In the first days, the aether sang, and from its song rose forests, rivers, and mountains.

It did not think, nor hunger, nor choose—it simply wove. Every note spun life upon life, a harmony of threads binding the realm together.

But where there is song, there must also be silence. From that stillness came a Darkness.

It did not create—it unmade. It tore; it consumed. The Aether’s children rose to guard the melody, closing each gate that led to shadow. Yet the tales say: should the threads fray, should the song fall silent, the Darkness will stir again—whispering into hearts until all that remains is silence.

Prologue- Nyron

As I stepped back through the Veil, my guilt followed.

The air that met me on the other side turned my stomach.

The rot. The blight.

And beneath it—

the aether felt… wrong. Distant. Strained.

The strange static still lingered.

I shivered, pulling my journal free with unsteady hands.

Borderlands compromised—land blighted. Mortal Veil torn.

Blight—absent in mortal realm.

My pen hesitated.

Should I record the encounter with the mortal?

The curve of her neck. The warmth in her voice. The way I had answered her—

No.

I forced the thought away.

That meeting would remain mine alone. Breaking treaty laws was bad enough. I could never admit to direct mortal interference.

I closed the journal and lifted my gaze—

Back to the tear. It shimmered where it hung between worlds, threads fraying at its edges, pulsing with a rhythm that didn’t belong to any song.

I stared too long.

I never saw the strike coming.

The blow slammed into me, driving the breath from my chest. I hit the ground hard, struggling to track my attacker.

A creature loomed over me, its form twisted—wrong—its face mangled and drooling. Black, claw-like tendrils slithered from its limbs, one buried deep in my side.

Pain drowned my senses—but I pushed through. I shoved against the creature's heavy frame, rolling free as it shrieked—a sound sharp enough to sting the ears.

I reached for the water—called the song that bound my thread.

Nothing answered.

No current. No pull.

Only the sound of my blood spilling into the dead soil.

So—I called that instead.

The crimson answered.

It rose at my command, shaping in the air, trembling—before snapping into form.

The creature lunged, eyes burning with hunger.

We met in a single collision. Brutal. Final.

When silence fell, the world dimmed around me, its pull unraveling as my thread-song faltered—slipping toward its final note.

My hand found the journal again, slick with blood.

This… must be found.

They must know. Believe. 

The truth. The breach. 

Before the darkness spreads.

Chapter 1 – Salia

The melody pulled a song from me before I thought to stop it. My voice followed the piano keys, one note at a time. Morning light poured across the parlor floor, warming the stone and my mood. 

For a moment, I almost forgot I was meant to be unheard.

Knock. Knock.

The sound cracked through the parlor, like a dropped plate.

The door opened quickly.

“An envoy is here from the palace,” Merta, the maid, stepped inside the room. “Should I send him in?” she asked, her eyes never meeting mine.

Palace envoy? It’s been years.

“Yes, send him in.”

She left to fetch him and I stood quickly—catching my reflection in passing, dark curls and those tired violet eyes—a shade so unnatural that people avoided my gaze, as if I might bewitch them.

The envoy entered, draped in authority.

“Lady Salia,” he said, keeping his eyes on his boots.  “Sent by Her Majesty the Queen.” He reached out, handing me a parchment.

The wax seal bore the crest I had not seen in fifteen years. 

My fingers went cold. 

The thin paper weighed as much as stone in my shaking hands.

Lady Salia,

Her Majesty the Queen will be arriving within two days. You are to ensure that all proper courtesies and preparations are in place for her arrival.

—Order of the Royal Secretary, Office of the Crown

When I looked up, the envoy was already fastening his cloak.

“That’s all?” I asked.

“That’s all,” he replied. Then he was gone—boots echoing down the hall.

I stood there a long moment, turning the single sheet over. 

Two days?

Not a summons. Not an invitation.

A notice. 

The Queen—my grandmother, though she had never claimed the title—sat cold and sour in my memory. Whatever blood bound us had not been strong enough to take me with her the day she led my mother down the long mountain road.

“Myrta,” I called, my voice steadier now. “Prepare the guest chambers. Lyra, send word to the kitchens—the Queen will arrive in two days.”

Only enough time to prepare the south wing. Not enough time to prepare myself. This fortress had been my home for twenty-seven years—though “home” felt generous. 

It was a crowded cage.

By midday, the air grew stifling. I slipped past the main hall and out toward the cliffs, craving the wind and wide-open sky. The season had begun its slow turn and I sat at the overlook where the capital unfurled below—Solmar’s white walls glinting, sails cluttering the harbor, streets alive with noise I could only imagine.

“Daydreaming again?”

The voice startled me. It was Calen, the stable boy—though he was no boy any longer. Once, years ago, Calen had kissed me behind the stables—awkward and clumsy. I had thought for a week that I was in love. It had long passed. 

“It’s better than mucking stalls,” I shot back, folding my arms.

He grinned, “Depends. At least the horses don’t scowl quite so fiercely.”

I rolled my eyes and laughed. 

“One day you’ll bow to me properly and I’ll faint from the shock” I teased back. 

“One day you may come down to the village or the city and I’ll faint from that.”

His words stung me more than I let him see. He didn't understand that I wasn’t free to leave. I pressed my lips together and changed the subject—asking about his new wife, and when at last we parted the dread I felt seemed to sit heavier in my chest. 

In the evening I dined alone, as I always did. The long table stretched like a chasm, candles glowing against the walls. I left the bread untouched, my thoughts twisted back to the letter, to the Queen’s seal, to the feeling that a chain was tightening around my throat.

Part of me wanted to leave that very night—to slip away before the Queen came with plans for my life. Another part whispered at the possibility of seeing my mother again. 

When sleep eventually found me, it was merciless, dragging me into another nightmare.

Heat rolled over me in waves, searing down to bone. 

The air vibrated with a low hum, swelling strangely like music. 

In the distance, the world looked stretched and warped. An opening appeared—jagged and glowing, as if the sky itself had been torn open. Light bled through, splitting into shards, refracting like a mirror. 

Beyond the seam, shadows shifted in the dark. Black tendrils crawled across the ground, slithering into serpent-like coils.

Suddenly, the opening tore wide, pouring out light in waves. My body reeled as if the world were tilting. The musical hum fractured into a chorus—a clash of layered songs, none distinct, shouting into my ears. I opened my mouth to scream, but the sound shattered, flinging back in a violent rush of vibration.

I awoke with a strangled breath, clutching the sheets. My skin was slick with sweat. The unease lingered, buried underneath. I’d been having the same nightmare since childhood—yet it never came any softer. 

I crept from my chamber, barefoot, and down the hallways to the kitchens. The lantern light dipped low, casting eerie shadows, but the scent of bread lingered warmly. Mistress Hesta was awake, arms deep in dough. She was always kind to me—nurturing in a way that mattered. 

“Night terrors again?” she asked, turning her voice gentle.

“Something like that,” I murmured, sinking onto a bench. My voice felt hoarse and small. 

She wiped her hands on her apron and poured me a cup of steeping herbs. 

“Dreams can be cruel company.”

I wrapped my hands around the cup. “They’re only dreams.”

“Sometimes they aren’t.” She studied me for a moment, her eyes sharpening.

“You look pale. What troubles you?”

I hesitated. Sharing the truth didn’t feel easy. 

“The Queen,” I finally said, my tone bitter.

“Ah, I see. Will your mother come with her?” Hesta asked quietly.

“I don’t know.” 

The memories scraped. It had been years since her letters stopped—longer still since her footsteps had faded.

“You deserve answers,” Hesta said.

I wasn’t sure answers would hurt less than silence.

“It’s been too many years,” I mumbled. “I have too many questions.”

“Questions about him,” she guessed. “Your father.”

I nodded slowly. The missing piece of me had his shape.

“Love and duty don’t always sing the same tune,” Hesta said.

I feared Hesta was right. I lingered awhile, letting her kindness and the smell of baking bread soak into me. It was easier to be down here—easier than in rooms where my name and presence carried too much weight.

I eventually returned to my chamber, but I could still feel the pull of something in the dark—like an unseen fate tugging at the edge of a seam.

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