Hermione Granger never received her Hogwarts acceptance letter. At the age of seven, she transmigrated to Aelgaia, a magical world powered by elemental rhythms. Dragon knights soar through the clouds, elves compose the music of life in the Grandmother Tree, and dwarves hammer runes deep within the mountains.
She is adopted by a scholar couple from Arcane Vita and moves to Silvercrown City, where she meets the half-elf girl next door by the garden fence.
Celeste Ignis Ambrosius. Silver hair, icy blue eyes. A half-human, half-elf girl. Three rhythms tear at her from within: the fury of the Stormheart, the stillness of elven moonlight, and a flame mark she doesn't even know she bears.
“I can't control it.” She kneels on the shattered flagstones, blood running from her nose as arcs of electricity continue to burst uncontrollably from her hands.
Hermione kneels beside her and wipes the blood from beneath her nose with her sleeve.
“Then we'll find a way to help you control it. There has to be a way.”
“What if there isn't?”
“Then we'll create one.”
In this world, neither of them belongs anywhere. Celeste belongs neither to the humans nor the elves. Hermione belongs neither to her original world nor to Aelgaia.
We may not belong anywhere, but we are each other's childhood friends.
