eulaab

[eulaab]

True Name Unmasked: Eirien Sylvaris (Sylvaris vol. 8)

When Mother Leno announced that every Sylvarian must seek their true name, Ellie was given a silver seed. She thought it would be a simple assignment like they always done every two weeks — find a place that felt right, plant the silver seed she had been given, and watch it grow. But days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and her hope thinned like mist in the sun.

She tried the grove where the foxgloves grew wild. She planted it by the roots of the Great Elm. She pressed it into moss beds, riverbanks, even the shines from the sun started clearing where the air always smelled of rain. Each time she waited, sometimes for hours, sometimes for nights. And each time, the seed remained cold, still, lifeless.

Her feet were caked in mud again, her hands raw from digging. The silver sheen of the seed was fading, as if her failures were dulling it. Every new place she chose, somehow felt less certain, every attempt felt heavier. By the sixth months, she stopped expecting anything at all.

That night, moonlight guided her deeper into the forest than she would ever been, until the trees opened to reveal the Lake of Sylvaris — still as polished as fresh from the oven glass, the moon’s reflection unbroken — seemed like another sky. Ellie knew the tales: the lake was ancient, deep, and dangerous. It was said to hold the first names of their kind in its depths.

She stepped into the water, the chill biting through her legs. The silver seed felt strangely heavy in her palm. She lowered it beneath the surface — and something seized her wrists, without fully knowing why, wading deeper the silver seed in her hand. The lake swallowed her whole, the cold stealing her breath. Ellie kicked, struggled, but the deeper she sank — the heavier the water became.

Then — the seed in her hand began to glow. Golden dust spilled from its shell, drifting into the dark like fireflies. The silted lakebed shimmered, and roots unfurled in slow, graceful spirals. A pale bloom opened in the depths, each petal scattering more golden light until the water itself glowed. Ellie’s eyes widened, drinking in the magic, but her chest burned. Her vision darkened, and her body stilled.

The last thing she saw before the darkness claimed her was the flower’s heart opening, spilling golden dust upward toward the surface. Later in the morning, when sun beam’s greeted and warmed her face, she woke up slowly. She realized she was lying next to a great tree at the lake’s edge, the same place she had sat last night with her feet in the water. Her head throbbed. Her hair was still wet.

For a moment she told herself it had been a dream — until she looked at the tree’s trunk. Carved into the bark in clean, deliberate letters was a name she had never spoken but somehow knew was hers: Eirien Sylvaris.

The forest had not just given her a name. It had pulled her into its depths to show her she was worthy of carrying it.

[eulaab]

The Velhara Purge: Cracked Truths (Noctarier vol. 2)

It was late when she cleared a few scattered papers off her desk, ice cream in hand — her last-minute dinner, barely more than a sweet distraction from the day’s chaos. She’d skipped meals again, something she did more often than not. The hum of the city outside buzzed like background static, a subtle but constant reminder of how long she’d been buried in reports, deep in deadlines and deeper in the silence no one else seemed to notice.

Just as she reached out to switch off her desk lamp, telling herself she could call it a night, a thick stack of files landed with a thud on her table — dropped unceremoniously. She flinched slightly, but didn’t need to look up. The officer from this morning stood there, uniform still creased, eyes sharp and unwavering like he hadn’t rested either.

“Find every clue, every hint, whatever there is,” he said, voice low but firm. “Call me the moment something cracks.”

Ellie yawned, half-lidded eyes betraying her exhaustion, and slid her now melting dinner aside. Chocolate dripped over her fingers, ignored. “Team building by day, bullets by night,” she muttered under her breath, tone flat with just a pinch of irony. The first file she opened was a photo. A bullet — up close, clean, and disturbingly perfect. There was a code carved into its surface, almost like an engraving. It didn’t look random. It was too deliberate. Too meticulous. Someone wanted it seen.

She stared at it, head tilting slightly. “𝟰𝗡-𝟭𝟮.𝟭𝟴-𝗬𝗦.” Her mind began decoding. If 1 was A and 26 was Z — a basic A1Z26 cipher — then 4 became D, 12 turned to L, and 18 to R. The final segment, “YS,” remained as is. “𝗗𝗡-𝗟.𝗥-𝗬𝗦,” she whispered aloud. Letters rearranged themselves in her head. “Daniel Reyes” That was a name. A real one.

She knew that name — not well, not personally, but enough to know this wasn’t coincidence.

The second file was a photo of a building, corporate and severe in design. In the corner, scribbled so faintly it nearly escaped the eye, was “𝗠𝗼𝗟𝗝.” She frowned. Definitely government, she thought. Maybe a branch office, a database, or possibly even a classified department. She keyed it into her screen: “𝗠𝗼𝗟𝗝_𝗴𝗼𝘃.”

And what came up wasn’t just a redirection. It wasn’t random at all. It was something buried — deep. A digital grave holding secrets it wasn’t supposed to show. Yet, it did. And all of it pointed back to him.

Daniel.

One thing Ellie learned quickly from what surfaced was about his mistress — Felice Lee. The name sounded like it belonged in a tabloid scandal, but the content felt anything but glamorous. He’d met her five years ago, in a random bar. That was the beginning of her unraveling. The website detailed her miserable life, intricately — her debts, her crimes, even her face changes. It traced her every breath up until she practically wiped herself off the map.

But Daniel? Not a single detail beyond that affair. The omission spoke louder than facts.

Ellie leaned back slightly. Her intuition whispered — Felice wasn’t just a side plot. She was the key. Maybe to everything that’s happened. Probably for longer than anyone dared to imagine. Longer than the fire that happened the other night, for sure.

The third file had a list of names. Daphne, Daniel, Harvis, and Felice.

“Wait— Mrs. Daphne,” she murmured, blinking. That name rang a different bell. She flipped back through the pages, rereading how Felice once described Daniel — contempt in his expression every time he stepped into the courtroom. Yet the world hailed him as a hero.

“𝘎𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘵,” Ellie whispered to herself, “he carries all the guilt with him in court, talking about truth while he, himself, keeps being silenced.”

The real golden boy. Poster child for something much bigger. A scapegoat. A puppet tangled in wires leading somewhere higher, darker.

“𝘗𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘮𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘺,” she murmured again, more to herself. “There must be something with the Prime Minister.”

She reached for the newspaper left by the coffee tray, scanning a headline featuring both Daniel and the PM. Bold letters. Stiff smiles. Shadows behind both. “𝘊𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘶𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘏𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯-𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘔𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘺 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨?” She rattled them off.

“Felice sold her own brother once,” Ellie said, voice dry, quiet. “She must’ve kept doing that — and the higher-ups? They know. They must’ve known her life. That made her an easy pawn. Replaceable. Disposable.”

Then she stopped, brows furrowing. “And that part…” She paused, rereading a paragraph she had just skimmed. “Shoved a dog down every time they had a new person to bury… that was a genius move. Powdered lime?”

She nodded slowly. “Instead of letting the dog decompose fast, lime would start preserving it. If someone came snooping — patrol dogs, for instance — they’d catch scent and alert to what? A decoy. A body but just a dog’s. A fresh one.”

A clever cover-up. One only someone desperate or cunning — or both — could think of.

“I’m gonna look around the North Forest and check it myself,” she whispered, almost forgetting she was alone. Her thoughts finally settling into something sharp and coherent.

The sun was just beginning to rise, brushing the windows with a pale orange glow. Morning was creeping in, soft and slow, as if it hadn’t seen what the night dragged out. And that’s how she’d spent her night — sleepless, tangled in threads that shouldn’t have existed.

Now, with the conclusion in hand, she had one thing left to do: verify it. One final step. Then, and only then, would she let the whole team hear a word.

[eulaab]

The Ashes of Silence: First Day, First Shot (Noctarier vol. 1)

Velhara’s skyline wore a bruise-colored morning. The kind of light that never quite softened the edges of the city. Gray clouds hung low, dragging the wind in with a bite, as Ellie — stepped out of her ride and onto the slick concrete curb outside Velhara Metropolitan Police Office. 6:30 AM, not too early, not late, sharp on time.

Her clothes were plain, by design — a black turtleneck tucked into dark, clean-cut slacks, paired with a long black jacket, hem brushing against her thighs when the breeze moved. No shine, no loudness, no bold badge just yet, first days were always chaos. She’d rather move quiet.

Her hair was pulled back, a few loose strands tucked behind her ears. She wore no perfume, no flash, just steady steps in sensible black boots, low-heeled, worn in, her own. The precinct doors parted with a hiss, inside: stillness.

Noisy places always had the wrong kind of silence when something had gone wrong. And this was one of those silences — thick, electric. She knew it instantly. A front desk officer glanced up from behind a glass panel, surprised.

“And you are the new recruit?”

“Yes, yes, i am new. Eulalie Aeri Hartwell,” she said, voice soft but direct. “Ellie’s fine.”

He stood without blinking. “A hell kind of day to start just picked you. No time for orientation, follow me.”

No welcome, no handshake, no tour, and that was how her day started.

The officer moved fast, his radio clipped to his shoulder, she matched his pace without question. They exited out the rear of the precinct, stepping into a dark SUV already humming low with engine heat. The door shut behind her with a weighty thunk, and they sped off without sirens. Ellie caught a glimpse of herself in the side mirror. She looked composed. Watchful. But something buzzed under her ribs — something she wouldn’t call fear maybe more like… beginning?

They turned a corner, and there it was.

The smoke came first. Thin, white, drifting upward like a ghost that hadn’t decided if it should linger or vanish. Then the black skeleton of the Velhara Prosecutor’s Office loomed into view — burned through, the fourth floor hollowed out. Ash still floated in the wind like a snowstorm gone wrong.

They pulled up beside the perimeter, marked by police drones and yellow tape that whipped in the wind like warning banners. Crime scene techs moved through the wreckage in layers — some in full suits, others in forensic gloves, combing soot with tight-lipped precision.

“This way,” the officer said, motioning her past the tape.

She stepped forward, her jacket catching the smoke smell in its leather. Her boots crunched broken glass and gravel beneath the weight of her.

Then she saw her, Daphne Ashcroft.

She didn’t need an introduction. Stood amid the ruins like she belonged there — dark coat billowing slightly, eyes trained on a scorched corridor like it might speak. She wasn’t beautiful in any soft way, but striking. Carved from judgment and fire. She turned before anyone could call her name.

“You’re Hartwell,” she said, voice as even as her gaze.

“Yes, ma’am. Ellie’s fine.”

Daphne didn’t respond to the name. Instead, she turned her attention back to the scene as a forensic officer approached her, pale-faced and clearly rattled, holding something carefully wrapped in static-resistant foil.

“Ma’am, this was recovered from the wound channel. We extracted the bullet intact. It’s not just standard issue, it’s traceable. Internal force registry.”

She took it with gloved fingers. Silent, focused.

The officer swallowed and handed over something else, smaller, barely intact. A torn scan slip, singed at the edges but still legible: 4N-12.18-YS

Ellie caught the string of characters. Didn’t move nor speak. Daphne stared at it a moment. Her expression didn’t crack, but her jaw did tighten, just barely. A breath escaped through clenched teeth. She didn’t ask what it meant — not yet. Instead, she lifted her comm to her mouth.

“Cross-check every weapons checkout in the last 48 hours. Full access. No redactions. I want prints, casing logs, and shadow file entries — now.” Straightforward, undeniably cool. “And mobilize the search grid north of Velhara. Infrared, canine, air support. If he dropped that lighter on purpose, he wants us looking.” Her voice dropped. “So we will.”

Ellie watched her — not as someone intimidated, but as someone learning. Daphne pocketed the scan slip. Unread, undecoded, not yet. This wasn’t a test nor was the middle of something, this was the first shot. And Ellie couldn’t be more excited to start her journey.

[eulaab]

Trial of Synergy: Imperfectly Found (Sylvaris vol. 6)

There were no signs to mark the clearing. No carved runes or trembling trees, only an almost-too-quiet hush and a circle of stones sunk deep into the moss. Ellie stepped into the space with Sky at her side, and the wind stilled as if the forest itself was holding its breath.

The Trial of Synergy did not announce itself. It simply began.

From the moment her boot touched the final ring of stone, the forest shifted. Light fractured above them. The moss shimmered gold, then silver, then dissolved completely — revealing not soil beneath, but water. Clear, dark, impossibly deep.

Sky growled low, but didn’t move.

The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, old and dry like cracked bark: “One spirit. Two forms. Find the mirror. Touch the truth.”

And then the water surged. Not outward — but upward. A column of liquid rose from the pool, whirling and frothing until it birthed a reflection. Ellie stared, stunned since everthing flashed before her eyes.

It was her, but not.

This mirrored Ellie was flawless — no dirt on her boots, no wildness in her eyes. Her expression was calm, her body language practiced, almost regal. Beside her stood a second Sky — sleek, composed, perfectly still, as if carved from moonlight and design.

Sky’s tail lashed. Ellie’s heart thumped.

Then the trial struck,

the mirrored pair leapt, not with rage, but with perfect synchronicity. Ellie stumbled back, lifting a hand to signal — too slow. Sky responded, but they moved out of rhythm, brushing past each other with the kind of friction that comes from second guessing.

A blur of movement, a flash of pain and Sky was thrown back with a yelp. Ellie hit the moss with a grunt. Not bleeding, breathless.

“Again,” she whispered, breath ragged. “We go again.”

The forest did not wait. Their second attempt was more calculated. Ellie took the lead, relying on the gestures they’d used for weeks — a flick of her fingers, a pivot of her stance. But something in her was trying too hard. Then came the moment. The mirrored Ellie and the real one stood across from Sky, halfway, mirroring each other down to the tilt of their chins.

They both reached out to him. Both called his name.

Sky hesitated, just a beat but long enough. He turned — toward the wrong one. And Ellie took the strike meant for her double. She hit the ground hard, wind knocked from her lungs. Not wounded but wounded enough.

Sky stood frozen, caught between instinct and shame. His tail hung low. His ears were pressed flat. Ellie coughed, laughing faintly through the ache. “It’s okay,” she murmured, looking up at him. “I think, i forgot who i was, too.”

Her mirrored self faded back into stillness. Watching. Waiting. The forest was quiet again. Ellie sat upright and rested a hand on Sky’s ruffled mane. She didn’t give a command this time. No signals. No plans. Just contact. Truth.

“We don’t need to be perfect,” she whispered. “We just need to be us.”

Sky leaned into her touch, breathing steady. The third time, they did not wait for the mirrored pair to charge. They moved.

Ellie ran — feet pounding, braid flying — her thoughts gone. Only feeling. Sky surged beside her. Not to shield. Not to obey. But to match her wildness. They twisted through the clearing, not in step but in spirit.

The mirrored Sky lunged, precise. But Sky met him off-center, wild and grinning, slamming into him with the joy of knowing where Ellie would be, even if he couldn’t see her.

The mirrored Ellie raised her hand. But Ellie didn’t flinch. She turned into the movement, caught her twin’s wrist — not with force, but gentleness. “You’re beautiful,” she told her reflection. “But i don’t think this forest need second me and Sky.”

The false Ellie blinked once, then dissolved.

Sky pounced, his paw sweeping through silver mist as the mirrored tiger scattered like ash. Silence. The moss returned. The water stilled. The stones grew quiet. Sky padded to her side, breath heaving. She dropped to her knees, wrapping her arms around his warm fur and burying her face in his stripes.

They had failed twice but they chose not to stop, they kept going. They’d moved from instinct, something came from trust, from the strange, stubborn language that was theirs alone.

Not the version of Ellie who performed calm. Not the version of Sky who obeyed like a soldier. Just Ellie and Sky. Real, messy, but stronger together.

She pulled back just enough to press her forehead to his. “You found me, even when i was trying to be someone else.” Sky rumbled low, his tail wrapping around her back.

And the forest—old and vast and wise—let out a slow, satisfied breath. They had passed. Not because they out-fought their mirror selves but because they remembered who they were when they stopped trying to be anyone else.

[eulaab]

Arithmancy: Seventh Thread Weaves Thrice by The Mastered Ninth Moon (HGHouses vol. 2)

Another class with Professor Firenze, Arithmancy, but this one felt different — curious, in a quiet, personal way. Numbers had always clung to her mind more easily than names. While most students remembered faces or voices, she remembered birthdays. Dates etched themselves into her thoughts like constellations — natural, effortless, like breathing.

That day, after a long explanation on numerological formulas and how to calculate meaning from names, Professor Firenze gave them an assignment: “Calculate your own name. Begin with yourself.” She thought it would be lovely, to know what the stars might whisper back if she offered her name in numbers. So she climbed to one of the quieter towers after class, parchment in her lap, wand tapping softly on the edge. She began to calculate: slow, sure, steady — as though unraveling a secret meant just for her.

1. Life Path Number - Derived from one's birthdate. Indicate purpose and general direction in life.

Birthdate: August 31th, 2004.

Day: 31

Month: 8

Year: 2+0+0+4

Total: 31+8+6= 45 → 4+5 = 9; Life Path Number = 9 (The Sage).

Getting the number, realizing it marked the final digit of a long cycle, made her pause, made her wonder. Had she been a good witch in those past eight lives? Was she kind? Lovely? Had she chased her dreams until they bloomed, or married someone who truly knew her soul? Had she tasted every small wonder in the world — the scent of midnight rain, the sweetness of ripe berries, the ache of farewell hugs?

It somehow felt like standing at the end of the year’s seasons. She saw herself in spring — fresh, eager, discovering her light. In summer, she thrived, radiant and unstoppable. Autumn had broken her a little, with its lessons and letting-go, with its quiet reminders that not everything blooms forever. And now, she was in winter. A season that closes circles, walks endings, and still leaves room for light. It is not an easy path — but it is one that makes others whole. Here she is, to bring compassion and closure, to end everything that i have started.

2. Expression Number - Derived from one's full name. Represents talents and magical potential.

Using the Pythagorean system and how everything ended when 9 comes, then A=1 and I=9 that makes J=1 and R=9 and the last one S=1 and Z=8.

Eulalie: 5 + 3 + 3 + 1 + 3 + 9 + 5 = 29

Aeri: 1 + 5 + 9 + 9 = 24

Bielke: 2 + 9 + 5 + 3 + 2 + 5 = 26

Total: 29 + 24 + 26 = 79 → 7 + 9 = 16 → 1 + 6 = 7; Expression Number = 7 (The Seeker)

Seven, she pulled a lucky number with her talent and magical potential. The book said, people with this number gifted in uncovering hidden truths, sensing what others miss, and walking between logic and magic with quiet clarity. With a pure potential in future Magister of Arcane Systems, or a seeker of lost magical knowledge. One of the few who can restore magic to what it once was — or guide it into what it must become.

3. Soul Urge Number - Derived from vowel's in the name. Reflects desire and core emotional motivations.

Vowels in her name: E U A I E A E I I E E

Total = 5 + 3 + 1 + 9 + 5 + 1 + 5 + 9 + 9 + 5 + 5 = 57 → 5 + 7 = 12 = 1 + 2 = 3; Soul Urge Number = 3 (The Muse)

Pulled out three. One soul radiates creativity, empathy, and emotional warmth. Despite her quiet and introspective nature (from the 7), there’s a vibrant, gentle light within her. Her magic might be calm, her presence quiet — but her soul sings. Her song is not meant for crowds. It's for the wounded, the forgotten, the ones sitting quietly beside her.

4. Personality Number - Derived from consonants. Shows how other perceive you.

Consonants in her name: L L R B L K

Total: 3 + 3 + 3 + 9 + 2 + 3 + 2 = 25 → 2 + 5 = 7; Personality Number = 22 (The Quiet Architect)

With the heart of a Muse (3), the mind of a Seeker (7), the grace of a Sage (9), and the structure of a Master Builder (22), she becomes a rare blend:

Souls with Personality Number 22 carry an aura of quiet greatness. Often seen as mature and grounded beyond their years, they radiate a calm strength that others instinctively trust. People may not understand why they’re drawn to them, only that they feel safe, steady, and quietly important, like someone destined to build or guide something greater. Beneath this composed presence lies the soul of a visionary — someone who doesn’t just dream but brings dreams into form. This master number holds the energy of lasting impact through quiet influence. They don’t seek the spotlight, yet often become the anchor others rely on, shaping change with thoughtful, powerful presence rather than force.

5. Destiny Number - A synthesos of above, indicates one’s inevitable magical legacy.

With the heart of a Muse (3), the mind of a Seeker (7), the grace of a Sage (9), and the structure of a Quiet Architect (22), she becomes a rare blend:A visionary who feels deeply, sees clearly, and builds quietly toward something eternal.

Her legacy is not meant to dazzle, it is meant to last. She brings comfort to the forgotten, magic to the overlooked, and truth to those who have lost their way. People may never know it was her magic that softened their world but they will feel it.

Destiny of The Silent Luminary

She who sees the unseen, speaks through beauty, and builds in stillness. Her legacy is one of quiet light — felt more than known, lasting longer than stone. Where others chase greatness, she becomes it by leaving the world softer, wiser, and whole.

[eulaab]

City of Stars: The Vanishing Prince (HGHouses vol. 1)

This was her first Divination class. Professor Firenze stood at the center — tall, luminous, and calm. The silver in his mane caught the starlight as he welcomed them. “Divination is not guessing. It is listening to what has already begun,” he said. “Tonight, the stars have chosen to speak.”

The stars seemed to form a map — not one of places, but of meanings. And as Ellie traced their silent pattern, she wondered if they were trying to speak to her and if she was finally ready to listen.

Gemini as a beginning with, for this is where Mercury feels most at home — a clever planet in its native sky, is the planet of thought and speech, rules Gemini, the sign of dual minds and mirrored truths. Gemini is symbolized by the twins, but not merely in body — in intellect, in wit, in the ability to speak one thing and mean another. So when Mercury is in Gemini, there is no such thing as coincidence in conversation and secrets are passed like silver coins between sharp fingers. So the story begins here — with the voice they have to decode.

Then comes Leo, framed as a flickering star — once bright, golden, and roaring beneath a crown. He carried title, strength, and presence like fire, impossible to ignore. But now, that light trembles. Where he once stood tall, he now recedes, like a lion beneath the brush. Perhaps he has not vanished — not entirely. Perhaps he’s simply hiding, dimming himself just to survive. Leo, the flickering star, suggests not a fall, but a retreat. Not a weakness, but the burden of being written for too long.

Then comes Mars, drawn in retrograde — an illusion of reversal, where the planet appears to step backward in the sky. It mirrors hesitation, not weakness, but inner resistance. The prince was expected to rise, to lead, to fight — yet the power he carried began to reshape him into someone he no longer recognized. Did he step back? Undo his name? Refuse the path carved before him? Mars in retrograde is rebellion without thunder. He did not abandon the crown out of fear, but perhaps because it was never truly his to wear. This is the tipping point — when action becomes absence, and the war he chose was the one within.

Then comes Jupiter in Scorpio — where secrets don’t stay buried. Jupiter expands everything it touches, and in Scorpio, it touches what’s hidden: old wounds and buried truths. What was once beneath the surface now rises. He was never meant to hold that power — but he touched it anyway. Scorpio is temptation. Jupiter is size. The combination? Collapse. The weight of a past he tried to bury and a future he could not carry. In the end, it wasn’t fear or fate that made him vanish — it was what the power made of him. Jupiter in Scorpio is the breaking point disguised as revelation.

Now drifts Venus into Pisces — Everyone knows Venus speaks of love, desire, and beauty; but in Pisces, love becomes something deep, sacrifice, and sorrow. Empathy without end. Pisces is ocean-hearted — boundless, unguarded, always on the edge of dissolving. Maybe the prince didn’t vanish for power or prophecy. Maybe he vanished because he couldn’t bear to stay. Maybe love wasn’t a single person — maybe it was everyone. And leaving was the only way to keep them whole. Venus in Pisces is not the reason he vanished — it’s what it cost him. The ache left behind. The goodbye he never said.

But then, the sky cries. A light not charted, a path not foretold — the Unforeseen Comet. This is disruption incarnate, the unknown variable, the crack in the prophecy. The part no one — not even the stars — saw coming. This is the moment everything changed — not because it was meant to, but because it had to. The comet is not a symbol of destiny, but a force that arrives when the world resists correction, and so the sky writes its own undoing. The Unforeseen Comet is the fracture.

And at last, Saturn settles in Capricorn — the weight, the stone, the end of the lesson. This is the voice of legacy: “You must do what is expected of you — no matter what it costs.” Here lies the burdened bloodline, the generational weight passed down like armor too heavy to wear. The castle was his cage, the crown a name that never truly fit, and every night he dreamed of freedom — waking with sweat at his neck and duty in his teeth. Saturn in Capricorn is the weight — not just of who he was, but of the story written before he ever spoke a word. And perhaps vanishing was never escape, but simply the only choice he ever truly made.

Each sky was a page, Each step was a turning, Each star was a choice dressed in silence and belted in bravery. They will say he disappeared, But the stars know better, He walked the whole sky just to finally belong to none of it.

Seven steps — a sacred cycle. The number of magic, of fate, and of quiet rebellion. The stars wrote the ending — but he chose how to walk there. He ascended through seven truths, and then stepped beyond the story himself.

Ellie stands, the answer clear now, settled like stardust in her chest. Without rush but with quiet certainty, she walks toward the professor’s office — steady, composed, and just a little proud of what she now carries.

[eulaab]

First Week: The Memory Was Once Loived (East High vol. 2)

It was after her first week at East High that Ellie really noticed the board. She had seen it before, of course. It hung across from the main hall, framed neatly in cork and shadowed just enough that it faded into the background unless you were looking for it. But that day, something about the board pulled at her — not with force, but with a curious kind of gravity, like a whisper that didn't belong in the noise of school mornings.

They were hand-scrawled, some neat, some rushed — torn-out pieces of grid paper and sticky notes that said things like:

“Has anyone actually seen XXX since Day 0?”

“Someone is really missing or it’s a made-up rumor?”

“I didn’t see XXX. Again.”

“Is this school even real now…?”

The name ‘XXX’ was repeated over and over, like a placeholder no one had bothered to fill in. Ellie’s mind started to wander, zoning out at many probabilities running all at once in her mind — was it a name, or something else entirely?

At first, Ellie thought it might be a prank. A student council campaign gimmick, or maybe drama club improv. But the tone didn’t quite fit. It wasn’t cheeky — it felt… uncertain. Too vague to be funny. Too quiet to be loud. The board changed since the last one she saw, but one thing for sure time always being circled in both boards.

Her thoughts scattered like marbles on tile — all rolling in different directions, even after she noticed she had been standing still in front of the board for thirty minutes — without so much as a crick in her neck. Thirty whole minutes, no ache in her feet. No dryness in her eyes. The hallway around her moved on. Voices came and went. Binders snapped open. Someone dropped a pencil case three lockers down. But none of it reached her — not really. It all passed like the sound of a train on tracks far away.

She looked back at the board.

What if it was the only thing someone could still remember?

A letter. A feeling. A person. A moment.

Something that couldn’t be named without breaking it.

Her chest tightened. Not with fear, but with something heavier. Something quiet and sharp. She thought of how everything at East High moved so well. Too well. Everyone said the right things. Laughed at the right moments. Moved like choreography they had learned. Even her own days carried a strange softness around the edges, like a memory played too many times.

What if they weren’t living through time? What if they were living inside it?

Stuck in a space someone had drawn a circle around, like a page in a scrapbook too precious to flip past. What if this wasn’t a school full of students, but a story carefully preserved — a scene someone couldn't stop watching?

The thought made her stomach feel hollow. Not scared, just unsettled. Like realizing your shadow’s in the wrong place. Or seeing your own handwriting somewhere you are sure you never wrote. Maybe XXX was what remained after forgetting someone’s name, but still needing to hold onto them. Maybe that’s all memory was: shape without sharpness. Form without definition.

Ellie touched the edge of the board. The paper felt real. The ink, slightly smudged. The pins slightly rusted. All of it real. But that didn’t mean it was new. It just meant it was loved enough to keep.

She stepped away slowly, her feet making no sound. Her eyes flicked across the hallway — to the drama sign-up sheet, where her name already sat on the list. To the mural where the paint never seemed to chip. To the locker she never remembered closing, but always found shut.

Everything was moving. Everything was right. And yet, something was still circling. Like a record. Like a story someone didn’t want to end.

Ellie didn’t feel trapped. Not yet. Just… studied. Like she was the last page someone kept rereading, afraid to turn it.

And XXX?

Maybe it was her and all the classmate. Or maybe it was the person who remembered them and could not let go of the memory once had lived. Either way, the name remained. Even when everything else was perfect. Especially because it was.

[eulaab]

First Day: She’s The Plot (East High vol. 1)

Ellie arrived at East High a full hour early, unsure whether it was nerves or curiosity that had her up before sunrise. The halls still carried the scent of lemon polish, and the posters from last semester’s musical still hung proudly by the theater doors. Her steps were soft, almost silent, as if she didn’t want to disturb the school’s heartbeat.

Banners, trophy cases that gleamed under spotlights, and student portraits framed on the walls — half of them dramatic, half of them accidental. The kind of place where music lived in the lockers and dreams echoed off the auditorium walls.

She wandered toward the main hall, making mental notes about the room numbers. She straighten her hair a little extra today — trying her best matching with everyone’s main character energy, and her fingers toyed with the strings of her bag as she glanced around. That’s when she spotted someone walking in hurried strides, nearly tripping over his own feet. A boy, a little lanky, dark hair tousled, clutching a carton of milk like it was a lifeline.

He gulped it mid-step.

“Hi,” Ellie called softly, stepping to the side of the hall.

The boy stopped abruptly, looking surprised. “Oh—hey. Sorry, I wasn’t expecting anyone else this early.”

“You drink milk like it’s a race,” she said with a teasing smile.

The boy laughed, wiping his mouth. “Yeah, it’s a morning ritual. I’m Sadie. You?”

“Ellie,”

“Cool. You’re early.”

“Wanted to meet the school before everyone else did.”

Sadie gave a playful bow. “Well, you’ve officially met me — resident milk enthusiast and hallway hazard.”

“I feel like i’ve passed an initiation,” Ellie replied with a soft smile.

“You have. See you around, Ellie.” He pointed his milk carton like a salute and wandered off.

As Ellie passed the admin hall toward the central corridor, she noticed someone standing confidently in front of the big events board — updating the paper schedules with neat handwritten notes and a clipboard tucked under one arm. She had sleek braids, an impeccable sense of balance even in platforms, and that unmistakable I-run-things-here energy.

Shara.

Ellie had seen her before, mostly from afar, at assemblies or giving announcements in the auditorium — but this morning, they crossed paths properly.

“You’re early,” Shara said without looking up, still pinning a notice.

“Just wanted to see the school before it wakes up,” Ellie replied.

Shara turned, appraising. “Smart. Most people only see it in full volume.”

There was a pause, not awkward—just assessing.

“I’m Shara,” she added, adjusting her clipboard. “Student council. If you’re in drama, you’ll see me around.”

“I am, i will be there and Ellie. You can call me Ellie.”

Shara gave a small, approving nod. “Good. The drama board’s going up this week. Audition sign-ups are Thursday. Be there early.”

“Noted.”

With that, Shara offered a quick smile—brief but polished—and turned back to her task.

As Ellie walked away, she thought: She’s like a scene you don’t realize was important until later. Someone who keeps things running and still manages to shine while doing it. Her shoes tapped gently on the pavement as she made her way to the outdoor courts. There, someone was casually dribbling a basketball—red hoodie, laid-back form, sharp movements. A quiet rhythm to the morning.

Ellie paused. “Isn’t it too early for three-pointers?”

The boy glanced up and grinned. “Never too early. You hoop?”

“Not even close.”

“I’m Nash.”

“Ellie.”

“Cool name. You checking the place out?”

“I’m trying to walk through it without getting lost or hit by flying sports equipment.”

He chuckled. “Well, watch your left. That’s the dodgeball zone.”

Ellie laughed softly and glanced toward the edge of the court where a girl sat cross-legged, a book open in her lap, her lips moving as she read silently.

“She always reads there?” Ellie asked.

“Brie. Yeah, she’s gonna be a legend around here.”

Ellie took a few tentative steps closer and said, “Hi. I’m Ellie.”

Brie looked up, one hand keeping her page. “You talk to people before the bell? Bold move.”

“I like books too.”

That earned a small approving nod. “Welcome to East High, Ellie.”

After saying goodbye, Ellie continued past the gym and found herself at the swimming pool. The water was still, untouched, but someone sat in the spectator seats — a boy, alone, arms over his knees, staring down at the pool like it had secrets. Ellie walked up a few rows and sat with a quiet space between them.

“Hi,” she said softly. He looked over, surprised, then removed one earbud. “Hey.”

“I’m not joining the swim team. Just wandering.”

“I’m Fritz.”

“Ellie.”

He nodded. “You have a quiet vibe. But i’m sure you’ll survive here.”

She smiled faintly. “That’s the second time i’ve heard that today.”

After a few moments of comfortable silence, she stood. “Nice to meet you, Fritz.”

“Same. Belongs to drama club, right? Red alert, they’re... loud.”

“I’ve heard about that.”

By the time she reached her locker, the noise of the school had finally caught up. Chatter bounced off the walls and lockers slammed shut in chorus. Just then, a girl appeared beside her, wearing a green jacket with enamel pins and a look that said she was probably friends with the principal out of sheer charisma.

“And you?” the girl said as she checked her out. “I’m Vivi. This is my locker and hey, ours next to each other. Welcome to the chaos.”

“Ellie.” Her laugh echoed through the halls.

Vivi eyed her. “You give off drama club energy.”

“I am here for the drama.”

“Good. We need more calm people in the group chat.”

They exchanged smiles—and schedules—and by the time Ellie walked into homeroom, the room was already humming.

She looked around and picked a seat near the window. Light was nice. But before she could sit, a girl turned toward her — perfect hair, charming smile, and an air of easy confidence.

“Hey. Do you mind if i sit next to you?”

“Not at all, you can have it.” Ellie said.

“I’m Finn,” the girl added, settling in. “You have first-period English too?”

“I think so. You seem like someone who belongs either on a stage or somewhere in the middle of field full of flowers.”

Finn beamed. “You’re good at reading people.”

“You have the main-character energy.”

Finn leaned closer. “Stick around. It’s contagious.”

The bell rang like the universe clearing its throat. Ellie didn’t flinch. Around her, the school stirred — loud, glittery, half-asleep. Somewhere down the hall, the drama club was probably arguing over who gets center stage. She didn’t need to fight for it. She’d take her time, learn her lines, and steal the scene when no one saw it coming.

Big thanks to: Sadie (@ZHIONGREN), Shara, Nash (@mingyuukxm), Brie (@Gawonny), Fritz (@aintonilee), Vivi (@GCISELLERI), and Finn (@Sunfllowxr).

[eulaab]

Bonding With Your Familiar: Unraveled Chaos (Sylvaris vol. 5)

There were no roads in Sylvaris Forest, only memories disguised as moss, and silence threaded with birdsong. The forest breathed with old, ancient knowing — the kind that could not be taught, only trusted. And in this place, Ellie wandered with Sky.

Her cast had dulled in color, the pale blue now smudged with earth, with time. It had become a part of her silhouette — a badge of fragility she carried quietly. Sky never questioned it. He only walked beside her, like a thought she hadn’t yet spoken aloud.

They didn’t speak in words. Never needed to.

A flick of her fingers near her ribs, a small curl of her hand mid-air — and Sky would turn his head, flick his tail in a mirrored echo. A shared language neither of them remembered inventing. They simply moved as if they knew. And perhaps they did. In the forest, the spirit didn’t ask how, only if.

The first time Sky tested her, it was not in fury, but in play.

The day was light-dappled and warm, the kind that felt borrowed from a softer world. Ellie sat with her back against a tree trunk, absentmindedly twirling a twig in her hand while Sky prowled in quiet arcs between the roots. Then, without warning, he lunged — not with claws or teeth, but with the startling joy of something wild and weightless.

She shrieked—really shrieked—as his massive paw swept her legs and sent her tumbling backward into a bed of moss. Her heart raced, half in fear, half in exhilaration.

“Sky!” she gasped between laughter. “I’m injured, remember?”

He stared at her with his usual charming eyes. Then—without ceremony—he leapt again.

His paw caught the edge of her cast this time.

A cracking sound split the air. A sudden weight. A sharp throb like thunder under skin. The world held its breath.

Ellie lay stunned, staring at the broken gypsum shell now flayed open at her side. She wasn’t bleeding. Not badly. But her arm ached, her heart louder still.

Sky looked down, horrified. Not by the pain, but by what had surfaced.

Not anger. Not fear.

But Ellie herself—giggling through her grimace, clutching her ruined arm and snorting with laughter.

“You—you absolute menace!” she choked out. “That was a dirty move!?”

Sky nudged her shoulder sheepishly. His ears twitched. And when she clutched his face with her working hand and nuzzled into his warm fur, she realized she had never, ever laughed like this with anyone else.

Not like the quiet, perfect Ellie everyone knew. This was the Ellie she forgot she buried. The chaotic, clingy, silly little girl who used to chase falling leaves, who cried too loudly when 𝘕𝘰𝘯𝘰 died, who used to talk to moths and hug too hard and ask too much of people.

She hadn’t lost her, had only hidden her, and Sky had found her.

She blinked away tears as they sat beneath the twisted boughs of a Sylvarian ash. Sky lay beside her, breath steady, eyes gleaming like distant moons. And she, with her broken cast and sore ribs, felt whole in a way she never had when pretending to be whole.

“You’re not just a familiar,” she whispered, fingers tracing the silver edges of his stripes. “You are me.”

Sky didn’t purr. Instead, he mimicked her again—slowly, tenderly—lifting his paw and curling it to his chest before pressing it into the ground.

Their gesture, but gentler, softer. A promise.

In the following days after, their gestures multiplied. A twitch of her brow would earn a playful swipe. A hum in her throat would summon him from beyond sight. A shared look would be all it took to spin into laughter or sprint into a race through the woods.

They never practiced. They just were. The forest witnessed all.

Once, during dusk, she whispered into the wind, “Will you leave me, too, someday?”

Sky turned and nipped her sleeve — not hard, just enough to remind her that he wasn’t leaving. That he chose to stay. Not because she was perfect. But because she wasn’t.

To the tiger who ruined her cast and rebuilt her heart. To the creature made of legend who taught her how to laugh like a child again.

To Sky—

Not named for something far away,

But for something that stays.

And when they run now, the trees part. The stars listen. And the whole forest smiles.

[eulaab]

Familiar Contract: A Friend Like Sky (Sylvaris vol. 4)

The clearing pulsed with magic.

Ellie stood in front of the Sacred Flame of Sylvaris, her arm heavy in a pale blue gypsum cast, the pale wrap catching glints of moonlight like a second moon tethered to her side. Around her, the other members had already made their offerings — embers of memory, whispered hopes, saltwater tears drawn from secrets they'd never voiced aloud. Now it was her turn.

She hesitated.

The Sacred Flame cracked and whispered, a living thing breathing softly, as though beckoning. It was warm, inviting. Familiar, even. But Ellie’s fingers twitched at her side. She didn’t want this. Not really. Not since—

her throat tightened.

Not since the day they buried Nono. Her childhood dog. Her best friend. Her entire world when the grownups forgot how to be present. The ache from that day had never faded, only folded inward, hidden beneath volunteer shifts at the shelter, behind careful smiles and the small, prickly company of two succulents perched at her apartment window. Safe companions. Silent ones. The kind that don’t leave.

The flame flickered, waiting. The Sylvarian Elder’s voice rang out, rhythmic and ancient. “Each must cast their offering into the fire — a memory, a tear, a fragment of essence — and open the soul’s gate to those who would answer the call. And it's your turn Ellie.”

Ellie stepped forward slowly, swallowing her doubt. With her free hand, she clutched a small velvet pouch. Inside it was a single, time-worn tag: Nono’s. Her offering.

“I stand beneath the boughs of Sylvaris, where the moonlight dances upon the leaves, and the Sacred Flame bears witness,” she recited, voice soft but steady. “I offer my soul's ember—a fragment of my being—to the spirit who answers my call. I open my heart to the familiar who would walk beside me. I grant you shelter within my spirit, and in return, you grant me your strength and your truth. Together we walk the path, sharing fate's burdens and joys. May our bond be unbroken until the moon forgets to rise.”

With a quiet exhale, she tossed the pouch into the fire. The flames flared in response, licking higher than they should have, crackling with energy not entirely of this world. The air grew thick, dense with something ancient and alive. Shapes swirled in the fire — first smoke, then light, then muscle and fur.

From the heart of the Sacred Flame stepped a tiger. Not an ordinary beast, but a creature made of sky and legend. His coat shimmered white, streaked with soft silver. His stripes flickered like ink in moonlight. And his eyes—sharp and clear—locked with hers in a way that made her breath falter.

“A Sky Tiger…” someone murmured in awe.

Ellie’s breath caught in her throat. It was... beautiful. Majestic, soaring, fierce — or maybe tooo fierce, too real, too much.

She took a step back.

“I didn’t ask for this,” she whispered, heart racing. “I didn’t want—”

But the tiger moved forward, slowly, gently. It did not roar, it did not pounce. It knelt — lowering its regal head until it was level with hers.

No demands. Only presence.

Ellie looked away, shielding her face with her cast-bound arm. “I don’t want to lose anything ever again,” she said, voice cracking. “I can’t.”

And yet, the tiger simply waited.

The memory of Nono flooded her. The loyalty, the joy, the devastation. But now, standing in this circle, staring into the eyes of a spirit that mirrored both her sorrow and her strength, something shifted. She felt — seen. Not for who she pretended to be, but for who she truly was: afraid, yes, but still reaching.

Tentatively, she stepped forward and pressed her forehead against the tiger’s. It was warm — like sunlight on winter skin.

“I can’t promise I won’t be scared,” she murmured. “Or that I’ll be perfect. But… i think i want to try.”

The Sky Tiger rumbled softly — not a growl, but a low hum that vibrated deep in her bones. An answer.

Their bond was sealed.

Later, she named it Sky, not because it’s grand or distant, but because it’s always there. In the days to come, Sky would curl beside her cast when the pain flared. It would nudge her gently when memories overwhelmed. At night, when silence crept in, it would lift its head and stare at the stars—as if reminding her that even broken things could shine.

Ellie had spent so long building walls that she forgot what it felt like to be truly known. But now, with Sky beside her, maybe… just maybe… she could begin again.

[eulaab]

Crossing The Divide: Completed Sentences, Shattered Minds (ofNE vol. 3)

Ellie paused at the worn stone archway leading to the courtyard, the air unusually still for mid-morning. Usually, the chatter of her friends mingling with the distant peal of the clock’s bell usually hang in the air, but today, silence stretched tight like a held breath. She pulled her cardigan closer, the soft chill seeping from the crawling shadows beneath the ancient walls.

The school she had always seen as a sanctuary now suddenly felt like a fragile relic, teetering on the edge of something unseen. The ivy climbing up its stones seemed darker, the warm sheen of light passing through stained glass replaced by a muted gray. Her steps slowed as she passed between the familiar arches and spiraling corridors. She tried to ignore the subtle shift, the way whispers seemed to settle just beyond touch or how the eyes she met lingered too long before looking away.

She had never believed in omens or premonitions, but the recurring dream gnawed at her sanity. A dream with no faces, no clear story — only that suffocating silence and a word that held to the lip of memory: Power. Evil. Breach.

She leaned against the cold stone bench near the garden, absently tracing the edge of a carved symbol etched into the wood — a forgotten sigil from a legend nobody shared anymore. In her mind, the shattered phrase from the dream flickered like a broken melody:

“Through love untainted by hunger for power, the balance of good and evil shall bind, and from the breach, light shall rise anew.”

Ellie had been piecing together those words for days, her mind circling around how Power, Evil, and Breach fitted the broken sentences. Why those three? Because they felt like the spine of the mystery — raw and primal forces tugging on the very foundations of everything she knew.

She understood now that the dream was not just a nightmare but a perhaps a warning. And the chant — the incomplete sentence — was a call to remember, to awaken something dormant. The dream had asked of her to perceive the fragile thread binding good and evil in the school’s legacy, and that the breach was where the future would be decided.

But the weight of that knowledge weighed her down. Did she has to believe that the school was truly in danger? Somewhere deep inside, a doubt arose. She wondered if the shadows had always been there, quietly waiting, and if knowing about of them was a blessing or a curse.

Was this all only a dream or she meant to know all of this to save something; to stand and fight for balance, or simply a witness, a fragile keeper of a fading world?

The thought of trying to fix it all — to bring back the warmth, the pulse, the ordinary magic of a place that felt like home — was overwhelming. Yet, walking away felt like surrender, like letting the silence swallow everything, including herself.

Her thoughts tangled like splinters beneath her skin — sharp, insistent, impossible to ignore. Was she strong enough to fight for the light? Or was the price too high?

Ellie didn’t know. Not yet.

But she had to decide.

[eulaab]

Crazy little thing called: Miro.

It started with a breeze. Not too cold, not too warm — just enough to carry the scent of grass and distant wisteria. I always loved a hill. So, Miro said there was a pretty hill —three kilometers away from our apartment. And here we were still in the same city who never sleep yet it felt like another country, another hour, another time. Miro and i had passed it often but silly me never know this place existed.

A medium basket, packed like a poem: two burgers, a sandwich halved for fairness or maybe... flirting, and a bottle of orange juice that caught the sun like gold caught in glass. The walk here made my shoes dusty. My breath came easy. He was beside me, humming some tune under his breath, the one he always does when he's too happy to sit still.

We laid the blanket down in the tall grass. I had to press it flat with both palms while Miro fluffed one corner like that somehow mattered. It didn’t, but it made me smile. He sat first. Then me. Not touching, but close. So close.

The basket sat between us until i nudged it open. He reached in, pulled out the sandwich, then held it out like an offering.

“Wanna split?”

I raised a brow. “Only if i get the bigger half?” He laughed, and i swear — every laugh of his feels like the sun nudging through clouds. Like i could bottle it if i tried.

I reached for the sandwich, and just as my fingers brushed his, he slid an arm around my waist and pulled me in. No warning. No explanation. Just here, he seemed to say. Be here with me. And so i leaned. There was no reason not to. I belonged exactly where he placed me.

My cheek hovered near his shoulder now, our legs brushing with every soft shift. The sun glowed behind us, and our shadows spilled forward on the grass, joined at the hip.

“I missed this,” I, murmured, watching the clouds idle above.

“Me too,” he replied, mouth half-full. “We should file a complaint about this adultery life. Always stealing us from each other.”

She chuckled. “I think we would need good lawyers for that?”

They slipped into easy conversation, the kind that wanders like a lazy river — topics with no anchor, just laughter, a few shared looks, and moments of thoughtful quiet. Then i tilted my head against him, still staring forward, as if the wind had just given her a secret to share.

“Love,” i said softly, “do you have things i do that make you feel loved?”

He was quiet for a second. Not awkward — just thinking. Then he looked down at me, the corners of his mouth lifting like he was amused by the question i just asked him.

“I don’t think i could list anything specific,” he said. “It’s more like… when you’re there, i feel it. That’s enough. You walk into a room, and suddenly the room gets easier to be in.”

I smiled, heart keeps fluttering with something i couldn’t name. But then, Miro—predictably—couldn’t resist adding, “Bet you can’t list mine either.”

And that’s when it happened.

The breeze stilled.

Time, like an obedient servant, paused just long enough for my gaze to settle on him —really settle. My mind raced, yet everything softened. The hill felt quieter. The sky turned a little dreamier. And my own heart, however, didn’t quiet — it recited.

One — the way he calls me with sweet little nickname; love, sweetheart, pineapple, or whatever future miro will call me.

Two — when he squeezes my cheeks like it's a stressball, i hope it does lighten his day.

Three — how he always keep me updated with what our dearest close friends been up to since i’m not that good keeping up with it.

Four — when he shows up mid-game just to keep me company.

Five — the shampoo and soap, he always tries to smells like me.

Six — when he plays with my hair absentmindedly.

Seven — how he caresses me like i’m one of his fur babies.

Eight — when he makes me my favorite foods or snacks.

Nine — how he sends me links of things that he finds cute.

Ten — when he stays up a little bit late so we can chat more about the day, i like talking with him like he's my world. He is.

Eleven — when he cuddles me so my feet no longer feels cold and i can hear the soft marching of his heartbeat. And he let me have 5 more minutes whenever we wakes up.

Twelve — when he's being all clingy (rare sight, i wish he shows me this side more often? miro, you're a baby)

Thirteen — how he always feeds me the first bite so he can see whether i like the food or not.

Fourteen — when he remember stuffs about us.

Fifteen — when he smiles and the world just... stops.

I didn’t say a word. The list stayed stitched inside my chest like a secret poem written in gold thread. The world around us softened, blurred. I could hear the rustle of leaves, the distant city hum, but none of it touched me. Not here. Not with him beside me, chewing a sandwich and looking smug.

He looked up, mid-bite, and noticed i hadn’t answered.

“What?” he asked through a mouthful, playful and unaware.

I just smiled. Then slowly, i leaned in.

He froze a little — just a blink, like his brain was still catching up. His big doe-bambi eyes widened. I saw the flicker of thought behind them. Curiosity. Surprise.

And then—

I kissed him.

Soft. Simple. Certain.

It was the kind of kiss that didn’t need permission. The kind that said I see you. I remember everything.

He stilled, then smiled as our lips parted. His sandwich had gone sideways, his free hand hovered midair like it forgot what to do. I laughed against his shoulder, leaning back into him. He didn’t ask what the kiss meant. He didn’t need to.

Some things you don’t say. You just feel them — and hope the other person feels it too.

And sitting there on a sunlit hill with dust on our shoes and juice in the basket and love in my lungs, i knew...

He did.

[eulaab]

Forestkeeper’s Bond: Unforgotten Garden (Sylvaris vol. 3)

Ellie had always found peace in the forest, where her garden bloomed with the dreams she’d held since childhood — the flowers, herbs, and trees she had once imagined into life. It was her sanctuary, a place where time moved gently and the world softened. But recently, something felt off. The plants, once vibrant under her care, had started to struggle. Their leaves drooped, the colors dulled, and no matter what she did, nothing seemed to bring them back to life.

Even the wind had changed. It still felt... alive. Restless. It whispered in a way that sent shivers through her, as if it carried voices she hadn’t heard in years. Familiar voices.

Her brothers.

Souta and Kaito.

Though they were gone like years ago, Ellie sounded a bit lost because she thought her yearning feeling getting out of hand. Their laughter, their warmth — it came to her on the breeze. Her heart ached with the longing to see them again, to feel that presence that once made her world whole. The garden’s fading, the wind’s sudden voice — none of it made sense. But the feeling somehow grew stronger.

Despite of that, the wind made her thinking what's so wrong with her dull garden so she sat beneath the old tree, her back pressed to the worn bark, where the grooves had always curved to fit her spine just so. The sunlight slipped through the branches, soft and golden, brushing against her skin like memory. The garden lay still around her, caught in that hush between morning and noon. She let out a quiet breath and closed her eyes — just for a moment, not to sleep, only to rest.

A tap landed gently on her shoulder.

“Aeri,” a voice chimed, light and teasing, her childhood name. “We’re supposed to do the garden, did you fall asleep?”

She opened her eyes.

There stood Kaito, older than he had been the last time she saw him — taller now, broader in the shoulders, but with that same crooked grin that always pulled laughter from her chest. His hands were smudged with dirt, a flower tucked behind his ear.

“You always wanted to do this together,” he added, eyes glinting with boyish mischief.

Before she could respond, another figure stepped into view.

Souta.

He looked older too, though the calm in his expression hadn’t changed. He knelt beside her, placing a small wooden basket full of cuttings and seeds between them. “Don’t mind Kaito,” he said gently, the corner of his mouth lifting. “You know how he gets. But he’s right. We promised, didn’t we?”

Ellie blinked, her throat catching on something too soft to name. It should’ve felt like a dream — some distant, imagined scene stirred up from longing — but it didn’t. It felt real. Solid. Right.

They worked in silence and laughter, falling into a rhythm only siblings could know. Ellie’s heart soaked in every second, like the soil drank the sun. And then—

“Lunch is ready!” a familiar voice rang out from the edge of the garden.

She turned.

Their mother stood just beyond the tall grass, her hands cupped around her mouth, eyes warm with amusement. Behind her, their father stood quietly, arms crossed, a knowing smile resting on his face.

Kaito let out a dramatic groan. “Already? But I was just about to revolutionize this flowerbed!”

Souta chuckled under his breath, brushing the dirt from his palms. “You say that every time.”

Ellie rose to her feet slowly, her fingers tingling from the soil, from the stillness, from the joy of it all — and for a moment, time bent gently around her.

This was hers.

Before they could go inside at their mother’s call, Souta and Kaito turned to her. Their eyes softened as they looked at her before pulling her into their arms. And for the first time in years, she let herself sink into their warmth.

Souta held her protectively. “It’s not your fault, will never be your fault, Aeri.” He said, his voice gentle and firm. “We’re happy we could save you, there's no need to carry the weight alone anymore.”

Kaito took her hand and squeezed it. “We will always be your coolest knight. You have to be happy.” But his voice suddenly broke, as though swallowed by the wind. His lips moved, but no sound followed.

“Kai?” she asked, stepping toward him. But he only smiled faintly now, that quiet warning left hanging in the air like a half-finished song.

She woke from the dream sobbing — not from pain, but from something finally lifted. The weight she had carried for so long had softened. The tears weren’t heavy; they were healing. Outside, the wind stirred through the garden — gentler now, like a quiet promise. She felt it: her brothers were still with her.

Then the garden stirred.

Ellie blinked as the wilted flowers lifted their heads, vines stretching toward the sky. Leaves brightened, buds bloomed. The garden breathed again, as if awakened by her release. She dropped to her knees, fingers brushing petals warm with life. The love she’d longed for had never truly left — it had just been waiting, buried beneath sorrow and silence. The wind passed through again, carrying with it the softest whisper. And for a fleeting second, Ellie heard them —Souta and Kaito— laughing, calling, loving.

They were here.

And in this garden, she was never alone again.

[eulaab]

The Path Ahead: Petaled Memory (ofNE vol. 2)

The dream clung to me like cobweb silk — fine, almost weightless, yet impossible to shake. I woke this morning, gasping for another supply of oxygen heavily as if i just had forgotten how to breathe. My sheets were tangled, half-kicked to the floor. The ceiling above me was blank, yet it held the shape of something — a memory, or a warning — that refused to be named

Today was a free day. The calendar said so in small, innocent print, as if that meant anything anymore.

In the dorms, holidays are just regular days stripped of their obligations. The halls are quieter, the windows open wider. The light moves slower, like it’s hesitant to commit. So, i think it'd be a good ordinary free day if i just feed every cat i met. A silly vow — grounding, harmless, and in its own small way, defiant.

But the dream keeps walking ahead of me, a few paces out of reach.

It wasn’t a dream that unraveled like stories do — no plot, no faces i could name. Just a strange crowd, staring at the ceiling, unmoving. The kind of silence that isn't peaceful, but paralyzing. The kind that presses against your skin and whispers that something is deeply, terribly wrong.

I couldn’t say what had been lost in that dream, or who. Only that something vital had been taken — and that absence was the loudest thing of all.

The school had looked the same in the dream. The same stones, the same arches, even the familiar scratch of the clock’s hand sweeping past the hour.

But it had no pulse.

Prim — or Briar, or whatever truth she’s hiding behind that frost-bitten voice — she’d been the crack in the pattern. The first lie wearing a familiar face.

And couldn't stop thinking about the dream, "what if it wasn't a dream but a war... —warning? Or probably a message?"

I didn’t tell anyone, of course. Not about the dream. Not about the quiet panic that now laces everything familiar. I keep it stitched inside, the way people tuck letters into drawers they’re too afraid to read again.

Met the furries i have been fed for a few days, they run once they heard their favorite sound — foods. Today, the orange one by the window didn’t complain. Just watched me — slow-blinking, ancient — as if i’d finally begun asking the right question. He pressed his head into my palm once and then vanished into shadow like he’d never been there.

I lingered.

The world feels… a bit off like it's altered. Like it’s holding its breath. The air tastes too clean, the corners of rooms too sharp. I startle at voices i should recognize, and flinch at footsteps i used to find comforting. As if something beneath the surface has shifted — just slightly — and i’m the only one who noticed the seams splitting.

The dream wants something. Not just to haunt. To reveal.

It left behind a word, i think. Just one. Whispered through silence, written between walls, pulsing behind eyes that don't quite meet mine anymore.

Remember? Memories?

Am i supposed to rememeber something? Memories i had forgotten?

[eulaab]

Fractured Fate: Flickering Name (ofNE vol. 1)

The day was bright, and the exam proceeded as usual. It was quiet, and everyone was busy with their own answers. Ellie had felt something was wrong with her stomach even before entering the classroom — she couldn't remember eating anything stale or whether she had forgotten  drinking a milk again this morning — she was sweating coldly, her hands gripping the skirt she was wearing and it stopped her within the first fifteen minutes of the exam. After explaining her situation and getting permission, Ellie left the classroom, intending to find Prim to ask where she could get some medicine before returning to the dorm.

However, even before her steps could take her to the room, her vision blurred for a moment, and a sharp cramp made her stop mid-step, hand clutching her side. The hallway stretched before her — quiet, echoing only with the faint ticking of the wall clock and the occasional cough from a nearby classroom. Ellie leaned against the cool stone wall, steadying her breath.

She met Prim halfway down the corridor,

at first, Ellie felt a wave of relief — the familiar swish of Prim’s robes, the confident stride, but this time, her smile was nowhere to be found — no trace of a flower just beginning to bloom. Her eyes, usually so warm and full of knowing mischief, were unreadable. Distant and cold. Her shoulders stiff, as though carrying a weight Ellie couldn’t see. Something about her felt… a bit off. Tired, she thought, silencing the voices in her head.

“Prim,” Ellie called out, softly.

Prim stopped but didn’t smile. Her gaze met Ellie’s, sharp and hollow, and her voice came out cool — almost clipped.

“You shouldn’t be walking around like this,” the woman said. Her voice was quiet, but it carried no concern — just observation.

Ellie blinked. “I was looking for you. My stomach hurts, and i thought you’d know where the medicine is. Just like that day you showed me around the school for the first time, you said it was in that drawer—”

The woman tilted her head slightly. “I told you that, yes. But you must be confusing me with someone else.”

Ellie frowned. “Prim…”

“I’m not Prim,” she said evenly. “I’m Briar if you forgot.”

The silence between them stretched, thick and surreal.

“What do you mean?” Ellie’s voice faltered. “Of course you’re Prim. You introduced yourself as Prim and you have dragon.”

Briar’s expression didn’t change. “I’ve never answered to that name. And if someone named Prim told you where the medicine was… maybe you should ask who she really was.”

A chill crept up Ellie’s spine.

“But you look like her. You even speak like her.”

“No,” Briar said, taking a step closer. “I look like me. It’s not my fault if you remember someone else’s kindness and painted it on my face.”

Ellie stared, the ache in her stomach nearly forgotten. “But — how is that even—”

Prim's, or now Briar’s voice cut through the haze like a blade.

“So, do you want the medicine or not? I have so much work to do, and you need to rest after — look at that cold sweat.”

Ellie flinched at the sudden sharpness. The tone was nothing like Prim’s gentle nudges or half-teasing concern. This was clinical, impatient, as though tending to her was more obligation than care.

“I… yeah,” Ellie murmured, her voice small. “Sorry.”

Briar didn’t reply. She turned briskly on her heel and started walking, expecting Ellie to follow without another word. Her strides were quick, efficient — too fast for Ellie’s aching body to match comfortably. Still, she followed, one hand pressed lightly against her side.

They turned a corner, the stone walls colder here, dimmer, like they hadn’t been touched by sunlight in days.

“I didn’t mean to bother you,” Ellie tried again, voice a little steadier this time. “It’s just... you look and sound exactly like her...”

Briar didn’t stop walking. “I don't know who she is but okay.”

It wasn’t the answer Ellie expected. Something about it felt rehearsed.

They arrived at a infirmary where a medium-sized drawer stood, tucked beside an old tapestry. Briar opened the drawer with practiced ease, pulled out a small glass vial, and handed it over without looking her in the eye.

“Drink half now. The rest before bed,” she said flatly.

Ellie took the vial, fingers brushing Briar’s for the briefest second. Cold.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

Briar finally looked at her, but the expression wasn’t relief or recognition — it was something unreadable, a puzzle with the wrong pieces. “Don’t get used to it.”

Then she turned and walked away, robes swaying sharply behind her.

Ellie stood there for a moment, the vial in her hand, heart pounding with something she couldn’t name. Not fear. That wasn’t how Prim talked. That wasn’t how she looked at her.

So who—or what—had she just spoken to?

[eulaab]

The Trial of the Whispering Grove: A Descent into Guilt (Sylvaris vol. 2)

Ellie, now a Bloomtender of the Verdant Grove, stood in the heart of Sylvaris, her new home. The realm pulsed with life — trees glowing with an otherworldly light, flowers humming softly, and a sky painted with colors that shimmered like a dream. The magic of the forest thrummed in her veins, a constant reminder of the oath she had taken. But the forest had spoken: her initiation was incomplete. A sacred trial awaited her, a test to prove her worth as a Bloomtender. The path was uncertain, but she knew the forest never gave trials without purpose. She stepped forward, her bare feet sinking into the mossy earth, and let the land guide her.

The forest led her to a clearing where the air felt thick with an unspoken weight. At its center stood an ancient tree, its gnarled trunk wide and imposing, its branches stretching upward like a cathedral of leaves. The tree’s roots glowed with a faint green light, and Ellie felt a pull deep in her chest, as if the tree was whispering her name. The wind stirred, carrying the scent of rain and earth, and the leaves rustled with a message: ‘Prove yourself, Bloomtender. Face the trial of the Whispering Grove.’

The trial began with a sudden shift in the air. The clearing darkened, the vibrant colors of Sylvaris fading into a cold, muted gray. The ancient tree’s roots writhed, rising from the ground like living tendrils, and the earth beneath Ellie’s feet trembled. A voice — not heard, but felt — echoed through her mind: ‘To nurture life, you must first face death. To heal, you must first break. What are you willing to lose, Ellie?’

Before she could answer, the roots surged toward her, wrapping around her ankles with a bruising grip. She gasped, clawing at the soil as they pulled her down into the earth. The world above vanished, and she was dragged into darkness, the air growing colder with every passing second. The scent of blood filled her nostrils — a visceral memory of the car crash that had stolen her brothers. The forest was unearthing her deepest pain, forcing her to confront the grief she had buried for years.

She landed in a cavern beneath the tree, its walls lined with glowing fungi that cast a sickly light. The roots released her, and she stumbled to her feet, her chest tight with panic. Before her lay a pool of water, its surface as still as a mirror, reflecting not her face but the faces of her parents. Their expressions were cold, their eyes piercing with accusation. Their voices cut through the silence, sharp and unrelenting: ‘Why did you survive, Ellie? Why did our boys have to die? You were supposed to protect them. You failed us.’

Ellie’s knees buckled, her breath hitching as their words sliced into her. She had spent years running from this guilt, hiding in the mountains to escape the weight of their loss. But now, her parents’ voices echoed the thoughts she had never dared to speak aloud. Tears streamed down her face as she whispered, “I didn’t mean to… i didn’t know…” But her words were swallowed by the cavern’s oppressive silence.

The pool of water began to ripple, its surface churning violently. Before Ellie could react, the water surged upward, tendrils of liquid wrapping around her like icy hands. She screamed as the pool swallowed her whole, pulling her under its surface. She thrashed, her lungs burning as she was submerged in a flood of memories — memories of her brothers that she couldn’t fully grasp. Fragmented images flashed before her eyes: their laughter as they played in the backyard, the warmth of their hugs, the way they’d looked at her with trust. But the memories were incomplete, distorted by time and trauma. She couldn’t remember their voices, the exact shade of their eyes, the last words they’d said to her before the crash. The realization hit her like a tidal wave: she was losing them all over again.

The water pressed in on her, filling her lungs with the metallic taste of blood and the bitter sting of guilt. She saw the crash in vivid detail — the hum of the car, Tokyo’s skyline blurring past, then the screeching tires, the blinding headlights, the deafening impact. Butterflies and swirling leaves drifted through the chaos, a surreal contrast to the horror, but they couldn’t save her from the memory of her brothers’ lifeless bodies beside her. She had survived, but at what cost? The guilt was suffocating, dragging her deeper into the pool’s depths. ‘You don’t deserve to be here’ — her parents’ voices hissed, their words echoing in the water. ‘You let them die. You’ll let the forest die too.’

Ellie’s vision blurred, her strength fading as the memories drowned her. She was sinking, her body heavy with the weight of her failures. But then, a faint pulse of warmth broke through the cold — a whisper from the forest. The fungi on the cavern walls pulsed with light, and the air hummed with a gentle, grounding energy. ‘Feel the land, Bloomtender. Let it guide you.’ The voice of Sylvaris Forest was soft but insistent, a lifeline in the darkness.

She reached for that warmth, her fingers trembling as she clung to the forest’s presence. She felt the heartbeat of Sylvaris, the life that flowed through every root and leaf. She felt the ancient tree above, its roots a symbol of resilience. And she felt her own connection to nature, the bond that had always been her refuge. The forest was reminding her of who she was — not a failure, but a Bloomtender, chosen to nurture and protect.

With a surge of determination, Ellie kicked against the water, fighting her way to the surface. The memories still clawed at her, but she refused to let them win. She broke through the pool’s surface, gasping for air, and the water released her, receding back into stillness. She collapsed onto the cavern floor, her body trembling, her face streaked with tears. The faces of her parents still lingered in the pool, but their expressions had softened, their voices quieter now — “We loved you, Ellie. We still do. But you have to let us go.”

Ellie’s chest heaved as she sobbed, the weight of her guilt finally spilling out. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice raw. “I couldn’t save them. But i can save this grove. I can honor them by living — by protecting what they loved.” As she spoke, the vines along the cavern walls began to move, wrapping around the pool and sealing it shut. The faces of her parents faded, their voices replaced by a gentle whisper, ‘We’re proud of you, Ellie. Be free.’

The cavern brightened, and the roots of the ancient tree lifted Ellie back to the surface. The clearing was vibrant once more, the colors of Sylvaris more radiant than ever. The ancient tree’s branches swayed, and the wind carried a new message: ‘You have faced death and emerged whole. You have healed by breaking. You are worthy, Bloomtender.’

She fell to her knees, her body shaking with the aftershocks of the trial. The guilt that had drowned her for years had finally been released, leaving her raw but lighter. She felt the magic of Sylvaris flow through her, stronger than ever, and she knew she had grown from this journey. The forest had forced her to confront her deepest pain, but it had also guided her, showing her that she was more than her failures.

As she stood, the forest around her shimmered with a new energy. The ground beneath her feet began to glow, and from the mossy earth, four-leaf clovers sprouted in abundance, their delicate green leaves unfurling as far as the eye could see. They filled the clearing, a sea of emerald hope, each clover a symbol of the luck and renewal Ellie had earned through her trial. The forest was celebrating her triumph, blessing her with a sign of the life she was now tasked to nurture. Ellie wiped her tears, a shaky smile breaking through her grief. She was home, and she was ready to take her place among the chosen.

{...} crafted March 29th, 2025 by Eula.

[eulaab]

Whispers of a Moonleaf (Sylvaris vol. 1)

Ellie always found solace in the mountains, returning to familiar trails when life felt overwhelming. Hiking had always been her remedy. But today feels different—a lingering dream tugs at her mind. A memory resurfaces. The hum of the car, Tokyo’s skyline, then—screeching tires, flashing headlights, a deafening crash. When the silence fell, all she saw were butterflies and swirling leaves drifting through the metallic scent of blood, as if they had healed her before a heavy drowsiness pulled her into darkness.

After years of reliving the same dream, she finally understood — that was the day she realized there's something more within her. The memory of losing her beloved brothers weighed heavy on her heart, but nature’s embrace had been her refuge ever since.

The afternoon sun cast golden streaks through the trees as she climbed, but something about the air felt different today — charged, expectant. The leaves rustled with a whisper she almost understood, and the wind carried a scent of earth and rain, though no storm was near.

Halfway up the trail, a sudden weight landed atop her head. She startles as a squirrel clambers down her shoulder, “You almost make my heart fall!” Her laughs fill the forest as she sees its eyes fixed on hers with an uncanny intelligence. It wants her to follow. This isn’t unusual for Ellie, who has always shared an unspoken connection with nature. But when a gentle twirl of leaves stirs at her feet —power not her own— hesitation grips her. Something, or someone, is speaking her language in a way she’s never encountered before.

Curious, Ellie trailed behind the creature as it wove effortlessly through the forest, the world around them shifting in subtle ways. Leaves played at her feet, vines seemed to part in silent invitation, and flowers bloomed in their wake. With each step, the air thickened with something ancient and knowing, guiding her deeper into the unknown until, at last, they arrived before the mouth of a cave. It was neither dark nor foreboding, but waiting, as if it had always been meant for her to find.

At its face, carved into the stone, a glowing symbol pulsed with quiet power; a full moon encircled by shifting lunar phases, as if frozen in motion. The very air around it seemed alive, humming with a presence she could feel beneath her skin. Then, the wind stirred, rushing past her like a whispered secret. And beneath her fingertips, the carving spoke — not in words, but in a language she had always understood. It was an oath, a choice, an unbroken promise woven into the heart of the forest itself.

She didn’t hesitate. She spoke, sealing the vow with her own soul, “I, Eulalie Aeri, Bloomtender of the Verdant Grove of Sylvaris, stand before the sacred flame. With nature as my witness and fate as my guide, I release my past and embrace my future. As the night sky holds the stars, so too does Sylvaris hold my soul. I take my place among the chosen.” The world trembled in response. Light enveloped her, bending the air like ripples on water. The cave dissolved into something new, revealing a realm beyond anything she had ever known. A land where magic wove through every leaf, where nature itself breathed. It was more than a place — it was a home she had never known she was missing.

ᅠᅠ ᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠ

𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘸...

𝘚𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦.

ᅠᅠ ᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠᅠ