Talyria

Chapter 2

The air around the garden wall shimmered like heat rising from asphalt, though the day was cool. Zyraen’s scarf prickled against her skin as she stared, rooted, at the glowing threshold. Her friends stood only a few feet away, silhouetted in the light.

She crouched lower behind the bench, holding her breath, clutching her notebook to her chest.

“We don’t have time,” Jessa whispered, already stepping closer to the door. The golden light clung to her outline, painting her hair in fire.

“No time for what?” Zyraen mouthed silently, though no sound left her lips. Her pulse hammered in her throat.

The ivy rustled in a sudden gust of wind, though the rest of the garden was still. The air smelled faintly metallic, like rain and smoke.

Lina’s voice carried softly, almost mournful. “I’m sorry. But she can’t follow us. This isn’t her path.”

Her hand disappeared into the glow.

Zyraen’s heart lurched. She pressed a fist to her mouth to keep from crying out.

One by one, her friends stepped into the light, their figures swallowed by the shimmering door until only the glow remained.

Then the air shifted.

The light flared outward, sweeping across the garden in a sudden pulse. Zyraen’s scarf whipped around her neck as if caught by invisible hands. She tried to scramble back, but the force dragged her forward, relentless, pulling her toward the threshold.

Her notebook slipped from her grip, falling to the ground as the glow swallowed her whole.

Her last thought before the garden vanished was of her brother—his suitcase rolling across the floor, his promise echoing in her chest: I’ll call every day.

And then the world was gone.

Light. Blinding, endless light.

Then—darkness.

Zyraen’s eyes fluttered open. She lay on a bed softer than anything she had ever touched, wrapped in silks that shimmered faintly under the glow of warm crystal lamps. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. The air smelled too strange—sweet flowers, resin, and something sharp, metallic.

She sat up too fast, dizzy. This wasn’t her house. It wasn’t even her world.

Her scarf was still looped tight around her neck, but the rest of her looked untouched—her sneakers by the edge of the bed, her notebook lying neatly on a small wooden table nearby. Someone had set them there.

Her chest tightened. They’d brought her here.

Her friends.

But why hadn’t they stayed? Why hadn’t they woken her?

Zyraen slid off the bed, the rug cool and soft beneath her shoes. The room itself looked alive—arched beams carved into flowing vines, silver blossoms inlaid into the wood, curtains that rippled faintly as though touched by wind though the air was still.

She crossed to the door, heart pounding, and pressed her ear to it. Voices floated through—low, tense, familiar.

Her hand trembled on the handle. She eased it open.

A flood of sunlight spilled into her eyes. She blinked against it, stepping into a long hallway lined with tall glass windows. Beyond them stretched gardens of pale-green grass and towering silver trees.

The voices grew sharper. She followed, her sneakers scuffing too loudly against polished floors, until she reached a broad archway.

She pushed against the frame and peeked into the courtyard beyond.

There they were.

Her friends.

But not as she knew them.

Lina, Jessa, and Kairen stood beside a fountain, their faces luminous, their ears pointed, their postures regal and precise. Their clothes were nothing like their school uniforms—silken tunics in layered blues and whites, cinched with jeweled belts, cloaks fastened by silver clasps, embroidery tracing curling, starlike patterns along hems. Elegant, refined, unmistakably elven.

Zyraen’s throat went dry.

“—we weren’t careful,” Jessa hissed, arms folded tight.

“She doesn’t know,” Kairen snapped back, his jaw clenched. “She fainted before she saw anything. She thinks the gate swallowed her. She doesn’t need to understand.”

Lina shook her head sharply. “You don’t get it. She was right there. If the princess finds out—”

Zyraen pressed her back against the archway, her breath quick and shallow.

Princess?

The word rattled in her skull.

Then her scarf brushed against the stone with the faintest scrape.

All three heads turned at once.

Their eyes locked on her.

The courtyard went still.

Lina’s golden eyes widened. Jessa’s lips parted as if she’d been caught stealing. Kairen’s face hardened into something almost unrecognizable—sharp, cold, wary.

“Rae…” Lina breathed, her voice breaking.

Zyraen froze in the archway, clutching her scarf like it could shield her. “What… what happened to you?” Her voice trembled, but it echoed across the courtyard like a challenge. “What are you wearing? What is this?”

No one answered at first. Only the fountain murmured between them.

Kairen was the first to move. He stepped forward, tall and poised in his silver-embroidered tunic, but his eyes held no warmth. “You weren’t supposed to follow.”

“I didn’t!” Zyraen shot back, her throat tightening. “The door—it pulled me! I didn’t ask for this!”

Jessa shifted uneasily, her cloak swaying. “We thought you fainted. We thought—” She cut herself off, biting her lip.

“You thought I wouldn’t wake up?” Zyraen snapped. “You thought I’d just… disappear? You’re standing there with pointed ears and costumes like something out of a storybook, and you want me to believe this is normal?”

“It is normal,” Lina said softly, stepping forward at last. There was something sad in her face, something older than Zyraen had ever seen in her before. “Normal for us. Not for you.”

Zyraen’s head shook violently. “For us? What are you talking about? You’re my friends—Lina, Jessa, Kairen. We’ve known each other since we were kids!”

The silence stretched, heavy, until Lina finally spoke again—her words slow, careful.

“You never knew the truth.” Lina said softly. Her voice carried like a thread of wind, fragile but unbreakable.

Zyraen’s breath hitched. “The truth? What truth?”

Kairen exchanged a sharp look with the others, then rubbed his forehead like he regretted everything. “We shouldn’t be saying this—”

“She deserves to know,” Lina cut him off, her eyes fixed on Zyraen. “She’s here. There’s no undoing that now.”

Jessa shifted uncomfortably, her cloak rustling against the stone. “Rae… you’re right. We’ve known you since we were kids. Every laugh, every stupid fight, every summer in that garden. All of it was real.”

Zyraen blinked, the ground beneath her suddenly uncertain. “Then why—why do you look like this now? Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

Lina drew in a steadying breath. “Because we weren’t supposed to be there at all. We weren’t just living in your city—we were hiding in it.”

Zyraen’s stomach twisted. “Hiding? From what?”

“From here,” Lina whispered, her gaze flicking up toward the three moons hanging pale in the daylight sky. “From Talyria.”

The name rang in Zyraen’s ears like a secret that had always been waiting.

“There’s been a war in this kingdom for longer than you’ve been alive,” Kairen said flatly. “Our parents didn’t want us caught in it. They disguised us, sent us across the gate, and told us to live as ordinary children until it was safe to return.”

“But it’s never been safe,” Jessa added quickly, her voice trembling. “The fighting’s worse now. And we were called back. That door you saw—it only opens every five years. We couldn’t tell you. We weren’t allowed.”

Zyraen’s knees threatened to give way. She stumbled against the archway, shaking her head. “All this time… you were my friends because… what? You were waiting it out? Hiding until someone gave you the signal?”

“No!” Lina’s eyes glistened. She stepped closer, desperation in her tone. “No, Rae. Don’t think that. We weren’t pretending with you. Every memory we made was ours. But we couldn’t tell you who we really were. If anyone found out… if the war reached across the gate…”

Kairen’s jaw clenched. “Our lives depended on silence. Yours too.”

Zyraen pressed her fists against her temples. Talyria. War. Secrets hidden in plain sight. Her friends—her only friends—standing before her now not as humans, but elves cloaked in starlit silks.

Everything spun.