Glacina and Lumina

A soft breeze fluttered through the trees, playing harmonious hums that mingled with the stillness of the descending dusk. The evening light had cast a quiet spell over the town—a twinkle of lavender and orange wrapping every rooftop, every leaf, every breath in a bubble of gentle magic. Birds, with tired wings, found their way back to their nests while fireflies emerged from the woods, fluttering like little floating lanterns, adorning the dark with their quiet glow.

Soren observed the scenery from his courtyard, seated on a meticulously carved wooden swing that swayed gently with the breeze. His hands worked on a sketch, sharp lines blending into softer one slowly bringing to life a picturesque landscape. When he looked down at the sketch, a rare smile tugged at his lips. The heaviness he'd been carrying—the block, the doubt—seemed to melt ever so slightly with the falling sun. The sun dipped behind the mountains, casting one last golden glance toward him, as if it, too, had taken notice—and approved.

Like flowers that bloom

When touched by light's gentle groom

Like magic being cast

When quiet blessings forecast

Soft laughter erupted in the room like a warm ray after days of cold. Soren was talking with his family for the first time in weeks. He had an older sister and a younger brother. Their bond had always been strong—especially with Natalie, his sister—but his recent exasperation had cast a slight shadow between them. Now, with his shift in spirit, that strain seemed to melt away, their closeness slowly returning.

Due to the time difference, it was already late for Soren, possibly past midnight. He watched his parents with gentle fondness. A pair of brown and hazel eyes traced his face through the screen, and for the first time, he noticed the greying at their temples—something he’d somehow missed before. Their smiles were familiar, comforting, even if a veil of tiredness lingered beneath.

His gaze shifted to his younger brother—a tall, handsome copy of their father, a little reserved in nature. Natalie, in contrast, was sunlight incarnate. It felt as if Soren was seeing clearly after walking a long road wrapped in fog. After an hour, he bid them goodnight. As he shut his laptop, rubbing the weariness from his eyes, sleep began to call. He stood, stretching, when something outside caught his attention—a silver shimmer in the windowpane.

Quietly, he opened the window and looked out. There she was.

A girl stood near the edge of the woods, glowing with silvery-gold light, as though snow-dust floated around her. Her hair was the color of starlight—silvery white—and her eyes, the deepest blue he’d ever seen. A teal tunic clung to her form, swaying with the breeze, and a graceful smile touched her lips. She was pale, cold, and ethereal—like she’d been carved from white jade.

His gaze lingered, intense with awe, and perhaps it was that very intensity that made her turn. Their eyes locked, if only for a heartbeat.

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Blue eyes widened in surprise.

And then—she was gone.

Soren stood frozen. Perhaps she was a dream—something conjured by a poet’s starved imagination. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake her from his mind. Confused and dazed, he returned to bed, letting the night claim him.

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The next morning, her eyes—those blue, eternal eyes—lingered in his thoughts like a song half-remembered. He stepped outside, retracing his steps to where he had seen her. There, a surprise awaited. The flower bed lay preserved beneath a veil of ice. Yet, the flora hadn’t withered. Instead, a thin, glistening layer of frost encased each bloom like a protective embrace. He knelt, hand hovering above a blossom before finally touching it.

It was cold—but the sight radiated warmth. Or more precisely, light.

Glacina and Lumina.

The snow and light had deeply observed him and they had discerned that his eyes lacked the hush of love's yearning, a heart that's steeped in sorrow. They had wove together a chance for him, he just needed to step forward and take it, once he did his life would change.

Curious about the lady he came across, he went to visit the town and found Cyan, hoping to gain an insight from him yet much to his dismay no one knew the existence of this mysterious woman. He decided to search in the library, perhaps some books might have mentioned a magical spirit, a day's worth of struggle leading to nothing. He sighed softly, disappointment evident from his eyes, as he lazily treaded back to his house pausing in front of the flower bed once again. The ice had melted, he had lost the last trace of her and this thought filled his heart with an inexplicable ache. It was like he had lost something beloved to him. It was odd...very odd.

He slowly nibbled down on his dinner, absorbed in his spiralling thoughts. An urge to find her has slowly taken root in his heart. In the still earth of his longing, love planted its promise. Snow and light smiled at him, whispering songs of ancient tales of forgotten love.

The Bearers of Stillness and Light — Glacina and Lumina

Long ago, before time was measured in days or by the moon, two spirits rose from the hush of the earth—

Glacina, the Whisper of Snow, and Lumina, the Whisper of Dawn.

Glacina walked through the quiet corners of the land, where longings dwelled. She wandered where snow fell, where memories lived beneath a frozen veil. She preserved them in icy bubbles, letting moments live eternally—if they were precious enough.

Lumina followed paths bathed in gentle glow, her breath imparting light without the harshness of heat. Twilight resided in her hair. She guided those who were lost but still yearned to be found—those who believed in second chances. She did not command; she allowed one to flow, to feel, to find.

Together, they wrote quiet miracles for hearts that still knew how to feel. They did not interfere with the world—they created moments, planted chances. It was up to people to live them, to choose.

It is said:

Where light and snow meet—

Where one glistens and the other does not melt—

Glacina and Lumina walk nearby.

A tale Soren found in the children's story book in his next day visit to the library.