Lyra Dimitriu

The journey of the Prince begins on a magical night, remembered as Saffron Nights, while he is camped near the Citadel of the Silent Sands.
He has been sent into the desert on a sacred mission: to find the Crown of the Eastern Sun, an ancient relic believed to hold the power needed for his father’s ascension to godhood.

Guided by duty rather than ambition, the Prince wanders deeper into the sands.
During his search, he strays from his path and stumbles upon Wonderworld — a shifting pocket realm hidden within the desert, never appearing in the same place twice, never the same to any traveler.

Within this strange and luminous place, he discovers the Gardens of Karafra, a forgotten sanctuary of ancient magic. There, the Prince gathers several artifacts, remnants of an older age. Among them is one object unlike the others: an artifact imbued with the essence of a djinn, unknowingly serving as its prison.

When the Prince returns to the desert, the nights grow unnaturally still.
In the moment known as The Night Holds Its Breath, the djinn begins to speak to him — quietly at first, almost indistinguishable from his own thoughts.

As the days pass, the Prince hears Voices of the Dunes, whispers carried by the wind. He believes the desert itself is speaking, and fears he has begun to lose his mind. All the while, the djinn listens… and learns.

In Empress of the Sand, the Prince’s heart begins to unravel. He speaks of love, of longing, of the princess promised to him. Without realizing it, he shares his deepest truths. The djinn understands then that the Prince’s heart is pure — and therefore powerful.

A plan is formed.

Under ritual rhythms and ancient echoes, A Promise Between the Drums marks the moment of deception. The Prince believes he has found guidance. The djinn prepares a spell of theft.

In Heart of Sand, the spell is cast.
The Prince’s heart is transformed into sand, disintegrating and slipping away into the desert. He remains alive — but hollow. The djinn escapes, carrying the stolen heart with it.

As dawn breaks in Eastern Afterglow, the Prince rises and gives chase. On the Windy Dunes, he sees his beloved Silk Princess one final time — a fleeting vision, a farewell he cannot stop.

Near death from thirst and exhaustion, the Prince reaches the River of Dreams at Dusk. There, he performs a desperate ritual. The djinn reveals its true form — no longer a whisper, but an ancient and malevolent force — before vanishing into the darkest regions of the sands.

This realm is a desert of eternal night, inhabited by diabolical creatures, drawn to corruption and the destruction of purity. The djinn flees there with the Prince’s heart, intent on consuming or corrupting it.

At the edge of this cursed desert, the Prince stands alone.

His heart is gone.
The djinn has fled.
The world he knew no longer exists.

He chooses to follow.

This is where the story pauses.
The pursuit begins in the next chapter.

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3 days ago | [YT] | 0

Lyra Dimitriu

The Clockwork Dream


At twilight, when the world softens and shadows grow long, a forgotten music box waits to be noticed.
It does not sit in a place of importance. It rests where dust gathers and footsteps hesitate, where time has learned to pass quietly. Its surface is worn smooth by years of silence, its key stiff, as if it has not been turned in a very long while. And yet, it listens.

When someone pauses — truly pauses — and places their hand upon it, the box awakens.


The first turn of the key is always hesitant. The second is steadier. With the third, the air changes. A melody escapes, thin at first, then warm and precise, like a memory remembering itself. Gears begin to move, not with noise, but with intention. And inside the box, a kingdom opens its eyes.


This kingdom exists only in the space between sounds. Towers of lacquered wood and gilded brass rise gently, banners unfurl, and lanterns glow as if they have been waiting for permission. Streets curve like ribbons, leading to ballrooms where dancers step into motion the instant the music reaches them. Their movements are perfect, not because they are practiced, but because they were made for this moment.


The kingdom does not wake for everyone.
It awakens only for those who listen closely enough — those who hear not just the melody, but the silence beneath it. For them, the carnival begins. Stories perform themselves beneath striped canopies. Bells shimmer. Courts gather. Two realms meet, if only for the length of a song.


But the music does not rush.
It knows the value of lingering. Of allowing wonder to unfold slowly, gear by gear, note by note. Paths appear for wandering. Veils thin. Quiet ballrooms remain long after the crowd has faded, holding echoes like secrets.


And then, just as gently as it began, the melody starts to close in on itself.
The dancers bow. The lights dim. The towers settle back into stillness. The final bell rings, clear and soft, sealing the kingdom once more inside the box. The key stops turning. The world exhales.


What remains is not silence — but the feeling that something has been shared.
The music box does not disappear. It waits. Patient. Faithful. Knowing that one day, at twilight, someone will listen again.

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2 weeks ago (edited) | [YT] | 0