2: In my city of Lumnia...

TW: Depictions of Seizure

2

Stellina

In my city of Lumnia, I find myself lost in a spiral of thoughts. My knife digs into the skin of white wood. Sharp edges rub pleasingly against the sides of my indention. Jerk upward, flick! A chip flies free and reveals a new marking - a new creation. A stem unfurls, jagged yet careful, into a swirling flower. The petals bloom, they lift from the surface of the desk and wait for completion, affirmation from the one that gave them life. Me - with my knife. Sitting wistfully with the afternoon breeze tousling my silver hair into gentle waves.

My attention shifts from the scratch and murmur of the chalkboard to the world outside of my window. Birds, purple and blue, flit past in a whirl of chirping wonder. They soar into the sky as one entity. Into the air, free.

What would it be like to soar through clouds and trees? This question fills my imagination and my vision blurs to see a glorious world far below my spectral form. My world. Zyrona.

My arms are made of silver feathers. A cool rush of wind kisses my face, ruffling through my silver feathers and hair. Stretching for miles beneath my slippered feet is the glistening, silver forest of Ilwyanie. My home. It expands across my entire vision, stretching far past my peripheral. Small and torch-like in the distance, the light elves’ floating city of Ilianti rises from the trees.

I follow the forest south, with silver leaves blurring beneath me as I travel faster and faster toward the rolling, flower-dotted fields of Fantomnia. As I pass over ramshackle Halfling huts, holes, and villages popping up like bumps across the valleys, I remind myself that this land is not owned by the creatures who live above but by the Shadow Elf tribe in their caves underneath the land.

I glide southward still. Over the Dafi Sea, my shadow rippling with the waves. Then, I veer north-west, into the land of dragons, Kinionia.

Volcanoes burst and erupt, like tiny flames igniting into life. Fire elementi dance and skitter across the desert floor, interweaving between gargantuan, spiked plants. Heavy wings beat behind me and I turn to see a long, coiling, feathery dragon with a mirage of warm colours dancing across its form snaking towards me. It’s body is sinuous as a snake but two wings elegantly unravel from it’s back. It rushes past me, sending waves of warm air crashing into my face and tossing my loose clothing.

I continue, finding each landmark as my phantom wings beat and soar through imagined air. Each place that Xada has explained to me, and that I have read, expands out before my eyes. The details are so intricate that it feels as if I could reach down and feel the Dafi Sea foam splashing in between my fingers, the Kinionian sand tickling my toes.

Looking down, the rainforest of the western shadow elves’ enshrouds my view of life below the large canopy. Large bouts of rain cause the huge leaves to glisten and miniscule, rainbow-like creatures hop up from shelter and seem to dance in the rain shower, appearing as colourful bumps atop the foliage.

The sea serpent in the Ushina Tamashimi sea thrashes the frigid waters of the Xeodan coasts where Humans mine and fish.

The moon elf cove of Aruna, enclosed in glimmering gems - reflective of our three moons: Gula, Neela, and Arjune - glistens serenely in its solitude.

Before I can loop back to my city, a splash from the distance brings me back to the mingling of elves below.

There are children running along the bridges which carry water throughout our city. An activity I lacked in my childhood. But if I could today, I would gather amongst them and feel my speckled skin spattered with fresh, glistening water. I would peer over one of the waterfalls, take a few steps back, then run over the edge - momentarily alight, before hitting the bridge below.

A sigh escapes my lips and I rest my chin on my hand as I gaze out with an insatiable longing. Every week feels the same: repetitious lessons followed by short breaks to stretch my legs in the palace, and only the palace. I am allowed an hour every week to venture into the lives of the mundane - not including my visits to Rixa, however. But despite being among my people, doing normal things and going to normal places, it feels as though I am a creature separate from everyone else. Sometimes, not even that, but an object to be stared at. It does not help that there are always at least two guards trailing my every move. As though this object would immediately shatter if touched.

In times before, when I have asked my parents for the reasons behind my sheltered upbringing, they swiftly move past the subject or answer with words such as ‘responsibilites’, ‘duties’, et cetera. Perhaps this is the price I pay as the heir to a kingdom.

Increasingly, I yearn for a sense of normalcy, like the children playing on the bridges with sunlight gleaming on their silver hair. I wish to escape from the teachings of democracy and the confinement of the palace. To dance beneath silver leaves flowering from the white wood of the city. To venture beyond the life I live and -

"What is so interesting about that window that you must look at it everyday?" A familiar voice barks from the top of the room, shattering my imaginations into little raindrops that dissipate into the sparse classroom air.

I return to the present, back to the white desks, in which only I inhabit, and the arching windows that swoop high above my head in crystal-like glass, embellished with gold. As my tutor sets down his piece of chalk with a flourish of white powder on his black wooden desk, I cover my intricate engraving with my elbow, slide my dagger stealthily up my sleeve and set my face into a neutral expression to meet his piercing gaze. The jutting wood pricks through the fabric of my sleeves to meet my freckled skin. A tingling threat.

He marches over, metallic heels clicking on the marble tiled floor and silver braids swaying behind him. Unwillingly, my eyes flit around the room as he stops beside my desk. His light blue eyes radiate from his dark skin and the angles of his strong face are set in a frown. He brushes my hand to the side, revealing my flower with its unfinished petals and a swirling stigma. I drag my eyes sullenly to his with a wry smile, meeting his perturbed look.

“The fact your parents allow you to carry a dagger astounds me. Give it here.” He presents his hand in front of my face. His silver binding tattoo, peeking from underneath his chiffon sleeve, flashes in the sunlight streaming from the window beside me,

“But Xada-” He raises an arched eyebrow at me. I grumble before slipping the dagger from the concealment of my billowed sleeve and I place its ornate, gemmed hilt into his palm. The memory of its presence lingers cooly on my flesh like a kiss.

“That was not so difficult, was it?” He inquires, placing the dagger on his desk. He strides back to my own, raising his hands in front of him. I immediately recognise the movement,

“No, Xada! Please-” I protest, shifting to cover my creation.

I have always been a moment too late to react.

With practised fluidity, he claps his hands together, emitting a flash of blue light from the sigil on his forehead, before slamming them onto my desk. A shimmer of turquoise light seeps into the crevices of the flower and causes it to retreat into the desk, as if it had never existed. I slump backwards in my chair, defeated. My hard work erased without so much as a ceremony.

Xada brushes his hands together, the matter finished, and walks back to his position beside the board,

“Seeing as you are so incredibly bored, I might as well move onto the lesson I have planned for the end of the day.” He proclaims with another clap of his hands and a sweep of his arm, wiping off what he had written. I glimpse a diagram showing the private relations between the Shadow Elves, Moon Elves, Light Elves, and my kind, the Star Elves, before it reverts back in time.

He takes up his piece of chalk once more in a dextrous swipe and begins to take down a sigil. As quick as I can, I copy his hand movements on my own, smaller, board. Once the image is complete, he steps aside, revealing the full picture on the board : a swirl of spiking lines, flowing curves, and, at the centre, a singular dot. The lines signify command; the curves an element - water, presumably, represented by another dot placed within a curl - and the dot at the sigil’s centre? Transformation. The combination radiates with a sense of power. One I could not wait to get my hands on. The mere thought of the energy coursing through my veins upon the casting of this spell sends shivers throughout my entire body and a glimmer to my eyes. I could not wait to see what it could do.

“Glacu Kilu, this is the incantation to command ice,” he explains. I lean forward slightly, my eyes wide, absorbing his words, “With this rune and much practice, you can use it to freeze simple things, such as food, or you could utilise it to immobilise potential threats.” My already pointed ears lift at this. A combat spell? It was long overdue and I had been begging for aeons, but at last, it was here.

“Mind you, when I say freeze, I do not mean slowing them down for that is a different rune and incantation. I mean trapping them in ice, causing them to possibly catch frostbite, a cold, or even, death. This is dependent on how long they are trapped in said ice and how cold you make the ice. As always, you have control as long as you can control yourself.”

Xada takes a moment to swallow and saunter closer to where I sit,

“You are not merely conjuring ice out of thin air, although some would argue otherwise. However, if you were to do that with the materialising spell, it would be harder. It typically is with elements.

“With this spell, you are simultaneously dropping the temperature of your selected area and commanding the diffused water molecules in the air to bind together and solidify around the subject of choice, thus creating ice. Understand?”

I nod vigorously, my fingers itching to experiment with the spell. How cold could I make it? How long could it hold? Most importantly; can it make shapes? Already, ice sculptures of flowers, birds, and small forest creatures crawl into my mind. I force myself to bat them aside so I can pay attention to Xada’s next words.

Xada peers over my shoulder to see the copied image on my board. With a sound of approval, he continues talking,

“Now, draw that until it is ingrained in your memory. Every swirl, dot and dash. Then, we can work on the hand motion for commanding ice.” Immediately, I pick up my chalk and sketch the symbol again and again. Dot in the middle, dot on the side. Swirls like ripples, beckoned by the tide. Slash, slash, slash; commit to the mind. Once it feels carved into my eyelids with a scalpel, I look up and set my chalk down.

Xada’s space in front of the chalkboard is empty. Silence hangs in the air with only my breath to disturb it. Xada is gone, though I did not notice him leaving, my focus was that intense. I scrape my chair across the floor and rise from the intertwined wooden seat. I am alone. The only sound in my vicinity echoes from the city far below as people laugh and carry out their day.

The door to the room is kept open by a stack of books, though it is usually closed. I walk out this door and into the hallway which ends in a large sunroof with a tree sprouting from the centre. This small area joins multiple glass bridges together which lead to different parts of the city and palace.

I look down the different intersections, knowing their path like the glowing freckles on my body. There is no sign of Xada.

A guard scurries by with a flower cupped in her palms. She does not notice me. Her mouth is split into a wide grin, her eyes beam with an excitement that must blur her awareness of the surrounding area. But, despite the enthusiasm in her expression, there is a vacancy in her eyes that scares me. I brush my worry aside and scold myself for casting suspicion on this innocent guard. Surely she has good intentions. Perhaps she simply did not know what she held in her hands.

As she strolls past, curiosity drives me to try and catch a glimpse of the flower she carries. However, I can only steal a momentary glance before her back is to me.

The flower had purple petals, dripping into black beads and a black, fluttering stigma. The flower I had been engraving, before it was demolished, would closely resemble an exact replica upon completion, even though I had not intended to carve it based on this specific flower. My gut twists in a dark omen.

It is illegal.

Or, at least, that is what the Light Elves would prefer.

I recall a lesson Xada gave a year or two ago. He informed me that four years before I was born, the light elf queen commanded that all areas containing nightshade flowers be eradicated. This was due to the necromancers becoming more hostile and less predictable. They used these flowers as their amplifier.

The light elves got their wish in many places, but my parents insisted on safeguarding rather than complete extermination. Preservation rather than death. And so, every summer the nightshade flowers bloom to the darkness of the night just outside of the city walls where they are contained. Superstitious people believe they foretell death, due to their relation with necromancy.

I continue to ponder on the guard’s intention. She would face consequences if she were discovered with the flower in hand. Nightshade violets were not permitted within city walls as they are an invasive species and poisonous if ingested.

I find myself feeding into the superstition, worrying about Xada. Was the premonition for him? I could not recall the last time he left our lessons unannounced. Was something horrendous happening to him?

Xada was my tutor, but I have known him for as long as I can remember. He has become so integrated into my life that he feels like family. If something awful were to happen to him, it would feel like a part of me was carved out. With a rusty, jagged sword. Without grace. And certainly with a massive amount of pain.

There is nothing wrong with being worried, to an extent, but being worried for no reason, then problems begin to arise. I chastise myself for being irrational and return to the classroom. Even still, my fingernails tap the desk anxiously and my eyes drift to my knife, still at Xada’s desk. But I will myself not to snatch it up, for fear of Xada’s disapproval.

After what seems like hours but what can only be five minutes, Xada saunters into the room. He skilfully carries two red apples in one hand and a magenta flower with drooping petals in the other. A deep breath rushes out of me and I abandon my drumming to watch Xada as he slides the books from the door to the side, letting it glide shut, and enters.

He tosses a shining, red apple to me as he passes by. Then, perches on the table in front of me, placing his own apple beside him. He is relaxed, organised and takes little notice of my fading anxiety. I eye the apple quizzically - what am I supposed to do with it? Eat it? In the middle of a lesson?

“I met Rixa on my journeys. They insisted on me giving you this flower they recently curated.” He speaks and presents the magenta flower to me: a rosea caelestus. I take it gratefully and briefly admire how the petals fold and twist in an elegant manner. Rixa, Xada’s partner, grows flowers to sell and study at the east wall of the city. I visit frequently, much to Xada’s dismay; he sees my relationship with Rixa and my constant visits as a casting of an unprofessional light on him.

Rixa has been a part of Xada’s life for decades. Perhaps even centuries, for all I know. So Rixa, Xada, and their husband, Elix, feel like another set of parents to me.

I visit Rixa’s shop almost every second day when I have the time. They have taught me everything I know about nature and the natural world. With their help, my room is filled from floor to ceiling with flowers and plants from all over the world. And because of them, I can name almost any flora that comes into my eyesight.

Rixa lets me assist them in their shop from time to time, although, always in the back where no one can see me. My parents have not yet decided on what the public’s reaction would be to their princess working at a flower shop.

Despite all this, I love Rixa most for how they make everything magical and exciting. They teach me small tricks they learn, how to use a bow, and, from time to time, they let me ride their carrisella rota; a silver craft that allows them to travel from place to place since they are not able to use their legs.

“Are you finished?” Xada asks, drawing my eyes away from the flower and back to our lesson. I nod and place the caelestus where my etching once resided. I push my board towards him so he can see the repeated sigil against the dusky grey of my dirty board,

“Good. Now, copy me.” From where he is sitting, Xada brings his arms out in front of him with a crook in his elbows. He turns them vertically so one palm faces the other. Then, he makes a clockwise motion with his arms, drawing them closer together until they are mere inches apart. He repeats the movement twice for my benefit, once slowly and once quickly. He then drops his long arms and looks at me expectantly.

I mimic his hand movements, my silver hair falling into my face as I lean forward in concentration. The sound of his heels clicking against the marble floor causes me to stop suddenly as I am made aware of his proximity. I tilt my head upwards to look at him quizzically. He rearranges my hands so they are facing each other vertically before instructing,

“Slightly bend your fingers, like you are holding something in them. And when you move your arms, imagine drawing a spiralling circle in front of you.” Xada explains. I do as told, imagining my hands tracing a sparkling white line through the air as I bring them gradually together in a circle. When I complete this motion, there is a snap of fingers clicking together; Xada’s personal way of confirming that I have performed a task correctly.

“Remember, you are making the water in the air condense together. Essentially, you are commanding them to push together.” He adds and proceeds to watch as I perform the hand motion for another minute, adjusting small mishaps now and then. Finally,

“Good, now we can move onto practising on the apple in front of you.” He proclaims, walks back to his own apple, and retakes his seat on the table. I clap my hands together as a flurry of enthusiasm unravels from my stomach to excite my pulsing heart. I stare the apple down with a fierceness that must show in my eyes.

“As always, imagine the rune in your head and what it signifies. Then, perform the hand motion and the incantation.” Xada explains. Clearly he sees the shudder passing through my form.

“I have only practised this process a mere hundred times, Xada.” I remark, grinning. Xada rolls his eyes and taps his foot against the desk.

“Glacu Kilu.” He mutters calmly with one quick movement of his hands. I stare in awe as ice encases itself around the apple like liquid crystal. Within seconds, an apple shaped hunk of ice sits before me. Xada nonchalantly pushes this sculpture off the table with the tip of his ringed finger. It shatters upon impact with the floor and begins to melt into the marble tiles, back into the rhythm of life.

I gasp and turn toward my own apple. The required steps for magical incantation race through my head: rune, meaning, movement, incantation. Excitement bubbles in my throat, threatening to break free in a hysterical surge. I imagine each miniscule molecule coalescing together at my command with vivid images. The light seems to refract off the air surrounding the apple, revealing sparkling droplets held in space. I sweep my hands together and demand,

“Glacu Kilu!”

The apple sits still for a split second, glistening red and expectant. My forehead warms slightly as the energy stored there rushes to my arms, causing my freckles to glisten celestially. If I had blinked, I would have missed it entirely.

The apple explodes into a million small pieces of ice.

We both stare at the space the apple had been, mouths dropped open. Xada leans forward, prodding the tiny shards,

“Holy-” He begins before clearing his throat, “Remind me not to come near you when you are excited.”

I clap my hands to my mouth, my eyes wide, my chest warm with entrapped bubbles of delight.

“Did you see that? DID YOU SEE THAT?!” I squeal through my hands.

“No, I completely missed it.” Xada states dryly. He closes his eyes momentarily, eyebrows raised, “I recommend you get some rest now, you must be tired after that. We will work on control tomorrow.” He pats me on the back. The gesture following his words sets a burn to my cheeks and I can not help but ask,

“Control? But was that not impressive?” Every time I perform a new spell, the criticism is always the same: ‘control’, ‘focus’, ‘rampant emotions’. And every time, I bite back the fire in my heart with gritted teeth and slightly narrowed eyes.

Before he can respond, if he considered it, another voice announces itself from behind me,

“I hope my daughter is not causing you strife, Xada?” I swivel in my seat in time to see my mother glide into the room, her glistening white dress fluttering around her. The crystals hanging from the fabric of her bodice and at her waist catch the sun streaming from the tall arched windows and cast rays of light in every direction. Xada is shrugging on his navy cloak, the rim a brilliant silver. My heart is conflicted between despair at Xada’s reaction and excitement at seeing my mother in time for our tea break. I turn my back on them and busy myself with packing my bag, blinking back tears. I was powerful, who cares of control when you can execute a spell perfectly the first time? Then, I hear Xada chuckle and respond to my mother,

“Not at all, she really is incredible though we will work on controlling those rampant emotions of hers to ensure she can efficiently control her spells.” I hear him walking towards me, “I shall see you tomorrow to continue our previous lesson before we were sidetracked, yes?”

I nod, though dread grasps it’s bony hand over my heart at the thought of returning to politics after that lesson. He returns my dagger to me as he walks back toward the door.

I watch him walk away, expecting him to leave directly but he stops at the door and turns with a fond smile on his face. His cloak drapes over his shoulders, and he tightly clutches his bag by his side,

“Well done.” He adds warmly before bowing to my mother and exiting the room, out of my sight. Those two words cause my shoulders to lift and my back to straighten. My previous frustration is forgotten in light of his approval. I slide out of my seat to join my mother, taking one last glance out of my window before we depart.

My mother takes me by the hand, and we walk along a corridor branching off of the sunroom, exchanging small bits of each other’s day. She tells me about the large gathering she has been planning with the Shadow Elves and Moon Elves to celebrate the once-in-a-lifetime eclipse of our three moons and the sun. She has been awake night and day preparing for this festival and I can tell she feels a large amount of pride at being chosen to host the event.

My heart races, and a wide smile spreads across my face as I imagine the events she has planned: floating lanterns in the depths of the night, elegant and lively dances, games of scavenger hunts and competitions. It will be the grandest party I have ever attended. Our seamstresses have already begun stitching and weaving our outfits. I could not wait to see what they procure for me.

We swerve into a room engulfed with green plants hanging from a glass dome that overlooks the western side of Lumnia, our city. In the centre of the room, hugged by leaves and flower buds on all sides, sits a plush blue sofa. Before it is a miniature glass table overlooking the web of bridges and network of houses carved from white wood.

The floor is tiled with diamonds with a marble-like wave of blue and white splashing underneath golden lining. The room is lit by the afternoon sun, despite the mass of plants crowding the space. Diamonds hang from the ceiling, and even from plants. They reflect the light streaming in into beautiful rainbows across the surfaces of the room.

As soon as I enter it, I am encompassed in a warm, minty hug as my father pulls me away from my mother’s hold.

“How were your lessons, Stella? They were not too boring, were they?” He asks me softly, using my nickname. I giggle, as if I were a little kid again, and shake my head in his embrace,

“They were fine! I was not gone forever, I only saw you a few hours ago!”

“She is right, Lonti, you spoil her too much. Now, sit down,” my mother scolds him, lifting the teapot to pour tea for the three of us. He releases me from his hold and plants a kiss on my mother’s cheek. She brushes him off with a teasing grin and I take my place between them.

My mother pours steaming rose tea into crystalline tea cups from a porcelain pot with twisting painted flowers that seem to pop delicately from the handle and the lid. She stirs our cups with a sound emitting from the silver spoon, magnified and warped from the shimmering crystal that encompasses it. She slides one to my father and me, and sits back against the light blue cushions, resting one leg over the other.

“Stella…, for the celebration, your father and I were wondering if you would be a dear and do something that we know is out of your comfort zone.” My mother hesitantly begins. I pause the process of cooling my tea by only using the air from my lungs and lift my eyes to glance at her curiously. I place my tea down silently, and bring my full attention to her, urging her on.

“To begin the festivities, we were planning to play a piece of music traditional to the star elves. Seeing as we are the hosts, and you, our daughter, we were hoping you would accompany us.” I look between them, my gut twists as I imagine all three elvish tribes staring at my family and I.

“You…would like me to play the flute in front of all those people?” I question, even though I know the answer.

“Yes. I will play the harp and your father will play the violin, or whatever he chooses on that day.” My mother adds jokingly. My father places an accusatory hand on his chest, his face one of mock hurt.

“When will this be? Will we have time to practise?” I twirl my hair between my fingers, anxiety building. I had never played, let alone spoken, to a mass amount of people before. Of course, Xada has made sure that I am prepared to make formal speeches to crowds when the time comes but there is a large difference between writing imaginary speeches to an audience I will never see and performing one live in front of a sea of listening eyes. There is an even bigger difference between that and performing a refined skill to three entire cities of people.

“In two phases of the Arjune moon. We can practise together at this time and after your lessons.” My mother answers. This allows me to breathe easier. However, the thought of the magnitude of people attending the festival infiltrates my mind once again, sending fresh shivers through my body.

Both Shadow Elf tribes will be present alongside the entire Moon Elf kingdom. I am almost grateful for the strained relationship we have with the Light Elves, if only to avoid the addition of another thousand pairs of eyes staring at me. The moment this thought floats into my mind, I berate myself for even thinking it and shove it aside. I bite my lip and weigh my decision. My father catches my nervousness and speaks up,

“It will only be for a couple of moments, and it will be over before you realise it. You are an amazing flautist, so there is no reason to worry about your performance.” My mother joins in with the reassurances,

“Would it help if I said you can practise with us and back out at any time, even on the day? We really just want the opportunity to spend more time with you.” She places her hand around mine and rubs my thumb reassuringly. I let out a sigh,

“You make a compelling argument. I will at least practise this song with you, but only as long as you can play without me. You know how much I dislike crowds; they make me uneasy.” They both nod and embrace me. My mother mumbles,

“Thank you honey,” into my hair. They pull away just as the doors fling open.

In bursts a soldier with concern blazing across his gleaming face. I recognise him at once. The silver markings swirling along his wrists are identical to Xada’s. His outfit suggests that he is off duty, as it is devoid of the elegant silver armour that patrolling soldiers wear. His braids are in a wild state, fraying and disentangling from their bonds. Elix, Xada’s sempi-estella.

This is all taken in as a second thought, my eyes sweep over him quickly, as my attention fixes on what is draped in his arms: Xada, convulsing and thrashing against his strong hold.