Brought up in a small town called Alas, Celeste had never known the faces of her biological parents, never heard the lullabies they might have sung, nor felt the reassuring embrace of a mother's arms. Her earliest memories were instead filled with the presence of Granny—an old woman who had taken her in, raising her with quiet resilience and unwavering warmth. Granny's hands were rough from years of tending to her small flower shop.
Granny's flower shop was a modest space tucked between a bakery and a tailor's shop, its wooden sign faded from years of exposure to the elements, yet still standing proud. Though it was not particularly well-known, those who stepped inside found themselves enveloped in a world of warmth and quiet beauty. The scent of fresh roses and lavender clung to the air, mingling with the delicate perfume of lilacs and daisies, creating a comforting cocoon of floral sweetness. Celeste had spent countless hours there, her fingers brushing over velvety petals, learning how to trim stems just right, how to arrange colors in a way that spoke without words. Though money was often tight, Granny had never let the weight of hardship dampen the love she poured into every bouquet, nor had she ever allowed Celeste to feel as though she was lacking in anything.
Despite the comfort of familiarity, Celeste often found herself staring out the shop's windows, wondering about the world beyond Alas. She longed for the day she would turn twenty, when she could officially take up work and help ease Granny's burdens. She dreamed of saving enough to give back to the woman who had given her everything, of repaying each sacrifice made in quiet resilience.
Through the years of growing up, Celeste had always been different. Not by how she spoke or dressed—but by the way people looked at her, like she didn't quite belong. At Alas Academy, it was no different. Students didn't bully her outright; they just… looked through her. Or worse, they stared with eyes full of quiet judgment, as if her very presence unsettled something in them. She had given up trying to fit in long ago. It was easier to embrace the loneliness than to reach for a kindness that was never truly offered.
Some called her the "unwanted child," others said even crueler things—that she had no family, no past… that maybe, just maybe, she was the daughter of an Abyssal. She tried to brush it off—to act like the words didn't matter, like they didn't crawl beneath her skin and settle in the quiet corners of her mind. But no matter how much she told herself not to care, the whispers always found a way to hurt. They weren't loud, but they lingered. And over time, even silence could bruise. She had just turned eighteen this year. Adulthood, they said, came with answers. But for Celeste, it only seemed to bring more questions. The tug in her chest had grown stronger lately—restless, insistent. Sometimes, it felt like something was calling to her from far beyond the quiet streets of Alas. She couldn't explain it, not even to Granny.
Once, when she was ten, curiosity had gotten the better of her. She looked up from her picture book and asked, "Granny… who were my parents?"
Granny had paused in the middle of sorting peonies, her fingers lingering on the petals. She didn't look up right away. Then, after a long silence, she sat beside Celeste, smoothing her hair back.
"You'll find out when it's time," she'd said softly, her eyes distant, almost wistful. "Some truths have their own seasons."
Celeste hadn't fully understood then, but those words had rooted deep in her heart. Over the years, they lingered—haunting, comforting, and confusing all at once. She never asked again, but sometimes, when she caught Granny watching her with that quiet sorrow in her eyes, she wondered if the time would ever come.
*****
In this world, the Luminaries were the rulers—powerful beings whose presence had shaped history itself. They existed to protect the Mortalis from the threat of the Abyssal. Though they lived alongside the Mortalis, they remained apart—respected and feared.
But there was one rule more sacred than any other—a law so old, so absolute, that no one dared to question it: A Mortalis must never fall in love with a Luminary.
No one really knew why. There was no clear explanation, no official history etched in stone. Just silence, heavy and enduring. Over time, it became one of those unspoken truths everyone simply accepted.
Some said it was because the two were too different and others whispered darker things. That the Luminaries feared something—something that might happen if their kind and the Mortalis ever truly intertwined. But no one could ever say what.
Speaking of Luminaries, there were only two Luminaries in her school—Amy and Lucas. Unlike the Mortalis students, they didn't treat her differently. Each of them bore a family crest on the back of their left hand, a mark of their identity, a silent declaration of their superiority. Amy, who had transferred to Alas Academy only a few months prior, was strikingly beautiful, long silver hair flowing like moonlight. On the other hand, Lucas was just as captivating, with a calm, confident air that drew people in.
She couldn't forget the time when Amy and Lucas stepped in to help her without hesitation. It was during one afternoon after the gymnasium class, when a group of older boys cornered her.
They had followed her after class, their footsteps echoing a little too close, their voices dipped in mockery. At first, Celeste tried to walk faster, hugging her books tighter to her chest. But they didn't back off. One of them grabbed her bag, yanking it away with a laugh, while another reached out to touch her hair.
"Hey, don't be shy. We're just trying to be friendly."
Celeste backed against the wall, her heart pounding, her throat tight with fear. Her voice faltered as she tried to speak—but before she could say anything, a gust of cold wind swept through the alley.
"Is there a problem here?"
The voice was calm, but unmistakably firm.
Amy stood at the edge of the path, arms crossed, silver hair shimmering like moonlight even in the shadowed corridor. Beside her, Lucas's gaze sharpened, a flicker of something dangerous passing through his ember-like eyes.
The boys froze. The shift in atmosphere was instant.
Lucas stepped forward first, picking up Celeste's fallen books without a word. His movements were precise, effortless, but held an unmistakable authority. "You dropped these," he said as he handed them back to her.
Amy tilted her head slightly, her voice soft but biting. "You really thought bothering someone weaker than you made you stronger?"
The boys stammered, their confidence fading fast. One mumbled an apology before running off, the others quickly following.
Celeste stood there stunned, clutching her books as her breath slowly returned.
"Be more careful next time," Amy said, though her tone wasn't unkind. Her eyes lingered on Celeste, unreadable for a moment. Then she turned on her heel and walked away, Lucas silently following.
Amy and Lucas were a couple—the kind of couple that didn't hide. Their love was easy, open. Celeste would often see them in the hallways, fingers laced together like it was the most natural thing in the world. Sometimes they'd pause for a kiss, quick and soft, unbothered by anyone watching. They never seemed to worry about what others thought. Maybe they didn't have to.
People said Luminaries knew their soulmates the moment they met—that something deep inside them just knew, like a bond formed in an instant. It wasn't just attraction or affection—it was destiny, written into their very being. No hesitations. No second-guessing. Just… knowing.
Celeste used to think that was the most beautiful kind of magic of all. Not the kind that could move mountains or summon storms, but the quiet kind—the kind that told you where you belonged. Who you belonged to.
To be seen like that... to be chosen without question—it felt like a dream. But maybe that kind of dream was only meant for people like Amy and Lucas.
Not for someone like her.
On the other hand, Celeste had never encountered an Abyssal in person. But the stories were always the same—creatures with deathly pale skin and eyes that glowed like burning embers. Black veins spread from the corners of their eyes, branching across their skin like cracks in shattered glass. Jagged markings, said to be runes from forbidden texts, were etched into their arms and necks, pulsing faintly with dark, cursed energy. They had been hiding in the shadows for many years—silent, unseen, but never truly gone. She heard that the last abyssal attack was around nineteen years ago at Velkan, the city ruled by the most powerful Luminary families and where traditions were deeply rooted, and power was everything.
Till present, no one knew the exact cause of the attack.