Chapter 1: A Soul Beyond the Light
In a quiet village nestled among the dense hills of the southern continent, a child was born under the blazing trail of a falling star. The midwife, with trembling hands and awe in her eyes, whispered to the mother lying weak on the straw bed, "A star child… born on a night when the heavens opened wide."
The infant didn't cry. Her eyes glowed softly, silver like moonlight reflecting on calm waters. Her presence brought a strange stillness to the room, as though the world had paused to bear witness.
Her mother, Serene, wrapped in sweat and exhaustion, held her daughter close and smiled through her tears. "Elira," she whispered. "May your light never fade, my child."
But light, in this world, was a dangerous thing.
Elaria, the land blessed with magic and cursed by ambition, had always feared what it did not understand. The prophecy of the Star Child had been whispered for centuries—about a soul from beyond, reborn with the power to restore balance or to bring utter ruin.
Elira's kingdom, divided by greed and war, sought signs. And when the sky tore open with fire and the villagers spoke of a baby with glowing eyes, fear spread faster than truth.
In less than a fortnight, soldiers came.
Elira was barely two weeks old when her mother, with tears and a frantic heart, fled into the night. Clutching the small bundle close, Serene ran through the forests, chased by men who believed the child she held was a threat to the very world.
But Serene had no magic. No strength to fight. Only love, and a promise made to her dying husband that their child would live free.
By the riverbanks, with nowhere else to run, Serene made the hardest choice a mother could make. She kissed Elira's forehead, wrapped her in soft cloth, and placed her gently in a wooden basket.
"Live," she whispered through sobs. "Be more than they say you are."
The current took the basket gently, cradling it like a mother's arms. Serene stood there until the cries faded into the sound of rushing water. Then, she turned to face the steel that hunted them, never to be seen again.
Far downstream, where the river curved near the border of a noble's estate, an old gardener tending herbs heard a soft cry. He followed the sound, expecting an injured animal. Instead, he found a baby wrapped in star-patterned cloth, her tiny hand glowing faintly as it reached toward the moon.
He took her in, despite warnings. "A blessing," he told his skeptical wife. "Or perhaps a test."
They named her Elira. They raised her not as a miracle, nor a curse, but as a child—curious, kind, and a little odd.
Years passed. Elira grew with questions she didn't know how to ask. Why did her skin sometimes shimmer when she was sad? Why did birds seem to follow her? Why did her dreams speak in voices not her own?
At age seven, she healed a dying tree just by touching it. The villagers noticed.
At age eight, she calmed a wild horse no one could tame. They began to whisper.
At age nine, she stood between a frightened child and a rabid wolf, and the beast bowed and left without harm.
By ten, she had learned to hide her light. The whispers had grown teeth.
"Strange girl."
"Not natural."
"She sees things… speaks to shadows."
She never answered. She only smiled. But her heart ached with the weight of a truth she didn't understand.
Then came the day the royal carriage arrived. Its banners flew high, and its guards looked not for trade, but for something hidden.
The village elder greeted them with caution. The captain, cloaked in authority, asked a single question:
"Has there been a child here... born on the night of the star?"
No one spoke. But eyes shifted. Toward the home where Elira lived.
The gardener, now grey and slow, stood protectively at the door. "Only children here are those who work," he lied.
But lies are fragile against fear.
That night, torches lit more than homes. Accusations burned faster than reason. Someone had told. Perhaps out of fear. Perhaps envy.
Soldiers came again.
Elira ran, just as her mother once had. Through the woods, through the riverbanks where she was found. Her guardians stayed behind—old, tired, but brave. She never saw them again.
She ran until her feet bled and the stars disappeared behind thick clouds. She ran into a forest no one dared enter. They said it was cursed. That people went in and were never seen again.
Perhaps that's why they didn't follow.
Elira collapsed beneath an ancient tree whose bark glowed faintly, almost as if it recognized her. Her vision blurred, her body shaking. But in the silence, the tree whispered through leaves and wind. A memory not hers surfaced.
A battlefield. A woman cloaked in gold and white, her sword shining with every element—fire, water, wind, earth, and light. Her eyes were just like Elira's.
"She's coming back," a voice had said in that dream. "The goddess of war, reborn."
Elira didn't understand. She only wept. "I'm just a girl."
But the wind answered, rustling the leaves, and the earth below her trembled gently. As if even the land disagreed.
She slept, dreaming of stars and voices and a destiny she never chose.
Morning came with songbirds. But the forest had changed.
A woman stood nearby, tall and cloaked in emerald, with pointed ears and eyes that shimmered like dew. An elf, rare and mysterious. She knelt beside Elira with a smile that hid centuries.
"I've been waiting for you," the elf said gently.
Elira sat up, confused and wary. "Why?"
The elf touched her chest lightly, right where Elira's heartbeat was strongest. "Because your light is waking. And soon, the world will come for it."
Elira shook her head. "I don't want any of it. I just want to live."
The elf's smile turned sad. "I know. But fate doesn't wait for readiness."
And so began the next chapter of her life—not as a runaway, not just a strange girl—but as the key to a prophecy no one truly understood.
A child of starlight. A soul from beyond.
The hope of Elaria.
Or its undoing.