Forgotten girls still open doors
Seren Calvatere is a witch.
A bridge between worlds, places, people.
But for her entire life until now, she’s been a sheltered girl with her nose in books. Lost in the ink-stained margins of hypotheticals and far off places. Never reality. Neverherreality. And now? She’s holding open a Gateway that bridges Kryntar and Elarion.
She allows magic to move through her—a conduit. She draws it from the air itself, from the vines that hang in a curtain over the war room’s window, from her friends and their magic, and waits until the last boot disappears into the void.
Then she follows.
Seren lets the Gateway collapse behind her with a soft exhale, the Threads unraveling from her fingers like silk slipping free.
Nymeris smells different. Not of rot or desperation or smoke like Virellin. Not of blooming florals or petrichor or crisp jungle air like Kryntar. But parchment and ink and living things. Stone warmed by sun. Old paper. Green growing where it has always been allowed to grow without containment. The city hums with the quiet confidence of a place that knows exactly what it is.
And Seren wants that.
Not the city—but the certainty it carries.
She swallows.
If anywhere could have claimed her—truly claimed her—it would have been somewhere like this.
Elarion rises around them in pale tiers and arched walkways, libraries stacked atop one another like offerings instead of fortresses. Knowledge here is not hoarded. It isdisplayed. Shared. Trusted.
Seren has spent her life believing herself small because the world treated her as disposable. Or at worst, invisible. It was a life on the Flesh Circuit, hidden in Revryn’s loft, blending into the shadows. But here, she feels seen, and the realization terrifies her.
It makes her question whether what she had was enough—or just all she ever knew. Because if she belongs here…then what does that say about where she comes from?
Where she comes from.The thought rises unprompted.
She tries to shove it away before it can land, but it snags on fragments of curiosity andstays.Unwanted, but it stays. Like she’s been waiting for the question.
Because if Seren really is a full-blooded witch, then who in the Stars are her parents? Where is shereallyfrom?
For Seren, this is not about family. It’s a matter of blood. Of truth.Of origin.
She has never truly felt that. Not safely. Not completely. This isn’t about being a witch.It’s about knowing who she is.
The cobbled streets of Elarion’s city blur beneath her as she keeps stride with Teddy, but her gaze is pinned on Ronyn and Elyssara, leading the group toward Queen Ilyra’s castle. Her siblings in every way that counts.
But beyond the love and affection, there is a deeper truth that refuses to submit:she has been a burden. She has been tolerated.
Kept. Protected.
But never chosen first.
They’ve protected her, fed her, stole for her, shielded her—yes. But respect? Well, that is yet to be seen.
Seren lifts her chin just a fraction higher. This isn’t just about saving the realms. It’s about finding her people.Herself.
And maybe, it’s about proving her value. Not to them, but to herself.
“You are lost within yourself, Seren,” Teddy breathes, startling her. He leans into her, half-nudging, burnished bronze eyes finding hers.
Seren angles her face to him, tipping it all the way back to meet his gaze. Teddy towers over her. All lean muscle and a warrior’s frame casting a shadow over Seren’s petite stature.
She notices the way he tries to soften his gaze, to force his worry into hiding beneath an easy smile. But Seren misses nothing. Not a stray expression, not a rehearsed tone…nothing.
