Echoes of The Sundering

Chapter 1:Reckless Wings, Sacred Skies

“What the hell are you doing!?”

The sharp, high-pitched voice cut through the wind, sending Soren stumbling mid-step. His wings twitched instinctively as he turned, coming face to face with an all-too-familiar sight—Veya, arms crossed, wings fluttering furiously behind her. Her white eyes burned with barely contained rage, her usually serene features scrunched into a fierce snarl. She looked ready to strangle him.

She was dressed in a peach gown that barely reached her knees, paired with her ever-practical white boots. Soren had no doubt she could kick him straight off this floating island if she wanted to.

“I knew it!” she hissed, marching toward him with the force of an oncoming storm. “I knew you’d do something reckless the moment I turned my back! "I can’t take my eyes off you for a single minute before you’re wandering to the edge of Aeloria, trying out spells that could kill you!”

Soren quickly stood, dusting off his trousers. “I do not do that!” he said, gasping in mock betrayal.

Veya raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

“I was just… testing a healing spell I found,” he admitted, suddenly very interested in the pattern of clouds beneath his feet.

Veya’s hands went to her hips. “And where exactly did you find this spell?”

Soren shifted uncomfortably. “Well, you see…”

“I’m pretty sure that’s from the book Elder Throne—your father explicitly told you not to touch.”

Soren winced. “… Possibly..”

“Possibly?”

“Okay, okay! Fine! But I didn’t even try anything dangerous! It was just a simple healing spe...—OWWW!”

His sentence was cut short as Veya grabbed his ear and yanked, dragging him forcefully away from the cliffside.

“Stop treating me like a child!” Soren whined, flapping his wings in protest.

“I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t act like one!” Veya snapped, her grip unrelenting. “Do you ever think before you do things?”

Soren sighed dramatically. “I do think! Just… not always about consequences.”

Veya rolled her eyes. “Yeah, no kidding.”

They had been like this for as long as Soren could remember Veya, the voice of reason (though she was hardly a saint herself), and Soren, the curious troublemaker who couldn't resist a challenge. They had grown up together, their families close, and despite her constant exasperation with him, Soren knew she would never actually let him get hurt.

And truthfully, he liked the way she worried about him. It made him feel… cared for.

Not that he would ever admit that out loud.

“Alright, alright, I promise I won’t do it again,” Soren said, holding up his hands in surrender.

Veya snorted. “Liar.”

Soren grinned. “Okay, I promise I’ll try not to get caught next time.”

Veya groaned, finally releasing his ear, and Soren rubbed it with a pout. “One of these days, Soren, you’re going to do something really stupid, and I won’t be there to save you.”

He gave her a lopsided smile. “Then I guess I better make sure you’re always around.”

Veya hesitated for a fraction of a second before shaking her head, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. “Idiot.”

Soren beamed. “Your idiot.”

She shoved him lightly, but her laughter joined his as they walked back toward Soren's home.

Aeloria was a breathtaking realm, a kingdom of endless skies and drifting islands woven with the soft whispers of the wind. The streets were alive with the quiet hum of daily life, Zepharians moving with an effortless grace, their delicate wings shimmering under the golden light.

The cottages, scattered like stars across the floating lands, were crafted from a pale, nearly translucent wood soft to the touch yet impossibly sturdy. Though they seemed almost ethereal, their walls could not be seen through, giving their inhabitants both beauty and privacy. Crystals, catching and refracting the light, adorned the walls, casting soft rainbows across the pathways.

The air was filled with the gentle murmur of laughter, the rustle of silk-like fabric, and the occasional flutter of wings. Market stalls lined the streets, their canopies billowing like sails in the breeze, offering fruits that glowed with inner light, vials of bottled stardust, and woven garments as airy as mist.

"I love this time of year," Soren sighed, stretching his arms as he took a deep breath.

"You say that every year " Veya laughed as they took a turn heading into a busy street.

“I'm going to head home. "I'll see you during the festival,” she said, crossing her arms. “Try not to get into trouble, at least for today.”

Soren scoffed. “No promises.”

She gave him a pointed look. “Your father’s going to have plenty to say as it is. Don’t make it worse.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered.

Veya shook her head but didn’t push it further. “See you later.” With that, she turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Soren sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. She wasn’t wrong ,his father was going to be annoyed. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and headed home.

The air was crisp and light, carrying a scent as refreshing as the breeze itself. It smelled of sun-ripened citrus, the tang of golden Aelora fruit blending with the delicate sweetness of wind-blown blossoms. Notes of fresh-cut herbs and honeyed nectar wove through the currents, subtle yet intoxicating. The wind, playful as always, tousled his silver hair, ruffling his wings like a teasing friend.

The Festival of Nytheris was the most sacred and anticipated time of the year for all fae, honoring Nytheris, the divine being from whom all fae draw their power. It was said that Nytheris was once not a god but an ancient force that bound the fae world together, giving life and magic to all fae-kind. But when a great darkness threatened to consume their world, Nytheris sacrificed his own form, scattering his essence across the lands to protect the balance. Even now, fae believe their magic is a fragment of Nytheris' divine power, and the festival serves as a way to honor that connection.

The streets were already alive, thrumming with energy as the festival preparations began. Music filled the air, harps strung with wind, their notes swirling like whispered melodies, and bells that chimed with each passing breeze. The scent of food drifted through the streets sweet, honeyed pastries, citrus-glazed fruits, and spiced nectar bubbling in ornate crystal cauldrons. Fae flitted about, their wings catching the golden light as they prepared for the grand festival that would take place at dusk, a celebration of Nytheris and the magic that bound them all.

*

*

"Where have you been? I've been looking everywhere for you," Elder Throne said the moment Soren stepped into the house.

Soren barely had time to open his mouth before his father’s sharp gaze landed on him, sweeping over his dust-covered clothes with a look of barely concealed exasperation.

Elder Throne was a painstakingly beautiful man, his presence commanding without effort. His hair was a shade so dark it seemed to absorb the very light around it, woven into intricate braids that cascaded past his shoulders, glinting with embedded crystals that shimmered with each movement. His perfectly sculpted face was dusted with dark glitter, an elegant contrast to his pale, luminous skin. He was tall, towering at an imposing height of 6’4, his lean, muscular frame accentuated by the sleeveless top he wore, leaving his powerful arms on display. His well-tailored trousers were tucked neatly into sturdy boots, a practical yet regal look befitting a fae of his stature.

"I was just taking a walk in the square with veya we were watching the musicians," Soren said

Elder Throne sighed, rubbing his temple as though already exhausted.

“Just go and get ready. Your mother has an outfit waiting for you.”

Soren let out a relieved breath and shuffled past his father, hurrying into his room only to be met with his mother’s radiant smile.

“Soren, my child! I have your clothes ready. Quickly, put them on I must see how beautiful it looks on you,” Elia said, practically glowing with excitement. She rushed toward him, a carefully wrapped bundle of fabric cradled in her arms. Her pale green wings fluttered behind her, stirring the air like a gentle breeze.

Soren’s mother, Elia, was a vision of effortless grace. A talented seamstress, she made all of Soren’s clothes, each stitch woven with the finest craftsmanship. Her pale skin shimmered with a light sheen of sweat, evidence of her tireless work, while her silver hair, sleek and gleaming, was neatly gathered into a high ponytail. Magenta crystals adorned her hair catching the light with every movement. She wore a flowing gown with slits on both sides, delicate beadwork forming intricate floral patterns along the fabric.

Soren had inherited much of her beauty, the same high cheekbones, the same elegant frame but where her eyes were a pale green, his were silver-streaked with flecks of green, a striking resemblance to his father.

He glanced at the outfit in her hands. It was a very deep red fabric, it was very soft to touch and looked like silk .

“I love this,” Soren murmured, turning slightly to admire himself in the mirror in the corner of his room.

His outfit was a deep, rich red, a color that stood out against his pale skin. The trousers fit him perfectly, hugging his frame without restricting movement, with elegant slits at both ends, adding a subtle touch of flair. The top was similar in style to what his father wore sleeveless, leaving his toned arms bare but instead of open wrists, it came with fitted gloves that stretched up to his elbows, the fabric sleek and seamless.

His mother had added accessories to complete the look. A series of delicate golden rings adorned his fingers, each one crafted with intricate patterns that shimmered under the light. A matching golden armband coiled around his upper arm, its surface engraved with swirling wind-like designs.

The obsidian lip ring and eyebrow ring he had worn since his last birthday gleamed beautifully, catching the glow of the room’s enchanted lanterns. His pointed ears were adorned with matching rings, a subtle but striking detail. His silver hair, usually unruly, was neatly styled to a messy lower bun with some strands playfully sticking out. He had opted against adding crystals this time, yet he looked effortlessly handsome regardless.

"You look absolutely handsome Soren"

Soren huffed with fake pride, striking a dramatic pose. “Obviously, I would look this good. You literally made the clothes. By the spirits, Mother, your hands are blessed!”

Elia laughed, the sound light and full, her beautiful lips curving into a radiant smile. “Flattery will get you everywhere, my son.”

"Oh wait I have something to give you " Elia said searching her dress for something

“I want you to have this,” she said softly, her expression unreadable.

He took the pouch hesitantly, tipping it over so the object inside slid into his palm. A ring silver, smooth, and cool to the touch rested against his skin. The metal band was elegant but sturdy, twisting into intricate patterns that resembled swirling wind currents. At its center sat a crystal, unlike anything he had seen before. It wasn’t just one color; it shifted between hues of pale blue and shimmering silver.

Soren frowned. “This looks… important.”

She reached out, tracing the patterns on the band with a gentle touch. “This ring has been in our family for generations. Every firstborn has worn it. I've never been told what it was for so I believe it is just another piece of jewelry but it was important to your father and he wants you to have it ”

Soren studied the ring again, the crystal catching the candlelight and glowing faintly as if it were alive. He hesitated, but his mother gently took his hand and slid it onto his finger.

“There,” she said, giving him a soft smile. “It suits you.”

He flexed his fingers, feeling the unfamiliar weight of it. “Feels like a lot of responsibility for a piece of jewelry.”

She chuckled, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face. “Perhaps. But you were always meant to wear it, Soren.”

She stepped forward, adjusting the folds of his top with careful fingers before brushing a stray strand of silver hair from his face. Her pale green eyes gleamed with warmth. “Now, let’s not keep your father waiting. I’m sure he’s already at the square.”

With a final glance in the mirror, Soren let himself be pulled along, the excitement of the festival buzzing in his chest.