Chapter 1 :The Gift of the World

Chapter 01

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There was once a land far from maps and memory, a place woven from light and rumor, called Elaria. Nobody knew how Elaria first arose. Some whispered that the gods themselves had built it to test mankind's restraint; others said it had always existed, a hidden fold of reality reserved for the fortunate.

Elaria's soil was fertile, its skies gentle, and its people lived without hunger. But what set it apart was not its beauty; it was the Law of Birthdays.

On the day each child was born, their first cry planted a contract inside the air. On each birthday after, as the candles were lit, they could make a wish. Whatever the desire, whispered or shouted, innocent or cunning, reality itself yielded. Every year, one truth could be changed.

For generations, this seemed a paradise. A mother might wish away illness, a father might summon good harvests, a child might dream of ponies or endless sweets. Wishes shaped Elaria, carving the world with hope.

But paradise, when stretched too long, frays into peril.

At first, chaos crept like ivy.

Neighbors began to notice strange contradictions—the baker's child had wished every morning would smell like warm bread, while the gardener's daughter had wished for perpetual roses in bloom. Each morning, the air smelled of bread and roses, sickly strong and confusing to bees. The honey soured.

A boy wished there were no rules, and for a day, the city guard sat cross-legged in the streets, unwilling to act. A girl who hated math wished numbers would disappear, and for a terrifying hour, merchants wept as their ledgers became blank ink.

Still, people laughed. "They are children," the elders said. "Small wishes tangle, but the world cannot be undone by trifles."

But then came The Year of Grand Desires.

In the mountain village of Ceryth, a widower wished his wife back from death. Far away in the port of Mirrel, a lonely girl wished the sea itself would turn to glass so she could see every fish. And in the capital, a young prince wished that no one else would ever outshine him—his brilliance absolute, his throne eternal.

The mountain wife returned, bewildered, stumbling from the soil with eyes too empty to hold love. The sea froze for six days, suffocating trade and sailors. The prince's wish rippled wide: poets forgot words finer than his, musicians found their strings snapping when their songs threatened to surpass the prince's own faltering voice.

>"We have lived with this gift too freely," intoned Seraphine, eldest among them. "Wishes multiply wounds. We must teach restraint."

But how could they? For centuries, every child had grown up certain their birthday was sacred...........the day when the world was theirs. You could not take that certainty away with speeches.

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