In the land where magic breathes and kingdoms rise on the edge of elemental power, peace was never a promise—it was a fragile compromise.
Long before the world forgot its origins, there existed a realm called Ataraxia—a name once spoken in reverence, meaning tranquil soul. It was not shaped by time, but by magic. Ancient, wild, and alive. It pulsed through forests and mountains, glimmered in the skies, and surged in the hearts of those who called it home. The people of Ataraxia were born from magic, molded by it, and bound to it completely.
Ataraxia was once open to all. Portals—shimmering gates between worlds—dotted the lands, allowing anyone to pass freely into what Ataraxians called the Real World: our own Earth. For generations, magic-wielders crossed over, curious about a world without power. And humans, equally curious, entered Ataraxia with wide eyes and open hearts.
But that curiosity eventually led to tragedy.
Magic wasn't hostile, but it was overwhelming. As more humans crossed over, the balance that kept Ataraxia stable began to fade. Magic grew stronger, spreading faster, trying to reclaim the world it had created. And in doing so, it made everything that wasn't part of it, especially human life, fragile.
Humans didn't die because of magic itself, but because the world was changing. As the balance between magic and non-magic collapsed, Ataraxia became toxic to ordinary people. Some grew sick slowly. Others fell ill in weeks. No cure could help them, because it wasn't an illness—it was the world rejecting them.
Even returning to the Real World couldn't undo the damage. Many who crossed back eventually died. On the other side, Ataraxians who stayed too long in the Real World also suffered. Without magic, they became hollow. Their powers faded. Their spirits dimmed.
Two great kingdoms ruled Ataraxia.
The radiant Kingdom of Light, Solara, whose warriors believed in hope, freedom, and the right to choose one's path. And the shadowed Kingdom of Darkness, Umbra, protectors of order and balance.
No one truly knew where the portals came from. They had existed since the beginning, long before any kingdom was built or any history written. To the people of Ataraxia, the portals were as old as the land itself. The only certainty passed down through ancient lore was that they had been there since the time of the Light and Dark Deities, the primordial forces from which all magic was said to originate. Whether gift or curse, no one could say. They were simply there... as if the world had always been meant to connect to another.
At first, both kingdoms worked together, trying to monitor the portals and reduce travel between worlds. But when the deaths continued, both human and Ataraxian alike, Umbra proposed a final solution: close the portals permanently.
Solara refused.To them, choice was sacred. Even if it meant risking death, people deserved the freedom to decide their own fate. They argued that destiny must be chosen, not dictated. That even pain held value. That humans who risked everything to walk among them deserved the right to try, even if they failed.
Decades passed. Generations of rulers came and went. Kings and queens inherited the conflict from their ancestors. The kingdoms met, talked, and stalled. Idealism clashed with realism. Arguments turned to delays, delays turned to silence, and silence turned to resentment. And through it all, people kept dying.
As the imbalance in Ataraxia grew stronger, the deaths became more and more violent. Eventually, Umbra lost patience. They saw the rising deaths and wanted to put an end to them with or without the Light Kingdom's approval. And so, they began closing the portals themselves, one by one, quietly, and without Solara's consent. They believed inaction had become complicity. But Solara saw it as betrayal. Talks collapsed. Suspicion turned to resentment. Solara began sending its best magic wielders to withstand Umbra's fighters and defend the portals.
Freedom, or survival? Choice, or control?
The elemental dominions—FIRE, WATER, WIND, and NATURA—stayed neutral in name. But their nobles played both sides in the shadows, offering troops and resources to whichever kingdom paid more. Publicly, they sent their heirs as a show of alliance—sons and daughters offered to Light or Dark courts to keep peace. In truth, many had already chosen a side.
The portals continued to fall as once closed, portals could not be reopened. It took generations, but one by one, they were closed forever. Until only one remained.
The last portal was hidden deep within Umbra's royal palace, a closely guarded secret passed down through its royal bloodline. A relic of an older time, yet never meant to be used again.
At last, as generations passed, Ataraxians have forgotten what the Real World looked like. Tensions continued between the Solara and Umbra with occasional clashes and struggles for power over the dominions. A new king came to be in Umbra. He was younger than any king that came to be, but he did not have a choice or say, as these were not times to dwell and hesitate. But with its youth also came curiosity.
Tired of all the responsibilities and dutiful tasks, one day, he crossed over.
In the Real World, he walked without a crown, without a title. He lived as just another face in a world that no longer remembered Ataraxia. And it was there, in the quiet spaces of that forgotten world, that he met her.
She was human. Gentle. Bright. Kind.
He didn't tell her who he was or where he came from. He simply kept returning—again and again. Days at a time, slipping through the portal to be with her. But he wasn't careful enough. His long absences drew suspicion. Word of the portal began to spread, reaching even the farthest lands of Ataraxia.
Then came the moment that changed everything. She became pregnant. They both knew the risks. By then, it was well known that human women who carried the child of an Ataraxian rarely survived. Many died during childbirth. Some didn't even make it that far. Yet, despite learning of the king's homeland and its implications, she chose to carry the child. She loved him deeply.
Months went by, rumors became facts, and the king's beloved fell ill, carrying the child of magic. Still, she held on long enough to give birth to a son, Kayn. But her condition worsened, and she needed the king by her side to raise the child.
When she felt like the end neared, she made the choice for the king.
"Take him back to your people," she told him."You're their king. He belongs in your world, not mine. I'll be gone soon anyway. But he... he can still have a life."
As whispers of the pregnancy spread, the nobles of Umbra were outraged, and a rebellion rose from within the kingdom. Angry that their king had broken the law to keep a portal open for his own reasons, Solara infiltrated the unrest, sending spies to stoke the rebellion and manipulate the Umbra nobility from within.
The king had to choose: close the portal and let the woman he loved die in the Real World alone, or bring her and their child to Ataraxia and close the portal forever. He chose the latter and ordered the final portal to be sealed. But by then, it was too late. Closing the portal wasn't enough for Solara and the rebellion, they demanded atonement. They wanted a symbol, a sacrifice.
The king knew he couldn't raise his son while fighting to restore order, and with his beloved on the verge of death, Kayn needed a family—one that could protect and guide him. Following the custom used by the dominions to show allegiance, the king sent his son to Solara, as both an apology and an offering of peace, finally atoning for his actions.
Kayn was only six months old when the King and Queen of Solara accepted the boy without hesitation; after all, they had been trying to conceive for years. They swore to raise him as their own, restoring once more order in Ataraxia.
But their efforts were not in vain, and nine months later, their own daughter was born. They named her Luna.
The Umbra's king's beloved (now wife) stayed by his side for a few more years after arriving in Ataraxia. Even as her body failed her and with her mind almost gone, she continued asking the king for her precious son.
He stayed with her until the end.
"The true heir of Umbra will return and reclaim its people," he promised her as she drew her last breath.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖.