When Light Fell into Darkness

In the days that followed, Harmony was granted permission to walk through parts of the kingdom, always accompanied by two guards. Though the townsfolk looked upon her with wary eyes at first, their suspicion did not last long. Children, after all, were always the quickest to overcome fear.

When she stopped at the market square, she noticed a group of cat children playing with a strip of cloth tied to a string. Their tiny ears twitched nervously, and their tails flicked and coiled as they froze the moment they spotted her—some curious, others cautious.

Harmony knelt down, extending her hand and offering them a gentle smile.

“Hello… I’m Harmony.”

The smallest among them—a boy with soft orange cat ears—took a hesitant step forward. From behind his back, he revealed a tiny flower and carefully placed it in her palm. His tail swayed shyly, brushing the ground in a hesitant rhythm.

“This is for luck,” he whispered, his voice timid yet sincere.

Harmony felt her heart melt. She brushed a hand over his hair.

“Thank you. This is the most beautiful gift I’ve ever received.”

The other children soon followed, laughter bubbling in their voices as they ran circles around her, tails wagging, ears bouncing with every movement, asking endless questions about her world. Harmony told them about her city, about the dog that used to fetch slippers, and about the cat that slept on her desk whenever she tried to draw.

The children gasped in disbelief.

“A dog that’s kind? You made that up!”

Harmony only laughed, nodding with playful insistence.

“No, it’s true. Sometimes dogs and cats can be the best of friends. All it takes is a little patience.”

Even the adults began to watch her differently. Their ears flicked subtly with curiosity, tails relaxed yet alert. Her simplicity, her warmth—little by little, these began to dissolve the walls of mistrust. Some offered her fruit, bread, or trinkets, as if silently confessing: We are more than a nation bound to war.

From a distance, Lysar observed quietly, often half-hidden among the crowd. His sapphire eyes calm yet alert, ears swiveling like a radar, tail coiled in measured loops, he saw the children clinging to her, heard her laughter ringing through the streets. And in his heart, something new—something dangerous—took root. The sense that Harmony was not only hope for the kingdom… but for him as well.

One afternoon, Lysar led her away from the lively square, guiding her through narrow passageways where no colorful stalls or children’s laughter remained. His ears twitched at every faint sound, tail brushing silently against the walls, a subtle demonstration of his perpetual vigilance.

They walked in silence until they reached a great stone building steeped in the smell of herbs and incense smoke.

When the doors opened, Harmony froze. Rows of beds stretched before her, each occupied by wounded soldiers. Some bore scars across their faces, others clenched their teeth against the pain, and still others lay unconscious, unmoving. Healers and apprentices hurried between them, carrying bowls of water and bandages.

Harmony approached one of the soldiers. He was young, hardly older than she was, his tunic torn, his fur matted with blood. When he noticed her, he tried to rise, but Lysar stopped him. Ears slightly back, tail wrapped protectively around his legs.

“Stay still, soldier. She’s only a guest.”

Harmony crouched beside him.

“What’s your name?” she asked softly.

“R-Rael,” he croaked, his voice hoarse.

She smiled faintly.

“Rael… back home, I have a notebook full of drawings of cats and dogs. Would you like me to draw something for you, so you can remember brighter days?”

The soldier blinked in surprise. Then, slowly, a fragile smile touched his lips.

“If you draw… draw the stars. We hardly ever see them here.”

Harmony promised she would.

Later, Lysar brought her to an orphanage, where children without parents sat on the floor, sewing little toys out of scraps of cloth. Their ears drooped slightly in shyness at first, but tails lifted in joy when they saw Lysar, and their eyes lit up with hope.

“Prince! Prince Lysar!” they cried, running to him. He knelt so each child could feel his hand upon their shoulder. Harmony noticed the shadow of grief in his eyes, a sorrow he rarely let others see. Ears lowered briefly in reflection, tail curling around him in a protective, comforting sweep.

One little girl with gray ears tugged at Harmony’s sleeve.

“Are you… my mama? You’re so kind.”

Harmony felt tears sting her eyes. She knelt and embraced the girl.

“I’m not your mother. But I promise… I’ll do everything I can so that one day, you’ll live in a world without war.”

As they left, Harmony turned to Lysar.

“This isn’t life. This isn’t a world. It’s hell. I want to speak with the king and queen again.”

Lysar’s gaze lingered on her. His voice was quiet, almost fragile. Ears flexing minutely, tail resting in a gentle curve behind him.

“Harmony… they won’t listen. They only believe in strength. But… I saw the way the children looked at you. And the soldiers. You give them something no one else can—hope.”

Harmony pleaded with Lysar to let her help the wounded.

“I know I’m not a doctor, but I’ve always cared for animals back home. Maybe I can at least ease their pain.”

After a moment of hesitation, Lysar nodded.

“Very well. But be careful. Some of them are very weak.”

When she moved among the soldiers, some recoiled at first. But as she gently examined their wounds, checked for infection, and spoke in a calm, steady voice, the tension began to fade.

With the younger feline soldiers who trembled with fear, she used a different approach—speaking softly, almost as if soothing a frightened housecat. Her touch was gentle, her words patient. Slowly, their breathing steadied; some even drifted into light sleep while she replaced their bandages.

Whispers began to spread among the soldiers:

“This girl… she’s not ordinary…”

At the entrance, Lysar watched in silence, the silver trim of his dark-blue robes catching the glow of the light surrounding her. Ears angled attentively, tail coiling slowly around him. His voice was barely more than a whisper:

“Harmony… your power isn’t only in prophecy. What you’re doing now will change their hearts. Perhaps even the hearts of those who still refuse to understand.”

Harmony lowered her eyes humbly.

“I don’t need magic or battles. Just a little time, and the will to show them… there’s always another way. Even to end a war.”

Over time, soldiers and children alike began to gather around her. Some asked her to teach them how to make poultices or tie bandages. Others spoke of crafting toys and remedies together. Harmony felt her heart warm with a new bond—her first true connection to the kingdom, woven from threads of hope.

Days later, Harmony stepped beyond the royal courtyard, her guards following close, their sharp eyes scanning every shadow. She found a group of cat children racing recklessly near the border wall.

“No, don’t go so close to the edge! It’s dangerous!” she called.

The children only laughed, ignoring her. One leapt over a low stone wall, another vanished into the bushes. Tails flicking, ears alert, every movement full of feline energy. Harmony’s pulse quickened. She knew she should stop them, yet curiosity tugged at her heart.

When she darted after them, her guards started to follow—but a sudden commotion tore through the air. From the nearby stables came a thunder of hooves: several horses had broken free, manes flying as they bolted down the path. Feline stablehands shouted, scrambling to contain the frightened animals before they trampled through the market.

The guards froze for only a heartbeat, ears twitching sharply, then exchanged a glance. Duty demanded they help. With a curse under his breath, one sprinted toward the stables while the other followed, tails lashing with urgency.

For just a moment, Harmony was left on her own.

She pushed through bushes and broken paths, when suddenly—the snap of branches. The quiet air trembled as she listened to the distant drumming of horses’ hooves. Low voices.

The children froze, fear overtaking their playful bravado. Harmony quickly gathered them close.

“Quiet! Hide behind the tree. No panic—just watch.”

Her sharp eyes caught sight of canine scouts on horses moving stealthily nearby. Danger.

“Go! Now!” she shouted, her voice firm.

The children bolted for safety, while Harmony backed away to buy them time. But her foot caught on a stone. She stumbled, fell, her head striking hard against the earth. Darkness swallowed her.

The canine scouts closed in, muttering darkly, their intent clear. But then—

“Stand down!”

The command rang out, deep and unwavering, echoing through the stillness like a crack of thunder.

A tall figure emerged from the shadows, his stride both graceful and unyielding. A faint silver aura clung to him, shimmering like moonlight on a blade. The canine prince, Evander. His presence filled the clearing, both noble and dangerous—like a storm barely held in check.

His tousled brown hair fell across his brow, catching the light with warm undertones of gold. From beneath it, slightly rounded, half-dropped ears twitched subtly, betraying vigilance and calm authority. Behind him, his thick, gently curved tail swept slowly, commanding attention without aggression. Every line of his posture radiated authority, the kind that made even seasoned warriors bow their heads.

The scouts faltered, their bravado shriveling under the weight of his gaze. None dared to advance further, yet neither did they flee. Instead, they shifted uneasily in their saddles, their horses snorting and pawing at the earth, as if sensing the invisible line they did not dare cross.

Evander’s presence alone held them at bay.

Evander did not spare them another glance. His attention had already fallen to the girl on the ground. Harmony lay motionless, her hair spilled across the earth like a river of fire, her fragile form stark against the dust and stone. Vulnerable. Human.

For a long moment, he stood in silence, his jaw tight, his thoughts unreadable. Then, slowly, he knelt beside her. His hand hovered uncertainly in the air, as though torn between duty and something far more dangerous.

When his fingers finally brushed a strand of hair from her face, his amber eyes softened.

“Foolish girl,” he murmured under his breath, though the words carried no anger—only a strange, unspoken concern. His ears shifted slightly forward, tail curling protectively beneath him.