We entered a room at the end of a long, dark corridor, and the only word that came to mind was surreal. The floor beneath us was made of a smooth, obsidian-like material, polished to a mirror finish, but what was truly mesmerizing were the faint constellations and shimmering lone stars embedded within the surface. It was as though we walked on the night sky itself, with galaxies spread at our feet. Above us, the ceiling—or rather the sky—was an endless swirl of nebulae, galaxies, and cosmic clouds, from which threads of light descended like ethereal vines. There were no visible walls, no apparent boundary to the room, and even the entrance we had just passed through was swallowed by the darkness.
"This is where we teach the young ones or come to practice," Elbar said, his voice soft in the overwhelming stillness of the chamber. "The light here is refined, drawn from the very cosmos around us. Using the light outside, or especially in the world of men, is far trickier. The light there is faint, tainted, and we must pour more of ourselves into the creation just to make it stable."
He gestured with his small hands toward the glowing threads descending from the galaxies above. "Light weaving is a gift bestowed upon the Faye alone. No other creature in all creation can wield this power. There are some charlatans, of course, who use trickery or sleight of hand to mimic it, but they are not true light weavers."
He paused, the constellations reflected in his dark eyes, as though they had taken root there. "There are five distinct disciplines of light weaving—well, six, if you count Nocturne Weaving, but that one is forbidden, so we won't be touching it."
I raised an eyebrow but said nothing. I had a feeling that delving into forbidden techniques might not be the wisest path right now.
"Lumen Sculpting is the first and easiest to master. It involves creating inanimate objects. Then, there's Ethereal Weaving, for illusions. They are simple to create but difficult to maintain. Aurora Binding allows us to create energy constructs like shields or barriers, and the difficulty depends on what you're shielding against. Lumen Flora is for organic life, plants and such, and finally, Lumen Animus—the creation of living creatures, though only small things like animals or golems. It’s extremely taxing."
His wings shimmered faintly in the light of the swirling galaxies as he hovered beside me. "So, what do you want me to show you? If you share a memory, I can try to recreate it for you."
I thought for a moment, imagining the possibilities. "You mean anything? Like a sword, a staff, or jewels—even a crown?"
Elbar’s eyes narrowed, the colors in his wings shifting from vibrant blues to pale greens, as though inspecting me for some deeper intent. I realized greed had surged in me, thinking about what I could create with this power. No wonder the Faye feared humans using them for their abilities.
“Nah, crowns and jewels aren’t for me,” I said, laughing nervously. "But... a pillow. I could really use a nice pillow.”
Elbar looked disgusted, his expression twisting as if I had just insulted his very soul. “A pillow? Really? I was hoping to create something unique, not something as boring as that.”
We went back and forth, with me suggesting ideas and Elbar rejecting them all as either too mundane or something he had already crafted. That was, until I mentioned a Whisperwind Cradle, a small box that played music from a cylinder with tiny ridges.
His eyes lit up, shimmering once again with vibrant hues. “Yes! Now that I like!”
I began describing it in more detail. “It’s a small box, with a cylinder inside. It has bumps and ridges that—"
“No, no!” Elbar interrupted, flying over to me. “That’s not going to work. I need to see it for myself. Just think about it—about a time you saw it working.”
He placed his cool, smooth hands on my face, the touch startling me at first. His fingers felt like polished marble, radiating a faint hum of energy. “Yes... that’s it. Think of when you opened it... ah, there it is. I’ve got it!”
Elbar flew back a few feet, his wings now shimmering like the nebulae above us—blues, greens, and streaks of violet blending together. “Lumen Sculpting,” he said, a hint of excitement in his voice. “The weaver gathers beams of moonlight, starlight, or ambient light, shaping it with their hands like soft clay. The purer the light, the easier it is to manipulate.”
He reached up, plucking a tendril of light from a spiraling galaxy above our heads. The tendril twisted in his grasp, as though alive. He pulled at it, molding it between his fingers until it formed a glowing sphere.
“The weaver must mold the light to match the memory,” Elbar continued, his voice calm but focused.
As I watched, the sphere of light in his hands slowly began to take shape, elongating into the familiar form of the Whisperwind Cradle I had once gifted to Myia. The glowing outline of the box appeared, solidifying into something almost tangible, its surface a soft silver light that pulsed gently.
“That’s incredible,” I whispered. "Does it... work?"
Elbar’s wings fluttered with a hint of impatience. “We’re only halfway done. This is still an illusion—a shape made of light. Now we must make it real.”
His expression became serious. “The weaver must infuse a portion of their Elaris into the object to give it permanence. The larger the object, the more of the universe it requires. It’s safe to make small things like this here in the Faye realm because the light is pure. It only takes a sliver of my essence, and I’ll recover what I lose in moments.”
He let the glowing box float in front of him, reaching out and pressing his fingertips to its surface. A faint pulse traveled from his chest, down his arms, and into the cradle. I could almost feel the words—Valaen eirian na sylrel, tharas aen velith—not spoken aloud but resonating in the air around us. There was a soft flash of white, and the box fell gently to the floor, now solid, now real.
The lid opened, and the familiar melody I hadn’t heard in what felt like a lifetime drifted into the air, filling the room with its soft, lilting notes. I couldn’t help but smile, even as my heart ached at the memory.
“It’s... fantastic,” Elbar said, picking up the box and twirling in the air to the music. His small body swayed to the melody as he flew around.
I chuckled. "I’m glad you like it. That was quite a sight to behold. You must be one of the finest Lumen Sculptors in the entire Faye Kingdom.”
Elbar flushed, his face turning a shade of light violet. “I wouldn’t say the best... but I must be up there, for sure.”
"What were those words?" I asked, still trying to wrap my mind around what had just happened. "They weren't really words, more like... something in the wind. It felt like Valaen eirian na sylrel, tharas aen velith. I didn’t hear them, I felt them, as if they carried power, like a contract."
Elbar abruptly stopped flying and closed the box, his wings flaring as he hovered in front of me. His expression shifted from excitement to confusion. "You... heard them?" he asked, his tone sharp. "That’s not possible. Only the Faye can hear the words of light weaving. Hold on a moment..." His eyes darted to the sky above, and he pointed behind my shoulder. "See that nebula up there? Can you see the tendrils of light hanging down from it?"
I turned and squinted into the starry expanse. Sure enough, long, shimmering strands of light cascaded from a spiraling nebula, like delicate threads of stardust. "Yeah, looks a bit like a Tethergloom. Just hope it doesn’t sting like one. Those things hurt like hell. I’ve heard people say you should pee on the sting, but I think I'd rather just suffer the pain."
Elbar blinked at me, ignoring my joke. "There's something different about you," he muttered. "The way you smell, your connection to Villias, and now... sensing light weaving." His wings fluttered with a quiet urgency. "Let’s try something. Grab one of those tendrils if you can and roll it into a ball in your hand."
"Wait, I smell?" I raised an eyebrow. "That’s not the first time I’ve heard that."
Elbar waved his hand dismissively. "Later. Just do as I say—reach for the tendrils and roll them into a ball. It’s like winding wool, but as you wind it, press it together."
Shrugging, I reached up and grabbed one of the tendrils. As my fingers made contact, it felt like tiny, barely-there pins and needles—just enough to remind me I was holding something, but not painful. I began pulling the light thread toward me, winding it into a ball, as Elbar instructed.
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The tendril shimmered and swirled with color—brilliant hues of violet, sapphire, and silvery light. It was as if I were gathering the very essence of a nebula in my hand, the light pliable, yet ethereal. I could feel it respond to my touch, gently bending to my will.
"Good," Elbar said, watching closely. "Now, think of an object—something you're intimately familiar with, something you know as clearly as your own hand."
I immediately thought of my sword—the one King Thalyon had gifted me. It was forged from Villias steel, an heirloom that had hung by my side for forty winters until I had taken up a cane. The memory of its weight, its balance, was as clear to me as the stars above.
The ball of light in my hand began to shift. Slowly, it stretched and elongated, taking on the form of a blade. The glowing outline of the sword appeared first, shimmering like the finest of silver threads, until it solidified before me. My sword. The exact one I had carried for so many years.
But something was off—it looked real, but it didn’t feel real. There was no weight to it, no substance.
"Great, you’ve shaped it," Elbar said, his wings casting a soft glow around him. "Now comes the hard part. To make it real, you have to inject a piece of Elaris, the universe, into it. I very much doubt it but lets try"
He flew closer, hovering at eye level. “Here’s what you need to do. Place your fingertips on the object—it will float there, don't worry. Close your eyes and focus inward. Begin by listening to the steady rhythm of your own heartbeat, and feel the pulse of life that flows through you. Not your blood—that’s something different. This is your essence, your life force, the thing that makes you... you.”
I did as he instructed, gently resting my fingertips against the floating sword. It felt weightless, like touching air, but I knew there was more to it than that.
“Now, concentrate,” Elbar continued, his voice calm but commanding. “Imagine your life force as a golden thread, running through every part of your body. Breathe slowly, deeply, and with each inhale, gather that energy, pull it together into a ball, a core—just beneath your ribcage, where your heartbeat is strongest. Visualize it, warm and radiant, like a hidden sun glowing inside you.”
I took a deep breath, feeling the rhythm of my heart, focusing on the warmth that began to gather at my center. It was like a small flame, glowing brighter with each breath, growing in intensity.
“That is a fragment of Elaris” Elbar’s voice lowered, “focus on your hand. With each exhale, guide that light down your arm. Imagine it flowing through you—like rivers of golden energy, moving slowly and deliberately. Let it pool in your palm, feel the warmth gather there, more than you can see but something you can feel.”
I followed his instructions, feeling the warmth move down my arm, spreading into my hand, until my palm felt like it was glowing with its own heat. It wasn’t uncomfortable—more like holding something precious, fragile.
“When you feel the energy in your hand, let your fingertips guide it into the object,” Elbar said, his wings fluttering as he watched. “It won’t be a rush—don’t force it. Just let it flow, a part of you shared with the world. You should feel a slight resistance—that’s the world trying to hold onto what’s yours. Push gently, but don’t overdo it. You’re sharing, not giving it away entirely.”
I exhaled slowly, guiding the warmth from my fingertips into the sword. I could feel the resistance—a soft pull, like trying to push through thick fog. The energy seeped into the blade, spreading outward like water soaking into dry earth.
As I continued, I felt a faint hum beneath my fingertips—the sword responding to the life I was pouring into it. The metal grew warm, almost alive, the connection deepening as the golden energy infused every inch of it. The sword seemed to pulse, as if it had taken its first breath.
But there was something else—a sharp, sudden jolt that zipped through my fingers, causing me to pull my hands back instinctively. The sword dropped, clattering to the ground with a heavy clang, now fully solid, real.
“You did it!” Elbar’s voice was full of awe, his wings shimmering brighter. "I can’t believe it—you actually did it!"
I stared at the sword on the floor, my breath coming faster. It was no longer just light; it was solid, weighty, as real as the one that had hung at my side for forty winters. My hands trembled slightly from the effort, but the thrill of having accomplished something so incredible filled me.
As the realization settled in, a wave of awe washed over me. I had always thought magic belonged to distant tales and fabled creatures, yet here I was, shaping the very light of stars and moons with my own hands. The weight of it did not escape me—a strange blend of exhilaration and fear. It was as though some long-dormant part of me had awakened, a connection to forces I could barely comprehend. I thought of Myia, of the years I spent as a soldier, of how this power could have changed everything. But this gift—or curse—wasn't a simple tool to wield. It was life itself, drawn from the deepest essence of who I was, and with every creation, I could feel it tugging at something within me. The objects I shaped weren't just illusions; they carried a part of me, of my being, and that thought was both intoxicating and terrifying. I wasn’t just learning a skill—I was touching something far greater, something dangerous. And that scared me.
Elbar had me create several other items: a pillow, a military-issued backpack, and the same Whisperwind Cradle he had just made. Each object came to life effortlessly in my hands, as I could picture them perfectly in my mind. Elbar inspected each one meticulously, commenting on the quality of the work with a discerning eye.
“The sword,” he said, having me turn the blade over in my hand, “it’s flawless. The Villias steel is as sharp as if it had just come from the forge. Even the jewels in the hilt are crystal clear, and the gold inlay is unblemished.”
I watched in fascination as he moved on to the pillow, running his small hands over the fabric. “As soft as silk,” he marveled, “and as light as air.” Next was the military backpack, which he tested with a firm tug at the straps. “Strong, rugged—this would survive a hundred campaigns.”
When he opened the Whisperwind Cradle, the polished wooden box gleamed in the soft light of the room. As the lid lifted, the familiar melody floated out. But this time, the music was sharper, more vibrant—each note as clear as a bell, echoing with an otherworldly quality that seemed to resonate with the very room.
“These items... they are flawless,” Elbar murmured, his wings fluttering with visible excitement. “Even Gelden, a masterwork Lumen Sculptor, would have trouble creating such pieces. You did it without even breaking a sweat. It’s... just incredible.”
I blinked, taken aback by his words. All of this was as incredible to me as it was to him, but truth be told, I hadn’t found sculpting these objects particularly difficult. The process had been almost intuitive. I just thought of a memory, visualized it clearly, and the light responded as though it knew what I wanted before I did.
“Thanks, I think?” I replied, feeling both proud and confused. “This is all new to me. You mentioned other forms of light weaving... Can we try some of that next?” The thrill of testing my abilities stirred in me, and I was eager to see what else I could do—what other impossibilities I could shape from the light.
Elbar floated before me, his wings catching the faint glow of the stars above, casting a silvery light around him. His earlier enthusiasm had faded, replaced by a look of cautious concern. "I think we should stop," he said, the joy in his voice dimming like a lantern running out of oil. He glanced at the objects we’d created, his expression tightening. "This... this is beyond what I expected. You’ve tapped into something deeper than I realized. Before we continue, we need to speak with Elbis. And the High Priestess will want to hear of this, no doubt." There was a hesitancy in his tone now, a reluctance I hadn’t seen in him before. It was as if the very act of sharing light weaving with me had triggered something, some old cautionary instinct that told him he had gone too far. “I shouldn’t have shown you more,” he admitted softly, lowering his gaze. "Come. Let’s go back. We’ll speak with them, and if they approve, we can return." His words hung heavy between us, and though part of me wanted to protest, to push for more, I nodded. I could sense it too—the danger lurking beneath the surface of this newfound power.
I was a bit deflated. I wanted to test myself, to push my newfound abilities further. But he was right—I was hungry, and this young body seemed to require more fuel than my old one ever did. Reluctantly, I agreed. “Alright, let’s head back,” I said, trying to sound upbeat, though my mind still raced with the possibilities of light weaving.
We set off back toward the Veilwood, Elbar remembering his promise to teach me how to navigate the ancient forest.
----------------------------------------
“I thought you said this was easy. We’ve been at it for hours, and everything still looks the same,” I complained, my stomach gurgling loudly. We had been walking through the Veilwood for what felt like an eternity, stopping occasionally as Elbar tried to explain how to read the trees to navigate through the Faye realm.
“Last try,” Elbar said, pointing to a tree a few feet ahead of us. “You see that tree? The bottom branches spread out, and the leaves shimmer. Look at how the light from the veins bleeds into the leaf itself. And the shadow—see how it moves?”
I squinted but saw nothing out of the ordinary. “I don’t see anything like that. The leaves are barely moving. What shadow?”
Elbar frowned, puzzled. “Strange,” he muttered. “This is so simple—most Faye don’t even need showing. They just see it. It’s as obvious as the difference between a red stone wall and a grey one. Strange indeed.”
I sighed in frustration. “Can we just head back? I’m ready for some food and rest. It’s been quite a day.”
Elbar shrugged, his wings fluttering in resignation. “Yes, sorry. I forget that humans need sleep. The Faye do sometimes when we’re in the world of men, but here? Not so much. We are—let me see... two circuits of the wood away from your hammock. Follow me.”
We resumed our journey through the Veilwood, but something in the back of my mind wouldn’t let go of the feeling that this forest wasn’t just magical, but alive. As I walked, I trailed my hand along the strange, shifting trees. Their bark was smooth, almost slick, under my fingers, and though the forest felt familiar, I couldn’t shake the sense that I was being watched—guided even.
The trees themselves seemed to whisper, the leaves rustling in patterns I couldn’t decipher, and the faint glow from their veins was almost hypnotic. It was as if the forest had its own language, one I had yet to learn.
I glanced over at Elbar, who was flying ahead with an air of casual grace. He seemed completely at ease here, as though the forest obeyed his every whim, while I felt like a stranger in a place that knew far more than it let on.
“Just a bit further,” Elbar called, his voice echoing in the stillness. “We’ll be back before you know it. I’ll show you more another time. Maybe next time, you’ll be able to read the trees.”
I wasn’t so sure, but I nodded. My mind was still reeling from the possibilities of light weaving, but the mysteries of the Veilwood were starting to captivate me just as much. There was more to this place—more to everything—than I could have ever imagined.