There stood the kingdom of Virelia long ago in a country of perpetual gloom. Virelia was covered in constant darkness unlike other worlds, illuminated softly by the moon and the glittering stars. Growing bright flowers, illuminating their streets with magical lanterns, and sharing stories of the heavenly creatures watching over them, the inhabitants of Virelia had adapted to the darkness. But one myth the story of the Moonlit Guardian both delighted and frightened the people. Old legend saw the Moonlit Guardian as a ghost bonded to the Silver Vale, a holy woodland where moonlight never faded.

The moon had always watched over the residents in the little town of Elder mere, where the hills rippled like waves and the fireflies danced in the nightly wind. It rose every night without fail, softly glistening silver on the river, the roofs, and the sleeping fields. But one evening something unusual occurred. The moon did not dawn. The people originally believed it to be simply concealed behind the clouds. But the heavens stayed empty as the hours passed. The stars shined anxiously as if they were chatting to one another. Uncertain of what to do, the owls stayed quietly in the woods.

Past the highest mountains and deepest seas, in a sky far beyond what the eye could perceive, was a location called the Celestial Workshop. It was concealed within the folds of the cosmos, where the night sky was painted and the stars were created. The Star Painter was an elderly, lovely man running this enterprise. He painted the stars onto the big canvas of the sky with his long, silver brush. He meticulously arranged them every evening so that people living on Earth would have something lovely to dream of. They glittered exactly beautifully.

On the brink of the sea stood an antique lighthouse in a little town where cobblestone paths curled between clusters of houses and roofs slanted like soft waves. For as long as anybody could remember, its golden light has been there, leading wayward sailors gently to land. Few people, however, realized that the lighthouse was kept alive by a man called Elias, the Lantern Keeper; it was not only composed of bricks and glass. Elias had spent as long as the village chiefs could remember living in the lighthouse. He seldom visited town; he only dropped down for groceries or fresh bread.

Oliver and Claire went to work every morning, crossing the same old bridge. It was a little, dilapidated building that spanned a silent river, but it contained the secret of their love. Years before, when Claire had dropped her book and Oliver had scooped it up with a lovely grin, they had first met on that bridge. The bridge became their meeting spot after that day. Regardless of the weather, they would take a little break to speak, give each other a kind look, and make a commitment to repeating the same process the following day.

Nestled between undulating golden wheat fields and dark woodlands, the peaceful town of Elder-moor was Living a modest lifestyle, the people woke with the dawn and slept as the stars replaced each other in the heavens. One lad, Orion, a gentle dreamer, had always felt different from the rest, however. He would lie on the grassy hills, staring at the heavens, waiting for the moon to rise as the village youngsters played in the fields. Orion has long thought the moon was lonely. Watching over everyone but without someone to chat to, it lingered above the planet.

The Wishing Glen was a secluded place in a far-off country where the rivers ran with silver mist and the heavens glittered like diamonds. Living there was a guardian the legendary old owl Orius, who watched out for the desires of the pure-hearted. Elias, a young lad from a little hamlet close to the glen, had grown up knowing the stories all his life. His one aim in his heart was to assist his poor sister Livia, who had been ill from birth. Though he did everything he could think of to heal her, nothing appeared to work.

Living in a little hamlet nestled between undulating green hills and large golden fields was a lad called Finn. Finn spent his days sitting by the river that passed the hamlet, seeing the water glitter under the sun while others toiled in the fields or created beautiful objects. The river had always captivated him since the elder’s spoke of its enigmatic past that it was once a passageway to a magical world inaccessible to common people. Finn noticed something unusual one evening as the sun sank below the horizon.

Eldermere was a secret settlement tucked deep in the Whispering Woods, where the fireflies flickered like little lamps and the trees moved softly. Unlike any other hamlet, this one was under the protection of an ancient guardian a monster only known as Liora. Some claimed she was a fantastic owl with silver-shining feathers beneath the moon. Others said she was a spirit manifest as a brilliant mist, guiding wind throughout the forest. Young children in the village grew up hearing stories of Liora.

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