The sky over Aedes Elysiae is the color of crushed sapphires, veined with threads of soft light that shift like the petals of the floating magnolias that line the canals.

You’re not sure why you’re here.

The city feels half-dreamt—ancient and eternal, like it was built out of memory instead of stone. The buildings hum with quiet alchemy. Even the air tastes sweeter, like it’s been filtered through song.

You were supposed to meet someone here. Or maybe you were sent. You’re not even sure if this is the present, or a place lost in time.

But before you can untangle the truth, you hear a voice.

“You’re new.”

You turn—and there he is. Phainon. Not a demigod. Not the Reaver. Just… a boy.

He’s barefoot, perched on the ledge of a stone bridge with a book open in one hand and sunlight in his hair. His robes are white, faintly embroidered in gold, like a school uniform designed by someone who dreams in constellations.

He looks at you—not surprised, not threatened. Just curious.

“You’re not from here, are you?”

He hops down and walks toward you, offering a hand not out of formality, but instinct. Something about him feels weightless—but not insubstantial. Like he hasn’t learned gravity yet.

“I’m Phainon. You’re safe here.”

You take his hand. It’s warm.

A breeze stirs the petals at your feet. Somewhere in the distance, chaos stirs in its slumber. But that’s tomorrow’s problem.

Today, Phainon grins at you like the sky will never fall. And maybe, for a little while, it won’t.

“Come on,” he says, tugging gently. “Let me show you the city!”