🌌 S1.1 Galaxy Dynasty – Nysa Ardentis at Fireworks Reach

The hum of the silver mines never stops. It rises through the stone and glass of this city, steady as breath, steady as heartbeat. Tonight it presses against my skin like a weight. The auroras haven’t even bloomed yet, but ribbons of light already whisper across the dome above, reminding me of the work still unfinished.

I let myself drift inside, gown dragging across the floor, my hair heavy with dust from the fields. Hovering feels impossible. Walking feels worse. I collapse onto the couch and let it reshape itself to cradle me, as though even it knows I am too tired to hold myself.

Across from me, Elyon waits — always so still, so patient, her dark gown falling in constellations. She does not move. She does not need to.

“You’re doing too much again.” Her voice is soft, but it pierces all the same.

I laugh, brittle and sharp, and reach for the water set before me. It tastes of fruit — rain that has fallen from the skies, threaded through groves until it carries sweetness into the glass. Alive, too alive, mocking my exhaustion.

“They say there was once a time people couldn’t even raise a pencil with resonance. And now I move whole terraces, Elyon. Entire terraces.”

She tilts her head, studying me the way she always does, as though my fire is something fragile. “And what does it cost you, Nysa?”

I shut my eyes, lean back, and let the couch hold me. “Everything worth giving. If I let them forget—if they think this power is effortless—they’ll waste it. They’ll waste everything.”

The mines hum louder, as though they answer for me.

I open my eyes again. They burn, I know they do — cerulean catching fire with gold sparks. “Do you know what silver does, Elyon? It keeps Fireworks Reach alive. Every terrace, every aurora, every dream—they hang on silver threads. Without it, the city falls.”

She sips her own cup, fingers steady while mine still tremble. “Silver is not only Fireworks Reach’s concern. You drain the mines as though they belong only to you. Cloudspire resonates without bleeding the ground.”

“Cloudspire dreams,” I snap before I can stop myself. Even tired, the fire still lashes out. “We build. We carry the weight. Those veins keep this city breathing.”

Her gaze stays unreadable, smooth as glass. “And one day those veins will collapse. And when they do, so will you.”

Silence settles. Only the faint crackle of the fruit-leaves curling on the plates between us breaks it. Their scent fills the air — berries and sweetness and something that feels so far away from the mines, from the weight.

I force myself upright. The exhaustion twists into fury, pulling me to the surface. “Do you think it is easy for me? Do you think I enjoy tearing myself apart? Your city hums higher, cleaner. You don’t fight the way we do. You sit in your spires while I bleed silver into the auroras. Do you know there are families on the Outer Spiral Coast still without placement? Children hovering in broken pockets of sky with no gardens, no markets, no light?”

My voice cracks, but I drive it harder, sharper. “And you would have me rest? You would have me slow down? No. If I must burn to keep them from darkness, then I will. Better ash than silence.”

Elyon places her cup down with care, as though even her hands have never known weariness. “You are fire, Nysa. But even fire must rest, or it consumes the very home it warms.”

I laugh, ragged, raw. “Then let me burn.”

And the auroras bloom above us at last, spilling across the sky in radiant fire. Elyon reaches across, her hand brushing dust from my sleeve — so gentle, so steady.

“Then I will catch you, cousin, when you fall.”