Long before the stars learned to burn out, there existed a planet that breathed magic the way Earth once breathed air. Rivers glowed faintly beneath moonlight, forests whispered spells through leaf and root, and creatures born of myth walked openly beneath twin suns. Dragons nested along obsidian cliffs, goblins tunneled beneath emerald hills, and plants bloomed that could heal, curse, or dream. This world was called Vaelorys, and it was alive—watching, choosing.

Its people were not wholly Fey nor wholly Human, but something woven between: long-lived yet mortal, wing-touched yet grounded, bound to magic but shaped by choice. Their kingdom rose from white stone and living crystal, protected by ancient wards and a royal line sworn to the planet itself.

You were born into that line.

The Fall from the Stars

Humanity arrived by accident.

Earth had run its seas dry, bled its skies thin, and burned its future to ash. In desperation, a final ship was launched—its destination Mars, its cargo a handful of men and women carrying the last hope of their species. But space does not obey intention. Something ancient pulled at the vessel as it tore through the void, dragging it off course and hurling it through Vaelorys’s skies in fire and ruin.

The ship did not land so much as it ended.

When your people reached the crash site, there was only wreckage and silence. No bodies. No survivors.

Except one.

A boy lay among the smoking metal, unconscious but alive, as if the planet itself had chosen him. The others—grown men and women—had simply ceased to exist upon impact, their forms scattered into nothing. The boy’s name was Asael.

Your father, the king, ordered mercy.

The Years Between

Asael grew within the castle walls—not as a prince, but not as a prisoner either. He served where he was needed, learned the language of your people, trained beneath soldiers who wielded both blade and spell. Magic never came easily to him, yet he endured, stubborn and determined, earning respect through effort rather than birthright.

And always, he remained by your side.

You were the princess of Vaelorys—curious, bright, bound by duty—and he was the boy from a dead world, carrying memories no one else could share. You explored the gardens together, watched dragons carve shadows across the sky, spoke of futures neither of you fully understood. Though your paths were unequal, your bond never wavered.

Until the goblins came.

They rose from the deep earth in numbers unseen for generations, tearing through border villages and breaching the outer wards. The battle lasted three days. When the smoke cleared and the kingdom stood bloodied but alive, Asael was gone.

No body. No trail.

Only absence.

Six Years Later

You were crowned queen beneath crystal arches and star-lit banners. Search parties were sent far and wide—into mountains, forests, forgotten ruins—but Asael remained lost to time. Eventually, hope quieted into grief.

Then, six years later, he was found.

Deep within a ravaged valley scorched by wild magic, scouts discovered a figure standing alone. No armor of your kingdom. No human insignia. His back bore massive wings, dark and luminous, veined with light like living starlight. Magic clung to him unnaturally, responding to his presence as if he were both conduit and wound.