Chapter 34
Lytheria loomed before them like a painting suspended between dream and reality, a realm forged in the chiaroscuro of eternity. Its towers rose sinuously toward the sky, carved from silver stone that seemed to hold the moon’s reflection. The grey of the structures mingled with the amethyst hues set into the spires, which sparkled like fragments of stars trapped in rock.
The air was charged with vibrant, ancient energy—a silent breath that drifted along the pale blue cobblestone streets, where the wind carried echoes of forgotten whispers. The light here was never entirely clear, nor completely dark: the sun filtered through a pearlescent veil, casting cool glimmers that made everything seem suspended in a timeless dimension.
The buildings, with their sinuous, harmonious lines, appeared to be shaped by the very mist itself, with slender arches and faceted windows that reflected the lunar tones of the city. Along the balconies and windows, delicate silver vines climbed gracefully, dotted with ethereal flowers with translucent petals that swayed with the slightest movement of the air.
At the heart of Lytheria, the grand central square unfolded like a fan of light stone, surrounded by slender columns entwined like filigree, supporting the amethyst crystal dome that protected the city’s core. In the center, a wide fountain with sculpted edges told ancient stories through bas-reliefs carved into the rock, while the water—iridescent and ever-changing—seemed to dance to the rhythm of a forgotten song.
Harry stepped down from the carriage with his usual grace, his long dark cloak trailing behind him as his boots touched the light stone of the road. Draco followed with measured movements, elegant as ever, adjusting his jacket with a casual gesture before gliding beside him.
From the other carriage, Elyss was the first to disembark, carrying the composed air of someone used to that formal entrance, while Aisling, with her usual dreamy gaze, stepped forward a few paces, looking up to take in the city stretching out before them. Kael, on the other hand, leapt down, stretching and huffing.
«We could have arrived sooner by simply dematerializing.» Harry murmured, crossing his arms with a bored expression, while the blonde chuckled softly and shook his head.
«Yes, but one must follow a certain diplomatic etiquette.» Elyss said in a tone all too familiar to Harry.
«Boring.» added Kael, stretching his back.
Elyss sighed, glancing at both of them «It’s necessary.»
The shorter one snorted softly, his lips curving into a barely-there bored grimace, but he said nothing more. Their eyes lifted toward the grand entrance before them, where two guards clad in silver and amethyst-finished armor silently watched, awaiting their arrival.
From the palace entrance, a slim and agile figure rushed toward them with an obvious disregard for protocol. He had short, slightly tousled white hair that shimmered under the ethereal glow of Lytheria’s magical lanterns. His blue eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as he advanced with a radiant smile.
His fair skin had one unmistakable feature: along his neck and arms, thin amethyst-colored scales caught the light, reflecting it with an iridescent gleam. He wore refined clothes—a tunic in silver hues adorned with delicate violet filigree—but the way he moved made him seem anything but the composed prince one might expect.
«Harry!» he exclaimed, practically launching himself toward him with outstretched arms.
The dark-haired shifted to the side effortlessly, avoiding the contact with the precision of someone who had already anticipated his move. The result was disastrous for the others.
The Prince of Lytheria crashed into Draco with a striking impact, pushing him backward and involving Kael, who was right behind him. The three ended up disastrously on the ground in a tangle of limbs and fabric, with Kael cursing and Draco casting an assassin’s glare at the instigator of the chaos.
«Elarion.» Malfoy snorted, trying to extricate himself from the confusion.
Yet Elarion didn’t seem in the least disturbed. He laughed, his face aglow with genuine euphoria, still resting atop Draco as if nothing had happened.
«You know, Draco, I never thought you’d welcome me with such warmth.» he said with a dazzling smile.
Kael, beneath them, grunted in exasperation «Can you guys get off me?»
The blonde was the first to stand up, smoothing his clothes with dignity as he shot a scorching look at Elarion. Kael, still on the ground, huffed irritably and pulled himself up with a quick movement, brushing off the dust from his clothes.
Meanwhile, Elarion had gotten back on his feet with the same agility with which he had fallen, studying Kael with attentive eyes that sparkled with curiosity.
«Who are you supposed to be?» he asked, tilting his head slightly.
Kael opened his mouth to answer, but he didn’t even have time to say a word before Elarion turned completely, ignoring him without the slightest regard.
«Elyss, Aisling!» he exclaimed with a radiant smile, moving gracefully to greet them «What a pleasure to see you again.»
Elyss offered nothing more than an elegant nod, her usual unruffled demeanor, while Aisling returned an amused smile.
Elarion wasted no time and immediately moved next to Harry, casting him a satisfied glance.
«Fascinating as always, Harry.» he said in a tone that oscillated between playful and provocative.
The dark‑haired guy barely sighed, but before he could even think of pulling away, Elarion naturally grabbed him under the arm, intertwining his with his in an almost rehearsed manner.
«Come on, come on, let’s get in! We have so much to talk about.» he exclaimed, striding confidently toward the palace while dragging along a visibly resigned Harry.
«Elarion...» the dark-haired man tried to say, attempting to slow down, but the other ignored him just as effortlessly as he had ignored Kael moments before.
«I won’t accept any objections!» Elarion declared with a radiant smile.
«It’s been centuries since you last came to Lytheria, and I won’t allow you to stay on the sidelines sulking. You should be thrilled to be here! Oh, and I have a surprise for you, by the way. But first, you absolutely must update me on everything. How have you been? And what about your parents?»
Draco merely shook his head, already accustomed to Elarion’s unstoppable enthusiasm. He had seen him drag Harry into similar situations countless times over the centuries and knew that, despite his initial resistance, Harry always ended up going along with it.
There was something amusing about the way Harry tried to avoid him, only to inevitably find himself trapped in his energy. It reminded Draco of a cat attempting to escape the affections of someone far too affectionate, only to ultimately resign itself to tolerating them.
Elarion, after all, did not accept rejection.
«Come on, come on, let’s go inside! We have so much to talk about!» he chirped, holding onto Harry’s arm with far too much familiarity as he dragged him along.
Harry shot a fleeting glance at Draco, as if silently pleading for help, but the blond merely smiled in amusement.
«You’re not going to stop him?» Kael grumbled, crossing his arms.
Draco raised an eyebrow «Why should I? It’s always entertaining to see him struggle.»
Kael huffed, but he couldn’t help but notice that, despite everything, Harry hadn’t really tried to pull away. Even though he was muttering under his breath, his steps naturally followed Elarion’s, as if, in the end, he wasn’t all that opposed to the prince’s company.
Meanwhile, Elarion kept talking without pause, his tone light and melodic, his words weaving seamlessly with the echo of their footsteps on the palace’s polished floors.
The dining hall of Lytheria’s palace was an elegant space, its walls adorned with frescoes illuminated by soft, floating lights that resembled tiny suspended crystals. The long table was set with finely carved tableware and azure glass goblets, reflective like still water.
Harry sat beside Draco, who occasionally passed him dishes without even asking, already knowing what he would want. Elyss conversed with Aisling, though the latter seemed more interested in the shifting reflections of the wine in her glass than in her companion’s words. Across the table, Kael cast wary glances at Elarion, who, in contrast, was perfectly at ease, chatting with anyone willing to listen.
«I’ll accompany you to the temple tomorrow.» Elarion announced at one point before immediately turning back to speak with a servant who had just brought him a plate of rare fruits.
Draco raised an eyebrow, glancing at Harry, who simply took a sip from his glass without commenting. He didn’t look surprised—he had likely already predicted that Elarion would invite himself along on their visit.
«Why would you?» Kael asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.
Elarion flashed him an innocent smile «What kind of question is that? Naturally, I should accompany you. It would be rude to let you wander alone in my kingdom.»
He regarded Kael with a lazy smirk before turning toward Harry «You're too quiet.» he remarked, eyes narrowing slightly.
Harry merely lifted his gaze to him, expression unreadable «I'm eating.»
Elarion shook his head «You're more entertaining when you're sighing in annoyance.»
Draco stifled a laugh into his glass, while Harry shot him a sideways glare that clearly said "Just try me."
The path to Elyndra's Temple was shrouded in a dense silver mist, suspended between the real and the unreal. Sunlight barely filtered through the haze, creating the illusion of being caught between dream and reality. Elarion led the way with confident strides, his white-silver cloak barely brushing the ground. Every so often, he glanced back to make sure Harry was still there and hadn't decided to vanish elsewhere.
The temple gradually emerged from the mist, revealing its full magnificence. It was not built of stone or brick but of a translucent material that seemed to both reflect and absorb light at the same time. The walls were carved with ancient runes, pulsing with a faint golden glow, while the entrance was supported by slender columns that appeared to defy gravity, leaning towards each other in an eternal balance.
A vast mirror-like body of water stretched before the entrance, perfectly still, reflecting the sky with an unnatural clarity. At the water's edge, small floating lanterns swayed gently, as if caught between two worlds.
«This is the Temple of the Goddess Elyndra.» Elarion announced solemnly.
The two girls and Kael stopped beside the Prince of Vaelithar, leaving Harry and Draco to move forward.
At the center of the main hall, upon a pedestal surrounded by a basin of clear water, stood the statue of Elyndra. It was sculpted from a pale, almost luminous stone, and her figure was draped in a long veil that cascaded over her shoulders, as if captured in an eternal motion. A delicate, translucent band covered her eyes, and from beneath it, black tears flowed, tracing dark lines down her cheeks before falling into the water below.
The droplets created concentric ripples on the water’s surface, which stirred ever so slightly, distorting the reflection of the statue and the ceiling above it.
Harry studied the statue for a moment before lifting his chin slightly. His voice resonated within the silent temple, intertwining with the echoes that reverberated between the columns.
«Elyndra, Goddess of Memory, born from the fragments of shattered stars and shadows. Keeper of the past, she who knows all but cannot intervene. To the one who remembers everything, I ask for passage into her domain.»
The words spread through the sacred silence of the temple, reverberating like an endless echo.
For a moment, nothing moved. Only the sound of the black tears continued to fall into the water, creating small waves that quickly faded.
Then, a tremor.
Draco felt the air around them shift, growing denser, as if something unseen had awakened. The floating book cradled in the statue’s hands stirred slightly, and the reflection upon the water’s surface flickered, as though something beyond the veil of reality had answered their call.
The black tears grew denser, heavier, and the water in the basin darkened with restless shadows. The temple’s columns seemed to stretch into the darkness, as if space itself were bending around them.
The world around them dissolved. The temple, the statue, the floor beneath their feet vanished in a flash of golden light. For a moment, they were suspended in a void beyond time—weightless, directionless.
Then, with the same inevitability as breath returning after a dive, reality reassembled itself.
Around them stretched an endless library, a labyrinth of shelves rising toward a sky of liquid glass, where stars shimmered—stars that did not belong to their world. Books were everywhere: stacked on white marble tables, floating midair as if held by an invisible breath, or embedded within walls woven from light and shadow, as though they were part of reality itself. The air carried the scent of ancient parchment and ink, an aroma steeped in the past and forgotten stories.
The silence was thick, resonant, almost alive. Every book held a fragment of memory, a moment lost in time, and it felt as though the entire place whispered, speaking in unknown tongues of what once had been.
At the center, before them, a figure awaited.
Elyndra.
Her skin was pale, so light it seemed made of frosted glass. Her long hair, black as a starless night, brushed the ground, shifting ever so slightly as if submerged in invisible water. The blindfold over her eyes was pure white, unblemished, and yet black tears streamed down her cheeks—thin rivulets of ink that never dried. They veiled her gaze but not the power radiating from her—an aura beyond time, as if past, present, and future converged within her in a single, eternal instant.
She wore flowing robes woven from the same shifting substance as the sky above them, and every movement she made seemed to leave an echo in time, as if past and present overlapped around her.
She did not speak at first.
She simply observed them—or so it seemed, though her eyes were covered. Then, when she finally spoke, her voice was a whisper that rippled through the shelves like the sound of pages turning in the wind:
«Azrakarion.» she said, her tone deep and melodious, resonating across countless moments in time «It is a pleasure to see you again.»
Then, in an almost imperceptible motion, Elyndra took a step back. Her face tilted slightly downward, and her fingers brushed against each other, as if she were contemplating something even she could not explain.
«But I do not have the answers you seek.» her voice was calm, yet hesitation crept into her words—an uncertainty unbefitting a goddess of memory.
Her unseen gaze wavered, drifting from Harry to Draco, lingering on him for a brief moment before lowering.
The dark-haired one stepped forward, the faint sound of his boots brushing against the marble barely echoing in the vast temple. He lifted his chin, his voice calm yet resolute.
«Elyndra, we both know that’s not true.»
The goddess slowly shook her head. Her hands rose, and around them, fragments of memories flickered to life and faded in the blink of an eye—indistinct images, faceless figures, broken words lost to the void.
«I cannot give what I do not possess. I cannot reveal what was never granted to me.»
Are you saying you don’t know?» Draco asked, stepping up beside the raven-haired one.
«The moon watches but does not see, the stars sing but do not speak. The shadow dances upon the ruins of the day, yet no one calls it by name.»
The black tears continued to fall, carving dark trails down her pale skin like eternal wounds that would never heal. Elyndra kept shaking her head. The more she spoke, the more her domain seemed to rebel—an entity at war with itself, with its very existence.
«To seek memory is to seek loss. To seek truth is to seek damnation. The past is a thread woven into fate—sever the thread, and the weaver will weep.»
«All remember, none truly know. The past is etched into the bones of the earth, but those who dare touch it will be lost within its cracks.»
For an instant, her voice wavered—a whisper, barely weaker, as if an unseen force restrained her.
«Elyndra, you know.» Harry’s voice was steady, yet there was tension in the way his hands clenched at his sides «You may not understand, but I must know.»
The blindfold over the goddess's eyes trembled, almost imperceptibly tightening. The silence between them grew heavier.
The raven-haired one glanced at Draco—only for a moment—before returning his gaze to the goddess.
«Draco’s dream. Tell us what it was.»
At the sound of Harry's request, the goddess pressed both hands to her ears, her slender fingers pressing hard against her head, as if trying to protect herself from something unbearable. Her lips moved, and her voice rose—a whisper that seemed not to come from her, but from the very domain itself.
«I do not know.»
She trembled faintly. Her breath quickened, almost broken, and her hands over her ears tightened with more force. The fabric of the bandages seemed to darken for a moment, and the black tears falling from her face grew denser, sliding swiftly down her cheeks.
«I do not know.» Elyndra’s voice cracked «I did not exist.» there seemed to be fear in her words.
Harry felt Draco's hand tighten around his, warm and firm, and he glanced away from the statue for a moment to look at him. Draco took a step forward, his grey eyes shining in the dim light of the temple as he addressed the goddess directly.
«Elyndra.» He called her with a clear, confident voice.
No answer, but he did not falter. Another step forward, still holding Harry's hand in his, as though anchoring him to reality was necessary.
«Maybe you gods don't care about us, but you are the goddess of memory, the one who knows but cannot intervene.» he continued, his tone slightly more resolute.
«You cannot do it alone, but we are here to ask for your help.» His voice was both an accusation, a plea, and an order all at once.
«It is your duty to give us answers.»
The air suddenly grew heavier, and a shiver ran across Draco's skin.
«Duty...» Elyndra murmured, as though the very concept burned her tongue. Her fingers tightened on her chest, at the point where a heart, perhaps never truly hers, should have beat «No. cannot.»
The images around them went wild. Fragments of a past no one could see exploded into the mist—indistinct shapes screaming without sound, forgotten battles, distorted shadows writhing in the void.
«Elyndra.» Harry's voice was a blade, sharp and final «You know.»
The goddess shook her head violently, as if trying to rip the memories from her skull.
«No!» her voice was a broken whisper, the cry of a being burdened by an era that no one should have remembered.
«You are afraid.» Draco's voice dropped slightly, more intense, more profound «What are you afraid of, Elyndra?»
Silence.
«The past is carved in the shadows, but only those willing to see can find it.» she spoke after long minutes of silence.
His heart beat in his chest like a distant drum, but he didn’t pull back. Not now.
«Show us.» he said, tightening his grip on Harry's hand.
«I know. I remember. I am the whispers in the shadows, the reflection in the still waters, the breath that slips between forgotten pages.»
The goddess stepped forward, the edges of her flowing robes seemed to fade into the very air.
«A story written before time. A name spoken before the echo existed. A shadow that has never ceased searching for its light. But memory is not knowledge, and truth cannot be unveiled without cost.»
The black tears on her cheeks seemed to move as if they were alive, slipping down without ever touching the ground. Draco swallowed, feeling a shiver run down his spine. There was something in those words that tightened his chest, something he couldn't explain.
Elyndra remained silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, she raised a hand, and her fingers brushed the void.
The shelves trembled. The books opened by themselves.
And the past took form.
«I was, before I was. Without name, without form, without voice. But memory does not need a body to exist. I remember... and it is in memory that I am.»
A shiver ran through the air around them. The library changed. The shelves dissolved into golden dust, the stone beneath their feet became liquid, and in the void, a vision opened.
Two figures took shape in the darkness.
One was a shadow that seemed to generate from itself, as if it were the origin point of nothingness. It had no fixed face: it was a mutable reflection of darkness, of eyes that lit and extinguished like dying stars, of outstretched arms that blurred with the void. Yet, in its most defined form, it appeared as a man draped in a cloak that swallowed light. Its eyes had no color, they were slits of pure abyss. Its presence was hunger, absence, a void yearning to be filled.
Before it stood its opposite. It was not light, it was not warmth, but something beyond comprehension. Its body seemed made of pure energy, fragments of stars fused together, its face was undefined, constantly shifting like the reflection of the sun on water. But its eyes... its eyes were the first color that had ever existed, something so vibrant it hurt the eyes, that caused both pain and wonder at the same time. It was not human. It was not alive, not in the way humans could understand. It was the first beat of existence, the beginning of everything.
Elyndra trembled. Her breath was an imperceptible sigh, a whisper of wind between the ruins of memory. Around them, the images flickered, wild, as if reality itself hesitated to let her speak.
She raised a hand, and the shadows around them bent, weaving fragments of a forgotten time. Indistinct visions danced in the void: a boundless emptiness, an absolute absence, devoid of light and time.
«There was a time before time.» Her voice was a broken song, an echo reverberating in the bones «An era when the cosmos was silent and still, without breath or desire.»
The shadows moved. An indefinite image formed in the emptiness, an essence without a face, a presence that was not presence.
«There was no light, there was no warmth. Only the void.» Elyndra lowered her gaze, as if afraid to look at what she was evoking «And in the void existed a being without form, without purpose, without name.»
«Abyzoth was not.» The tone grew lower, sweeter and crueler at the same time «He did not know absence because he had never had anything. He did not know desire, for nothing existed to desire.»
The darkness around them twisted, and between its folds, a glow ignited. A golden spark, fragile and vibrating like the flutter of a butterfly's wings.
«Until he saw him. He who gave him a name» Elyndra lifted her gaze, and in her eyes sparkled shards of a lost time «Lythiel.»
The spark shone more brightly, elusive, unreachable.
«Not light, not warmth... but possibility.» the goddess' voice cracked slightly «It was the first beat, the first impulse, the first thing that was other than the void.»
Harry watched the visions dance around them, his face impassive, but in his irises, they glowed.
«And the Void saw him.» she closed her eyes for a moment, as if the truth were too heavy to pronounce «For the first time, the Void desired.»
The shadows moved closer to the spark, surrounding it, wrapping it with hands that did not exist.
«Abyzoth could not understand. He could not love. But he wanted to possess him.» Elyndra shivered «He had never had anything, he did not know what 'other' meant. But now he knew he was not alone. And this awareness consumed him.»
The vision writhed. The void became hungrier, more desperate. It tried to envelop the spark, to merge it with itself, to make it its own.
«But the spark could not be contained.» Elyndra brushed the air with the tips of her fingers, as if caressing something fragile and precious «It was not born to be trapped. It was born to exist freely.»
Draco swallowed. His chest rose slowly, as if the goddess's tale was digging something inside him.
«And so he rejected him.»
The void recoiled. For a moment, everything seemed to freeze.
«But Abyzoth could not accept it.» Elyndra wrapped her arms around herself, as if she, too, were suffering the pain of that ancient obsession «How could he reject him when he was all that existed?»
A larger shadow extended around them, darker, hungrier.
«The obsession grew, became madness.» Elyndra clenched her hands, her nails digging into her palms «Abyzoth wrapped himself around it, trying to annul it. If he couldn't have it... then no one would.»
Draco felt his breath shorten. The images around them trembled, as if the memory itself hesitated to continue.
«And so the spark understood.»
Elyndra opened her eyes again, her gaze murky, like a stormy sea.
«If the void had won, there would have been nothing. So she made his choice.»
The golden glow exploded. A flash of blinding light split the darkness.
«And when he understood there was no escape, that the void would never let her go... Lythiel exploded.» she inhaled, trembling.
The shadow around them twisted in a silent scream, as if the Void itself were suffering.
«An explosion so great that not even the void could contain it.» Elyndra lowered her gaze, as if her very soul were bleeding «And from their destruction, the Gods were born.»
In the vision, Lythiel’s figure ignited. Not with fire, not with flames, but with pure existence. His very being shattered into millions of fragments, and from the impact, other lights, other shadows emerged. Reality split, the void screamed, and from this energy, the first gods were born, the Primordials.
The images scattered into nothingness, the light dimmed, and silence fell suddenly. Elyndra remained still, her gaze fixed on something only she could see.
«But Abyzoth did not die.» Her voice was a hiss, a suppressed lament «Reduced to a whisper, hidden between the cracks of the universe... he waits.»
Elyndra lifted her face, her gaze full of pain.
«And Lythiel?» Draco asked, breathless.
The goddess hesitated.
Then she spoke.
«Broken.»
The word resonated in the void like a condemnation.
«His essence scattered... hidden among human souls.»
Draco felt his heartbeat quicken. His chest burned, a familiar sensation, like a forgotten echo.
Elyndra looked at him.
The blonde had uneven, almost broken breaths, as if he had been running for hours without stopping. His eyes were wide open, dilated, and his skin was an almost spectral pallor. It wasn't just having witnessed the story—he had felt it. He had lived every fragment of emotion, every despair, every suffocating and obsessive desire of Abyzoth. He had sensed Lythiel’s fear when she realized she couldn’t escape.
His hands trembled as he tried to cling to reality, to separate himself from those memories. But something inside him told him that these were not just memories.
Harry, who had remained silent until that moment, slowly shifted his gaze to Elyndra. The way his hands had clenched betrayed his outward composure.
The goddess stood motionless, a perfect statue wrapped in her cloak of light and shadow, but beneath the bandages covering her eyes, black tears continued to flow, relentless.
Harry squinted, as if he already knew the answer, but needed to hear it all the same.
«You're telling me that this soul of Lythiel, or whatever his name is, is in Draco?»
The tone wasn’t surprised or incredulous. It was merely a confirmation. A cold, inexorable weariness seeped into his voice, as if everything suddenly began to make sense.
Elyndra didn’t answer right away. She slightly tilted her head, her lips parting as if savoring the weight of the words before uttering them.
She took a step forward, her robes brushing against the nothingness around them.
«Draco Malfoy, heir to a mortal name. You carry inside of you something that doesn’t belong to this era. You are not him, you are not Lythiel. But the fragment that once burned in him still burns in you.»
The blonde felt a shiver run through him. He forced himself to take a deep breath, trying to calm the tremor in his hands.
He wasn’t him. He wasn’t that creature of light whom Abyzoth had obsessed over, chased, shattered.
And yet... that desperate hunger, that inescapable terror he had felt in the vision were not just a memory. They were inside him. They were his.
Harry, still staring at Elyndra, slowly shook his head.
«And Abyzoth?» he asked, his voice low, dangerous.
The goddess smiled, a smile devoid of joy.
«Abyzoth never stopped. And now that he has sensed the spark he was searching for... He will never stop again.»