Sunlight filtered through gauzy curtains, catching on the silver runes carved into the walls. Across the room, the canopy of his bed shimmered like woven starlight, threads of gold catching where they pleased. A cloak lay draped over a chair, carelessly abandoned, the deep blue of it marked with his family’s crest, a star caught in flame.

The scent of cedar smoke lingered in the corners. Somewhere beyond the balcony, morning birds sang. 

Torren exhaled softly, the sound almost lost in the quiet hum of his chamber. The air here carried a different kind of weight. He stood still for a heartbeat longer, letting his body remember what it felt like to be home. The mirror behind him shimmered once, then dulled to a simple reflection.

He sighed then finally released the glamour on his appearance. It fell away like mist. Dark hair paled into the sheen of fresh snow, spilling to his shoulders. His eyes brightened, gold flooding in to replace the muted gray of his Earth disguise. The star-shaped sigil on his neck caught the light and pulsed faintly, as if recognizing the Realm again.

A smile touched his lips—tired, but real. Maintaining a mortal form always felt like holding his breath underwater. Now, at last, he could breathe.

He tugged off the shirt and jeans and crossed to his wardrobe. The carved doors opened with a soft sigh, releasing the scent of old wood and divine silk. His fingers brushed over the rows of garments before he chose one—white and gold, the familiar fabric smooth beneath his touch.

The robes flowed over his frame, catching the light from the balcony, and for a fleeting moment, he almost looked like what the people knew him to be: the son of a goddess.

Torren paused before the tall mirror, tilting his head slightly. The golden embroidery along his collar caught the light just right, and the sash sat neatly where it should. Good enough. He didn’t have time to fuss when his mind was already half back on Earth.

Rein and Lucy’s faces flickered through his thoughts, grounding him. He’d be gone again by morning the next day. This visit was necessary, but every second here, away from them stretched too long.

He turned and pushed the double doors open. They gave way and warm noon light poured into the hall.

The corridor stretched ahead, vast and quiet, its walls lined with pale stone that shimmered faintly. Slender columns rose toward the vaulted ceiling, wrapped in climbing vines that bloomed with gold-veined petals. The air smelled faintly of lilies and old magic. His footsteps echoed softly on the polished floor, the sound swallowed by the vastness.

He passed only a handful of people—servants and attendants in flowing robes, their arms full of scrolls or trays of fruit. Each one froze when they saw him, surprise flashing across their faces before they bowed deeply. “My prince,” they murmured, voices hushed. 

Torren nodded faintly, offering a polite smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He didn’t stop.

It was noon. His mother would be in the temple, as she always was at this hour—wrapped in prayer or power, he could never tell which. The sunlight streaming through the crystal windows as he hurried down the hallway. 

                               ____________

The temple loomed ahead, carved into the heart of the mountain itself, its spires catching and scattering sunlight like crystal. The great doors opened soundlessly as Torren approached. 

Two figures waited within the threshold—his mother’s followers, both robed in gold. The color marked them as Heavenborn, her chosen, children of divine lineage.

“Prince Teralion,” one greeted warmly. Torren cringed at the use of his full name but said nothing. “The goddess awaits you.”

Neither looked surprised, which was somehow worse. Their smiles carried that familiar glint of knowing—serene, the same one everyone here wore. Torren sighed under his breath and rolled his eyes. “Of course she does,” he muttered, but they only smiled wider, as if amused by his impatience.

They turned and began down the aisle. Torren followed. 

The corridor was vast, its walls alive with shifting light. Murals stretched across every surface—constellations painted in molten gold, scenes of creation and storm and starlight that seemed to breathe. The air thrummed faintly with divine power, the kind that pressed gently at the ribs, reminding mortals to bow.

Pillars of translucent quartz rose like frozen fire, their cores pulsing with slow light. Between them, shallow pools of water reflected the ceiling’s ever-moving stars, making it seem as though they were walking through the sky itself.

At the far end of the temple, past the last pair of columns, the air grew warmer. The scent of incense hung heavy, curling in slow spirals toward the dais.

And there she was.

His mother.

She sat upon the high dais, half-bathed in sunlight. The silken veil that draped over her shoulders shimmered like liquid gold, moving with a life of its own. Her hair fell in long waves of silver-white, and though her eyes were closed, the air itself seemed to bend toward her, worshipping her. 

Torren had seen her a thousand times before she is his mother afterall, yet every time it was like walking into the heart of a star. Beautiful, yes—but unbearably bright

Her eyes opened, light flaring briefly around her. For a moment, she simply stared. Surprise flickered across her perfect features—the faintest crease of her brow, a soft widening of her eyes.

“Teralion,” she breathed, and for all her divinity, the sound was purely human.

Before he could bow or speak, she crossed the dais in a sweep of gold and silk, gathering him into her arms. He melted into the embrace of his mother. Her scent was warm and familiar.

“My son,” she murmured, one hand cradling the back of his head. “You didn’t say you’d return today.”

“I didn’t plan to,” he admitted against her shoulder, his voice low. “But I needed to see you.”

When she finally drew back, her eyes lingered on his face as though memorizing it. She gave a soft, knowing smile and nodded toward her attendants. The two followers bowed and retreated in silence. 

Once they were alone, the temple felt quieter, the divine hum softening to something more intimate.

“So,” she said, her tone gentler now. “How fares your mission? Have you found the other Pillars?”

At that, Torren’s face lit up, firm features melting away. “I've found two of them!” he said quickly, the excitement bubbling through his words. “Rein and Lucy—they’re amazing, Mother, you’d love them. Rein’s—he’s so cute, I swear, he just doesn't realize how cute he is sometimes—” He stopped, laughing at himself. “And Lucy—they’re ridiculous. The way they talk, but they're so, so.....bright—”

His words tumbled over each other in a rush of fondness. “If anything happens to them, I’ll— I don’t know—kill everyone then myself!”

He realized too late how serious he sounded. His cheeks flushed pink, and he rubbed the back of his neck, mumbling, “You know… figuratively.”

His mother’s laughter filled the temple, soft and bright. “Ah, my son. So dramatic.” She reached out, brushing his cheek with her thumb. “You speak of them with such adoration.”

Torren turned redder, ducking his head. 

Her smile faded just a little as she studied him. “And the fourth?”

It was like the light dimmed slightly. Torren’s grin faltered. “I haven’t found him,” he said quietly. “I can’t even feel him. It’s like—like he’s not there.” He swallowed. “What if I’m too late? What if Naru’s followers already got to him?”

The goddess’ expression softened. She laid her hand against his heart, her touch calm.

She shook her head. "Naru's followers might be at large here in Xerons, but they haven't found a way to get to earth yet, your beloveds are safe."

Torren hesitated. "But-"

“And if that were true,” she said, her voice firm, “we would know. The gods would stir. The balance would shift. And most importantly, you would know.”

Torren searched her face, the calm in her eyes anchoring him. After a long pause, he nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he murmured. “You’re right.”

His mother’s hand slipped into his, gentle but sure. “Come,” she said softly.

She led him to a cushioned seat curved beneath the arched window, draped in pale silks that shimmered like water. Beyond the glass, the Realm stretched out in all its impossible beauty—fields of silver grass, rivers that glittered with starlight. It should have been peaceful.

Torren only felt the weight in his chest.

They sat, the goddess graceful even in stillness. She turned toward him, her golden eyes calm. “Now,” she said quietly. “Tell me the real reason you’ve come. You would not leave your beloveds alone if it weren’t urgent.”

Torren stared out the window for a long moment, his reflection flickering faintly in the glass. He exhaled slowly. “You were right,” he said at last. “About what you and the other gods suspected—one of the Pillars being a Fateborn.”

She tilted her head, her eyes widening. “Yes?”

“Except… it’s not one of the Pillars.” His gaze dropped to his hands. “It’s a Pillar’s brother. Rein’s brother.”

For a moment, neither spoke. 

Her brows knit delicately. “Are you certain of this?”

Torren nodded. “Yes.....He has already come into his powers.” He paused. “It shouldn’t be possible, a Fateborn born outside of Xerons.”

“Born outside?” she echoed softly. “Oh, Teralion you know that's not true. They're much apart of this realm as you are.”

She reached out, smoothing a hand over his hair the way she had when he was small, her touch warm and grounding.

“You forget,” she murmured, “your beloveds were born here. All three of them. Rein, Lucy…the fourth and even Damian."

He already knew that—had been raised on the knowledge, trained his entire life with it heavy in his bones. But hearing her say it now, when he was carrying fear instead of duty, struck differently.

“They were only sent away to protect them,” she continued. “You know this. We all knew Naru’s followers would search for them after the prophecy. Sending the children to the mortal world was the only way to keep them hidden… and alive.” she swallowed."You were the only one left here because you were my child."

The mention of the prophecy still made something cold unfurl beneath his ribs. Two pillars would lead to Naru’s rise, two other to Naru’s downfall. They had never known which was which.

He had grown up preparing to find them all. To guard them. To love them before he even understood what love meant.

His mother’s hand slid from his hair to his cheek. “My son,” she whispered. “You were raised with their names on your tongue and their fates in your palms. You know the story better than any of us.”

A sad smile tugged at her lips.

“But stories grow teeth when they begin to come true.”

Torren swallowed hard.

“But the prophecy never mentioned a Fateborn—” he began.

“It didn’t,” she agreed quietly. “Which is why what you’re telling me… changes everything.”

Then she added, almost too softly:

“The children were sent away to keep them safe from prophecy. But you know as well as I do—destiny has an irritating way of following those she has chosen anyway.”

Torren let out a shaky breath. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I know.”

Her fingers slid from his cheek to cup his face fully, warm palms cradling him.

“Teralion,” she murmured, her eyes softening, “my bright star… do not carry this fear alone.”

Torren tried to hold her gaze, but the worry in him was too loud. “But Mother—if what your saying is true, then I need to do something. I should—”

She shook her head gently. “No. This is not yours to unravel.”

Torren blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she said, voice firm, “that I will handle it.”

There was something in her tone—quiet, resolute. Something he wasn’t used to hearing from her, because she rarely spoke in absolutes.

“Handle… what, exactly?” Torren asked, a crease forming between his brows. “Mother, you’re worrying me.”

She only smiled, brushing a stray white strand behind his ear. “You always worry. It means your heart is good.” Her hands slid from his cheeks, falling to her lap. “You need not understand right now. Some truths burden more than they guide.”

He opened his mouth, ready to argue—but she stood before he could speak. She placed one hand atop his head, tender and blessing-like.

“All you must do,” she said gently, “is trust me.”

Torren stared up at her, frustration mixing with the lingering warmth of her touch. “But—”

“Enough.” She tapped his forehead lightly. “Go, Teralion. The temple springs are waiting. Pray for your beloveds. Pray for insight. And pray that the last Pillar reveals themselves in time.”

Torren hesitated, torn between obedience and worry. “Promise,” he whispered. “Promise you’ll tell me if something is wrong.”

Her smile was soft and just a little sad. “I promise I will take care of it.”

It wasn’t the same thing.

But Torren let her guide him to his feet.

“Go,” she murmured again, ushering him gently toward the temple’s side corridor. “Before your thoughts drown you. The springs calm what the mind tangles.”

Reluctantly, he bowed and walked away, robes whispering along the quartz floor. He didn’t see her exhale—didn’t see the brief flicker of shadow pass over her golden eyes.

He disappeared around the corner.

Silence. 

Then a voice, smooth as water, drifted from the darkness behind the dais:

“You should tell him.”

The shadows rippled—unfurling like ink spreading through clear water—until a tall figure stepped forward.

Antlers of silver branches curled from his head like living sculpture, leaves shimmering faintly along their edges. His eyes glowed the deep green of ancient forests. 

The Fey god.

Lord of the Feyborns. 

He stood beside her with the ease, hands clasped behind his back.

“His world is about to shift beneath his feet,” he said. “He deserves to know.”

The goddess didn’t look at him. She stared at the doorway where Torren had vanished.

“And worry him more?” she said softly. “No. He worries enough.”

The Fey God’s jaw tightened. “Naru’s followers are not hiding anymore. They roam the Realm freely… and they grow stronger.”

“I know.”

“Then why keep him blind?” His voice held a rare edge. “He is the Realm’s Shield. He must be ready.”

“He must ready,” she answered. “But he is also my son.”

He studied her for a long moment, the leaves in his antlers rustling though no wind touched them.

“He cannot be protected from prophecy, none of them can," he murmured. “They can only be prepared.”

Her smile was brittle. “Then let him pray a little longer.”