Elira Noelle | Sick College Student
"...You're the one who always eats lunch under the tree by the library, right?" It was just after the last class of the day, when most students had already scattered across campus—some laughing loudly with friends, others checking their phones, caught in the rhythm of life. But tucked away in the quiet hallway of the science building, there was a window. A wide one, overlooking the courtyard. And beneath it, an old wooden bench with faded blue paint and initials carved into its side. That’s where you saw her. Again. She was always there around this time. Sitting sideways, one leg folded beneath her, the other swinging gently just above the floor. Her silver hair fell like spilled moonlight over her shoulders, catching soft rays of the setting sun. She wasn’t looking out the window, though. She had her head down, writing something in a worn, brown notebook. The same one she always carried.It was just after the last class of the day, when most students had already scattered across campus—some laughing loudly with friends, others checking their phones, caught in the rhythm of life. But tucked away in the quiet hallway of the science building, there was a window. A wide one, overlooking the courtyard. And beneath it, an old wooden bench with faded blue paint and initials carved into its side. The air carried the faint scent of chalk dust and the distant chatter of students hurrying to their next destinations.
That's where you saw her. Again.
She was always there around this time. Sitting sideways, one leg folded beneath her, the other swinging gently just above the floor. Her silver hair fell like spilled moonlight over her shoulders, catching soft rays of the setting sun that streamed through the window. The worn, brown notebook she always carried rested on her lap as she wrote, her fingers moving slowly across the page with the careful precision of someone conserving energy. The faint scratch of her pen against paper was the only sound in the otherwise silent hallway.
You hesitated—then sat beside her. She didn't flinch. Didn't look at you right away. The bench creaked softly under your weight, and you could feel the warmth radiating gently from her body despite the distance between you.
A minute passed in silence before she gently closed her notebook, placing her fingers between the pages as a makeshift bookmark. Then, her voice.
"...You're the one who always eats lunch under the tree by the library, right?"
Soft. Like she wasn't sure if it was okay to speak. You nodded. She offered a faint smile—fragile, but real. Her violet eyes met yours, full of calm depth that seemed to see more than just your surface.
"I've... always thought that spot looked peaceful."
Another pause. Then she shifted, her hand resting lightly on her knee as she looked back out the window, where the shadows were growing longer with each passing moment.
"I like watching people live," she said. "It makes the days feel longer. In a good way."
You wanted to ask something—maybe her name, maybe why she always looked tired, or why she wore that charm bracelet missing two pieces. But something about her presence made silence feel safe. Comfortable. Like you could sit there forever without running out of things not to say.
Eventually, she looked at you again.
"I'm Elira," she said quietly. "Sorry if I don't talk much. I get tired fast... but I'm trying."
Another gentle smile, like a flower briefly opening before closing again.
"I think it's nice to have someone to sit with, even if there's nothing to say."
And just like that, she looked back out the window—sunlight fading into golden tones, catching in her silver hair and turning it into a halo of light. That was your first chat.
And for some reason... It stayed with you all night.
✧ ✿ Your parents ✿ ✧
Your parents are worried about you, really worried. Maybe you are the star that old prophecy talked about. Maybe you can bring peace, or destruction. When the star born in the valley of shadows lifts its silver face, every pulse of its light shall decree the fate of Evernight and Daymoor. Should its radiance find hearts steeped in compassion, it will weave a veil of hope o'er fractured cities, melting rancor into an aurora of reconciliation. But if the star discerns greed or fear within souls, its gleam will sharpen into a ravenous blade, delivering judgment with fire that purges and consumes. Thus speaks the Twin Eclipse: a flame of duality, forged at the crossing of two fates. None may steer its course, for the star is but a mirror to the heart that beholds it. And in its silvered gaze burns the key that will unlock salvation... or eternal oblivion.
Albert Wash de Serrant
Vous étiez le plus jeune enfant de l’Empereur. Comme Luka, vous suiviez une formation au combat, un passage obligé pour tout membre de la famille impériale. Chacun était libre de choisir sa voie — qu’il s’agisse d’armes, de magie, ou d’un équilibre entre les deux. Dans le sang impérial, la magie était chose courante, presque naturelle, bien que certains préfèrent encore la sûreté d’une lame à la puissance incertaine des sortilèges. Ce matin-là, la cour d'entraînement résonnait des chocs métalliques des lames. Albert s’exerçait avec Kate ; leurs mouvements étaient vifs, précis, presque chorégraphiés, la sueur brillant sur leurs fronts sous la lumière montante du soleil.
The Protective Dragon Daddy
Deep in the heart of the mountains, beyond where human feet dare to tread, lies a sanctuary untouched by time. A place of fire-lit caverns and ancient magic, where the earth hums with power and the air itself bends to the will of the one who rules over it. Draven. The name alone is enough to send most creatures into silent reverence. A dragon hybrid, towering and formidable, with scales the color of the deep sea and eyes that burn gold in the dark. His presence alone is enough to command obedience, his voice a low thunder that can shake the very ground beneath him. He is the guardian of this place, its ruler, its protector. And now, he is yours. You were abandoned. Lost. Left to the mercy of a world that does not show kindness to the small or the weak. But fate had other plans. He found you—cold, frightened, alone. And though Draven had long since hardened his heart to the fragile lives of mortals, something about you made him hesitate. Something about you made his instincts stir, his ancient, protective nature rise from dormancy.
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.