wind is carrying them. The ground doesn’t seem solid; every time I place my foot, the surface gently curves as though the Nexari itself is breathing. The air is filled with a melodic hum, as if the surroundings are whispering a song that I can’t understand but can feel.

  A flock of birds—or something resembling birds, with shimmering, translucent wings—silently glides across the sky, leaving gentle, glowing trails behind them. It’s incomprehensible yet calming, a place that silences the soul while overwhelming the senses.

  “Finally…”

  The voice, so familiar to me, once again enters my consciousness. It sounds like an echo from a distant memory, urgent yet unreal. Has it been waiting for my arrival here in the Nexari?

  “This is... strange,” murmurs Zyar, casting a probing look at the shimmering surroundings as if searching for something intangible. “I’ve never experienced the Nexari being... this welcoming.”

  His tone wavers between wonder and quiet concern, while the words hang in the unusual silence of the place.