aletheia starborn

Today I found myself on another mission.

I wasn’t given precise guidelines, or told exactly what to do—I just knew I had to go to a certain dimension and retrieve something important.

So I went to the portal guide and told him which realm I needed to enter. He didn’t ask questions. He just nodded, already knowing which portal would get me there. He guided me to it, and me and my guides—we were a small team—walked through together.

The moment we stepped into the portal, everything changed.

Our appearance, our energy, even our clothing. It was like the dimension itself dressed us, shaped us to blend in. We were all suddenly wearing strange cloaks—dark, almost like running suits and ceremonial habits combined. We didn’t question it. We knew it meant we belonged here, or at least looked like we did.

We looked like shadows with purpose.

Ahead of us stood a massive building. Quiet. Ominous.

We slipped inside and moved through the long corridors without making a sound. None of us spoke. The mission was clear: get in, get out. Unnoticed.

Eventually, we reached the room.

I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t need to.

It was a vast library—books covering every wall, stacked to the ceiling. No windows. Just the dim, flickering light of hundreds of candles. And I remember thinking, “So many books, so many candles. That’s not a good idea.”

One of my teammates found it—the object we were here to retrieve.

A small golden box.

They brought it to the center of the room and placed it on a worn, wooden table. I stepped forward. This was it. The thing we came for.

I had the key.

It was odd. Smooth, golden, no teeth or grooves—just a small cylinder, like a capsule of silence. I slid it into the box’s lock and tried to turn it.

Just then, one of the others—our lookout—yelled from the hallway.
“Someone’s coming!”

I panicked.

I tried to twist the key faster, desperate to unlock the box before we were found, but the key got stuck. It wouldn’t turn, and I couldn’t pull it out. We were out of time. I had to leave it.

I left the box and the key sitting there on the table.

I scrambled on top of a tall cabinet and tried to flatten myself into the shadows, whispering a spell to make myself invisible. It worked—partially. There wasn’t enough space, and I was too exposed.

Then she walked in.

Wild black hair. Dark robes. Fury in her eyes.

I recognized her instantly. This was her room. And we had broken in.

She knew someone was here. She could sense it.

Then—I slipped. Fell from the cabinet, hit the floor.
Everything shattered into motion.

She and her followers snatched one of my teammates and began to fly away with them through the halls, vanishing into the air like shadows.

I grabbed the golden box, shoved it into my cloak, and took off running after them. But they were too fast. They were flying.
And I was just running.

I charged through the corridors, breath sharp in my chest, cloak whipping behind me, chasing the blur of broomsticks and shadows.

Then I remembered—
Why am I running? I can fly.

I lifted off the ground, my body responding without hesitation, and soared through the last stretch of the hallway, chasing the trail of magic left in their wake.

We burst outside into the open air.

I stopped in front of the building, hovering, catching my breath—and that’s when I saw it.

A dragon.

Black. Massive. Regal. Suspended in the sky like a silent guardian.

And in that moment, I remembered something else.

I have wings.

Not metaphorically. Not magically conjured.

I could feel them growing, spreading wide from my back—dragon wings, huge and ancient, like they’d been folded behind my shoulder blades for lifetimes, just waiting for me to remember.

I let them stretch. I let them carry me up.

The chase changed. I was no longer just trying to keep up. I was something else now. Something they weren’t ready for.

But just as I gained height—

I looked back at the dragon.

What if he starts attacking people?
He shouldn’t be here. It’s not safe. Not like this.

So I turned away from the pursuit and flew toward the dragon.

He didn’t fight me. He wasn’t angry. He was just there. Watching.

I helped him land gently, out of sight.
“You shouldn’t be flying like this,” I told him. “Someone might see you.”

He landed quietly. Still. Calm.

And I just stood there.

I had lost the person. I didn’t know how I was supposed to return without them. I had the box. The key was stuck back there. Everything felt incomplete.

But somehow I knew…

This wasn’t the end.
It was just one chapter of the mission.