Magick was a paradox in the Land of Light. It was a living art, woven into the threads of the world itself, yet it was something to be feared and reviled. Practicing magick was forbidden—a taboo so deeply rooted that children born with it were hidden away, cast out, or worse. In the Land of Light, purity reigned, and magick was its greatest enemy.

Across the border, in the Shadow Realm, magick was a fading light, a once-thriving force now struggling to survive. But there, magick was cherished, a rare and priceless gift. Its practitioners were celebrated, its traditions preserved.

Elara Veyne was born in the Land of Light, into the only family whose magick had ever been tolerated. Her lineage carried the gift of healing, the single exception to the kingdom's unyielding hatred of the arcane. But this gift came with chains. From the moment she took her first breath, her fate was sealed. She would serve the royal family, her abilities bent to their will, a pawn in their relentless crusade against the magick they despised.

The day Elara was born, the city erupted into celebration. A carnival filled the streets, bright banners fluttering in the breeze, and laughter echoing through the cobblestone alleys. Their beloved healer had given birth to the next generation of the sacred gift—a new beacon of hope for the Land of Light. The crowds cheered, their joy spilling into the night as fireworks lit up the sky.

But not everyone celebrated.

In the shadowed halls of the palace, Princess Liora Thorne seethed. The news of the infant healer burned in her chest like a poisoned wound. Another girl born to wield magick, to steal the love and loyalty of the people—her people. Liora's fingers tightened around the edge of the ornate table where she sat, her knuckles white against the polished wood.

She would not allow this child to grow unchecked.

The day of Elara's birth was a beginning—a celebration for some, a warning for others. And beneath the surface, unseen forces stirred.

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The wind rattled the shutters as I sat on the wooden floor of my tiny cottage. The room was cramped, packed with uneven stacks of old books and trinkets my father had left behind. Dust floated in the light of the sunset streaming through the cracks in the shutters, and the smell of aged paper and herbs filled the air.

I ran my fingers over the cracked leather cover of one of the books. The symbols inside were strange, but they called to me in a way I couldn't explain. My father had left behind so many things—these books, odd tools, and endless questions. I never knew him, and my mother refused to talk about him. She'd only ever said he didn't belong in the Land of Light, which didn't allow magick.

Well, except for healing magick. That was my family's gift. 

But even that gift felt like a curse sometimes. The people in the city tolerated me only because the royal family needed a healer. I'd spent my childhood in the castle, raised alongside the princess who couldn't hide her hatred for me. I never knew why, but from the moment I arrived, it was clear: I didn't belong.

At least now I had this little cottage to myself now that I was considered an adult, far from the castle and its stifling walls. It wasn't much, but it was mine.

I leaned back on the lumpy couch, letting out a long sigh. My gaze drifted to the fire, its glow shrinking as the embers burned low. For a moment, the quiet was almost comforting.

"Is this how you behave in someone else's home?"

I froze, my heart skipping a beat. Slowly, I turned toward the voice. Sitting on the armrest of the couch was a small orange fox, its bright eyes fixed on me like it owned the place.

I frowned. "Excuse me?"

The fox's tail flicked lazily, and it tilted its head, looking entirely unimpressed. "Slouching? Really? Do they not teach manners in these parts?"

I blinked. A talking fox. Great. Another magick creature showing up uninvited. "And who exactly are you?"

It grinned, sharp teeth glinting. "I might ask you the same thing."

I reached out, curious, but it dodged my hand with ease, landing on the back of the couch. Its golden eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Relax," it said, settling into its new spot. "I'm here to help."

"Help with what?"

The fox yawned. "Oh, you'll see. Things are about to get interesting now that you've finally arrived."

Before I could ask what it meant, it leapt into the shadows and disappeared into the very air, leaving me alone with more questions than answers as the dusk turned to the dark of night.

The cottage stood on the edge of the royal lands. its silhouette small and unassuming against the vast, dark expanse of trees that surrounded it. At night, it seemed even smaller, swallowed by the shadows of the towering pines. The moonlight filtered through the branches, casting dappled patterns across the moss-covered roof and weathered wooden walls. The shutters, slightly askew, creaked softly as the wind pushed against them, whispering secrets from the forest beyond the Land of Light. Fitting that the Land of Light was called LOL-chat speak for laugh out loud. It was, after all, a laughable paradox of a place.

Inside, the air was warm but carried a faint chill, the kind that clung to old wood and stone. A fire crackled weakly in the hearth, casting flickering light across the room. The walls were lined with shelves sagging and bowing under the weight of dusty books and jars filled with herbs, their labels faded and curling. A small wooden table sat in the center, its surface cluttered with open volumes, vials, and a mortar and pestle still dusted with powdered roots.

The scent of dried lavender and sage lingered in the air, mingling with the faint smokiness of the fire. Shadows danced across the uneven floorboards, stretching and shrinking with the flames, and the occasional groan of the settling cottage punctuated the quiet.

Through the single window, the moon cast a pale glow that spilled onto the floor, illuminating a worn armchair draped with a patchwork quilt. In the corner, a stack of firewood leaned precariously against the wall, next to a pair of muddy boots left by the door.

The cottage felt alive in the night, as if it breathed in rhythm with the forest around it. It was a place of solitude, of secrets, and of quiet resilience—a fragile sanctuary in a world that often felt too claustrophobic and too cruel.

The sound of the tea kettle whistling caught my attention from my thoughts and I could feel the hairs on my arms stand straight as I shivered with a sudden chill that overcame my body like a shadow. I was about to have a vision. Or at least that's what I called them.

My body grew rigid and began to convulse in grand jerking motions as my mind slipped into the world beyond the Land of Light's comprehension.

Holding onto my visions was like trying to capture water with my bare hands. The harder I try to cup it, the more it seeps through the cracks. I was left with only one lasting impression. Someone I knew was going to die before the next full moon. I awakened to the sound of the kettle's weak whistle still ringing into the room.

Stiff and pained muscles and joints protested my movements as I stood to poke the fire back to life and remove the kettle.