Morning light spilled through sheer curtains dancing across polished floors and carved stone.
Liora stirred slowly, disoriented by the softness of the silk sheets and the faint scent of lavender in the air.
She blinked. Home.
A knock came at the door—light, yet firm.
"Come in," she called, her voice still soft from sleep.
The door creaked open. Her father stepped in, beaming, arms open like a man who had waited years for this moment.
"There's my girl," he said, his voice warm and bright. "You slept well, I hope?"
She nodded, smiling faintly. "Yeah. It felt... weird."
"Weird is good," he said, approaching and gently brushing a hand over her hair like he used to when she was small. "The kitchen's already working on sweetberry pie and your favorite tea."
He watched her closely. She looked stronger than before, but still fragile. Bruised in spirit.
She hesitated, then asked, "Where's Lif?"
The king's smile didn't waver, but there was a subtle pause.
"He left last night," he said, as casually as one might say the rain passed. "Said he needed to be somewhere."
Liora's expression fell.
---
The Night Before
Moonlight spilled onto the marble balcony. The air was sharp and quiet, and Liora stood close to Lif as the wind rustled his hood.
"You don't have to leave so soon," she said. "You could stay for a while. Just rest."
He didn't look at her, just kept staring out over the city, where stars reflected faintly in the rooftops.
"I don't belong in places like this," he said.
"That doesn't mean you should leave…," she said. "Just…." She shuts herself up before she can say it.
He turned to her then. "I have to go to Kathelyn. I gotta catch up with Rael and Sela, and that girl—whatever her name was."
There was a pause. She looked down. "I understand."
"I know you do."
They stood in silence, shoulder to shoulder.
"Will I see you again?" she asked.
"Obviously," he said...
---
The Present
Liora followed her father through the kingdom's bustling streets. People waved and bowed. The king greeted every single one with a name and a smile.
"Your Majesty, you remember me?" asked a baker's daughter shyly.
"Of course I do, Jena," the king replied, crouching to eye level. "Still sneaking sugar buns when your father isn't looking?"
The girl giggled.
They passed through a marketplace alive with color, vendors offering fruits, flowers, and tiny carved figurines.
Liora walked quietly beside her father, watching. Everyone adored him. Children ran to him. Elders blessed him.
But the longer she watched, the more she noticed—how no one ever hesitated. No one ever looked him in the eye for too long. Smiles came quickly, but left just as fast.
Her hand brushed the folds of her sleeve, where her fingers curled slightly. Her father noticed.
"You okay?"
"I missed this," she said.
He gave her a soft look. "I missed you more than words allow."
They entered the great city library—not the royal one, but the older, public one. The walls were overgrown with ivy and the door creaked like an old story being opened again.
Inside, the scent of leather and old wood filled the air. Liora ran her fingers along the shelves, remembering how she once used to spend hours here, pretending to read while watching scholars debate and children nap in corners.
They settled into a quiet back room, filled with dust and time. The king pulled a thick book from a shelf—The Unmarked: Hollowborn and the Forgotten.
On the cover was a dove inside a grey sigil.
"Ever heard of hollowborns?" he asked.
Liora smiled to herself, but then shook her head gently, "No, what are they?"
The king sat, flipping through yellowed pages. "They're born without a constellation. No stars chose them. No markings. No powers."
"So… they're nothing?"
He tapped a page with the dove. "Some would say that. But others say they're the freest people of all. No star to guide them. No expectations. Just life—however they choose to live it."
She stared at the page, lips parting.
The king went on, his voice like a calm tide. "The world dislikes them, or often look down at them. Because they're just irrelevant. Untethered. But they say the dove symbolizes the peace of that life. Free like a cloud. Hollow… from all expectations."
Liora's chest tightened.
"Did you ever know one?" she asked quietly.
Her father smiled, eyes twinkling. "Oh yes. Several. Most live simply, quietly. But a few… a few shine brighter than the stars that rejected them."
He looked up at her.
"Why do you ask?"
She paused. Then smiled. "Just curious."
As they walked home from the library, Liora looked at her father from the corner of her eye.
"Why do people hate hollowborns so much?" she asked.
"They hate what they don't understand," he replied without missing a beat. "And what they can't control."
He said it kindly.
But in that moment, a sharp breeze passed between them, and something about the way he said control stuck with her.
---
Deep below the palace, Lif sat against the wall, chains cold around his wrists. He looked calm, almost asleep.
But his fingers were twitching faintly. He was breathing through his nose, deeply. Slowly.
Outside the cell, one guard rubbed his arms. "Feels cold in here."
The other nodded. "Feels like my balls are gonna get frostbite," he said, chuckling.
Then they both noticed something odd—the lanterns by the hallway flickered. Not like a gust had passed, but like something had brushed against their very flame.
"Is he even alive?" one muttered, glancing in.
But Lif didn't move. His eyes were closed. Lips barely parted.
Until they noticed the frost climbing the wall behind him.
"Do you see that?"
"Yeah," the other guard said slowly, taking a step back.
"Should we call someone?"
A pause.
Then a whisper.
"No… nothing to worry about."
But in Lif's chains, unseen to them, a faint crack began to spread.
And high above, in the skies of Herene, the clouds began to gather—twisting not with wind, but with will.