Whispers of Nelistia ‘The Awakening’

© 2025 Udyantika Sura. All Rights Reserved.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, real events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The world of Nelistia, its lore, characters, realms, and histories are the sole intellectual creation of Udyantika Sura and are protected under applicable copyright laws.

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Thank you for stepping into the whispers.

For Papa,

The first hero I ever knew,

the one who taught me to reach for the stars even when,

they felt galaxies away this story carries pieces of your strength,

your quiet faith in me, and your never- fading love.

Always your little princess,

~ Udyantika Sura

✨ A Gentle Caution to the Reader

Within the pages of Whispers of Nelistia lies a tale spun from stardust and shadow — a story of love, loss, betrayal, and the fragile threads of destiny.

But like all truths worth uncovering, this journey is not without its thorns.

This novel is intended for readers aged 16 and above and contains:

— Mature themes and language, including references to                  sex workers and terms some may find sensitive.

— The presence of violence, blood, and grief, scattered like dark petals across the narrative.

— Use of curses and emotionally charged dialogue.

— Moments that explore death, betrayal, and moral conflict.

— Deep-rooted fantasy lore and supernatural elements that may stir tender hearts.

Should you choose to wander through these pages, do so with care —

for some truths, once whispered, can never be unheard.

— By Author.

Author’s Word

To the ones who still believe in whispers...

This story was born in the quiet hours of the night — when the world slept, but my thoughts did not. Nelistia came to me not as a fantasy, but as a feeling... of longing, of belonging, of battles not just between realms but within the heart.

Female lead reflects the pieces we all carry — courage, doubt, love, grief, and a voice that often gets lost in the noise. Male lead is that whisper we sometimes hear — reminding us of we’re stronger than we think.

Writing this tale wasn’t easy. I lost it once — quite literally — and in that heartbreak, I discovered something even more powerful: stories live in us. They don’t die when pages are deleted. They are reborn — stronger, brighter, better.

So, this version… this Whispers of Nelistia… is not the first.

It’s the chosen one.

Thank you for choosing to walk this journey with me. May you find pieces of yourself in Nelistia, and may its whispers stay with you long after the final page.

~With love, magic, and moonlight,

     Udyantika Sura

For Papa,

The first hero I ever knew,

the one who taught me to reach for the stars even when,

they felt galaxies away this story carries pieces of your strength,

your quiet faith in me, and your never- fading love.

Always your little princess,

~ Udyantika Sura

Prologue ~ The Splitting of Violet

“Before time had a name, and before the stars found their voice, a crystal pulsed with the promise of fate.”

In the age when realms danced around the Juko star like obedient children circling their mother, there existed a light so pure, so untamed — it was said to hold the balance of the universe.They called it The Great Violet — a crystal born from sorrow and forged by truth.

But balance never pleases power.

And so, the day Queen Maria wept behind the palace walls, and her father — the noble King John — shattered the Violet into two, the skies bled lavender for seven days. One half shone pink, cradling emotion, and warmth.

The other turned blue, icy, and quiet, a keeper of reason.

The world changed that day.

And so did the fate of two children... yet to be born.

They did not know it yet, but their fates had already begun to braid.

And once the thread was pulled… everything would change.

‘The stars stopped whispering that night... for they knew their secrets had begun to awaken.'

The city buzzed around her, a thousand lives weaving through streets soaked in afternoon gold. But for Aurora Stevens, life moved slower — a gentle sway of aching limbs and heavy footsteps as she hugged her groceries to her chest and exhaled through the cramps that clenched at her lower stomach.

She winced, pausing near a bakery where warm vanilla-sugar scents tempted her to rest for a while. The paper bag in her hands carried the comforting essentials of a girl enduring monthly misery — a bar of extra-dark chocolate, a microwavable heat pack, and a single, crumpled packet of sanitary pads nestled beside a bottle of mint soda.

“Just ten more minutes,” she muttered to herself, brushing a few wind-blown strands of hair away from her flushed face. The cold helped — the breeze wrapping around her like whispered lullabies — though the cramps were still sharp, like tiny needles beneath her skin.

She passed the tall iron gates of the city park, where wild ivy crawled and the trees still carried the breath of spring. Her feet slowed instinctively.

Something was wrong.

She wouldn’t have noticed if it hadn’t moved — just a blur of brown fur trembling near a trash bin, barely visible between the iron bars.

A rabbit.

Aurora blinked, once, twice… her eyes wandered around, scanning the surroundings “A rabbit? Here?”

Its fur was a muddy blend of chocolate brown and ash —it had that soft, velvety, and polished fluff like one of the domesticated pets, but something about it was earthlier, more like a stray animal. Its hind leg twitched helplessly, caught beneath a broken plastic crate.

Her first instinct wasn’t to help. She was tired, sore, and craving a nap beneath soft blankets. But the way the rabbit looked at her — wide icy-sky-blue eyes glassy with pain — something inside her stirred.

She hesitated. Sighed.

She tightened her grip on the bag she was carrying.

One step. Two. Three.

The rabbit didn’t run. It couldn’t.

“Hey, hey… easy now,” she whispered, kneeling beside the crate. “I won’t hurt you.”

Carefully, she lifted the plastic. The rabbit flinched but stayed. Its fur was damp, its breathing shallow. Aurora glanced around it— no leash, no owner, no carrier. It was alone.

“Poor thing,” she murmured.

Without thinking, she shrugged off her scarf— the soft cream one with little stars stitched in the corners— and cradled the rabbit in it, holding it close to her chest. Its heartbeat fast against her palm.

But hers… slowed.

For the first time in days, the pain didn’t feel as heavy.

It was the kind of afternoon that wrapped the city in a sleepy golden haze. Sunlight streamed lazily through dust-flecked air, casting soft halos around trees and windows. Cars murmured in the distance. Somewhere, a kid was whining about ice cream.

Across the street, someone watched her…

At the corner of Bellwood Avenue, tucked between a bakery shop and a half-shuttered laundry place, sat an old, slightly crooked bookstore — the kind with dusty glass windows, faded posters of literary festivals, and a stubborn chime that jingled each time the door opened.

Outside it, a boy stood tall, pretending to read.

His upper half leaning over the wall, an unread poetry book opened in his hands, and a posture too casual to be anything but practiced. His dark, silky brown hair fell slightly over his forehead, and when he lifted his eyes above the rim of the book, they were a sharp, unusual shade — bright hazelnut-green—his eyes spoke volumes, deep and shifting like a forest hiding unknown secrets.

There was a cocky curl to his lips, the kind that could charm anyone in seconds — and had, too many times before.

But right now?

He wasn’t even thinking about that poetry book.

He was watching her.

Through the bookstore window, past the row of unevenly stacked novels, his glace was fixated on her, the girl with windswept hair and slightly furrowed brows. She held a paper bag in one arm, the top corner showing the edge of a pink-wrapped pad. Her other hand was gripping her phone, earphones dangling around her neck.

She moved like she was used to rushing — but there was still a softness about her, something… unguarded.

He had seen her by accident the first time—she had accidentally dropped a coin.

She’d walked past him near the supermarket and the coin slipped out of her bag.

“Miss... your coin…” He held the coin up in his hands, but before he could call out to her and return it to its rightful owner, she was far from his reach almost vanished from sight.

Quite dramatic, just a flick of hair and the way her fingers gripped her stomach like she was in pain — but didn't stop. Something in that moment had snagged in his chest.

And before he could process it, his feet had started moving, not in order to return the coin, he was too out of his character for these deeds.

He’d followed her.

Or so he told himself. He was simply curious. That was all. He didn’t even know her name.

He’d stopped at the bookstore, pretending to read any random book that was within his reach, while she crossed the city park toward what looked like a shortcut to her apartment.

And then he saw her pause.

Something small had darted onto the pavement — a trembling shape with dusty brown fur and wide, terrified eyes.

A rabbit. Lost. Probably injured. Definitely doomed.

He watched her hesitate. Her bag slipped a little. She glanced around, uncertain.

And then…

She crouched down.

Held out her hand. Whispered something. Her voice didn’t reach him, but the tenderness in her body language did. He watched as the rabbit, against all odds, limped toward her — and she gathered it up gently, like a tiny heartbeat.

Something inside him tightened.

He couldn’t explain why. He’d met hundreds of girls. Dated dozens. Slept beside strangers and woken up forgetting their names.

But this…

Although he was not oblivious to her stunning beauty with those delicate curves. This girl with those tangled hair, hugging her groceries’ bag like her life depends upon it, and not to mention that cramp-worn frown…

“She’s the perfect one.” He said underneath his breath.

She sure is extraordinary.

She didn’t look back once.

He’d seen people run from pain. But she… she walked toward it.

Didn’t notice the boy standing next to her the whole time in that very supermarket, the one with a guilty heartbeat and someone she should have at the very least noticed, who was about to go-out of his character by trying to return her, the coin.

He just watched her tuck the rabbit into her sweater and walk home like it was the most natural thing in the world — as if her heart had been made not of flesh, but of starlight and old lullabies.

He exhaled sharply.

And without realizing it, smiled.

…

In that moment, before she even knew who he was; before she’d ever seen the person hiding behind that facade or could trust him or break because of him — he fell in love…!?

Not the loud, thunderous kind.

But the quiet love that settles like dusk across the soul.

He couldn’t speak, just go with the flow, hearing the heart pound in his ears, at this point he had forgotten if it was his heartbeat he was listening to or hers…

She didn’t know her fate had already changed.

It was the beginning.

The apartment smelled faintly of cinnamon, old wood, and second-hand books.

Aurora shoved the door open with her shoulder, careful not to jostle the fragile bundle tucked against her chest. “Almost home,” she whispered, flicking the light switch with her elbow.

A warm golden glow washed over the tiny space — one room that doubled as kitchen, living area, and bedroom, with a rickety old fan clicking above like an offbeat metronome.

She set the rabbit down gently on the floral cushion she’d gotten from the thrift shop for two bucks — still soft despite its faded pink pattern. He twitched, curling up instinctively, eyes fluttering half-closed in relief.

Aurora sighed. Dropped her grocery bag on the counter. Kicked off her shoes.

And stared at him.

“You’re really something, huh?”

The rabbit blinked once.

His fur was still slightly damp from the park’s dewy air. Aurora found herself kneeling beside him again, brushing a few strands back from his eyes. “You’re safe now. Don’t worry.”

He stared at her in that oddly intense way— like he understood.

A soft, disbelieving laugh escaped her lips. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not some saviour. I cry when I spill coffee and panic when I miss my bus.”

She leaned back against the wall, rubbing her temples. “God, tomorrow is my first day at Chrestvelle. My dream freaking college. I should be prepping my outfit, making notes or something. Not… rescuing half-frozen bunnies from parks.”

He just kept watching her.

She sighed again, but this time softer. “You need a name,” she said, scanning the shelves — they were lined with trinkets and old sci-fi books, most second-hand, most with bent corners. A tiny plush bear sat in the corner next to a framed photo of her in which she was in her kindergarten age and next to her stood a young, mature looking woman, smiling with melting ice cream cones.

As she scanned her kitchen for snacks, her eyes fell on a forgotten packet of strawberry mochi.

“Mochii,” she said aloud, her voice warming. “That’s what I’ll call you. It fits. You’re round and squishy and oddly comforting.”

Mochii blinked again, as if approving.

Aurora giggled for the first time that day — a real one. Her cramps still pulsed beneath her skin, her muscles still ached, but the weight in her chest… had lessened.

She stood and went to change into her comfy pyjamas — oversized tee and checkered shorts— additionally she brought the bag of strawberry mochi rice cake along some cotton pads and a warm towel with her.

After gently cleaning and dressing Mochii’s wounds, she shoved the aid tools beneath her bed, unbothered or rather feeling too lazy to tidy it up.

As she ripped the packet open, it burst—the rice cakes tumbling out, momentarily suspended in the air before landing all over the bed.

She actually didn’t react at all cause, she knows the klutz inside her. When the rice cakes finally landed on bed after their mid-air trip, Mochii was a bit amazed of the unknown things in front of him to be sure he sniffed it for a good 5 minutes then chewed on it when he felt like it was suitable to munch on… Soon enough when the sweet flavours of strawberry and that soft and chewy texture filled every corner of his mouth, he couldn’t help but eat more and more of them.

Aurora let out a big fat chuckle. “Well, that actually makes sense… Mochii need to love mochi…” she laughed until her sides ached.

Mochii continued eating each and every piece of that rice cake which was rained down on the bed like a hungry stray dog.

Meanwhile, Aurora at last gave her back the rest it needed so bad, she plopped down onto the bed, stretching like a lazy cat.

“I worked so hard for this, you know. It’s not a piece of cake to get transfer as a 2nd semester student… and Chrestvelle is the toughest one to get into.” she whispered to no one, to everyone, to the stars outside her dusty window. “Part-time job. Sleepless nights. Deadlines. God, the interview panel was so intense—”

She turned to face Mochii again. “But I made it. I made it.”

The rabbit had settled into a peaceful curl after done all the eating but still watched her — like he knew.

“You’ll be okay here while I’m gone, yeah?” she asked, voice already slurring with the promise of sleep. “Just don’t eat my notes or anything.”

She reached out, fingers brushing his warm fur.

Then turned off the lamp.

Outside, the moon had climbed high — a pale ghost behind city clouds — and inside, Aurora slept peacefully for the first time in weeks, unaware of the cosmic thread she had just tied without meaning to.

Because tomorrow… in her dream college, it’s going to be filled with machines and stardust and ambition…

…

The golden rays of early morning tiptoed into the tiny apartment, slipping between pale curtains and dancing across Aurora's sleeping face.

She stirred slightly, a faint crease forming on her forehead as the sunlight kissed her eyelids. Her lips parted in a sleepy sigh, arm draped over the edge of her pillow, tousled hair spilling like ink across the sheets.

Then—

Nibble. Nibble.

Her lashes fluttered.

“…Mm mph—ouch!”

Her eyes flew open as a sharp tug came at the strands of her hair.

Sitting proudly beside her, with the innocence of a saint and the teeth of a tiny menace, was Mochii—brown fur gleaming in the morning light, light-blue eyes wide and entirely unapologetic.

“Mochii!” she groaned, rolling to the side and scooping her pillow over her head. “Why are you eating my hair?! I fed you—like—a lot last night!”

Mochi blinked.

And then proceeded to chew on another strand.

Aurora groaned again, half-laughing now, lifting her head just enough to look at the mischievous furball. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” she murmured sleepily, voice raspy from dreams.

Outside, the city buzzed to life — distant traffic, a bird or two singing somewhere on a wire, and the clink of someone’s mug from the next apartment. But inside her warm little corner of the world, it was just her… and Mochii.

For a moment, she forgot the weight she carried.

Forgot the grief lingering like a shadow at the edge of her smile.

In this small, absurd, hair-chewing moment — she felt something close to peace.

She plopped back onto her pillow, arm reaching out lazily to pull Mochii close.

"Okay, fine," she whispered into his fur. "But tomorrow, you set the alarm. With that said what time is it again?” she yawned.

Aurora jolted upright like she’d been electrocuted and all the sleepiness evaporated in an instant.

"SH*T!"

The word shot out of her mouth as her wide eyes landed on the glaring red digits of her alarm clock.

8:13 a.m.

Her first class at the college was supposed to begin at 8:30 sharp.

She launched out of bed with all the grace of a startled squirrel, nearly tripping over a pile of notes and a half-eaten chocolate bar on the floor.

“No, no, no, no—!” she muttered in a panic, hopping on one foot as she shoved her leg into her jeans, her other foot tangled in the hem of her blanket like it had declared war on her.

Mochii, the little, brown-furred rabbit, blinked up at her from the pillow placed on her cozy bed in the corner. He tilted his head, whiskers twitching, as if to say, you’re doomed, aren’t you?

“Don’t look at me like that, Mochii,” she gasped, dragging a brush through her hair with the same desperation as someone defusing a bomb. “Yeah! I get it; you were trying to wake me up! I owe you this one.”

He blinked again. Grinning this time, as if he won a battle.

By the time she stumbled into the tiny kitchenette, slapping together two slices of toast with peanut butter and stuffing one into her mouth, she looked like a whirlwind had personally styled her. Her eyeliner was smudged, one earring was missing, and her lanyard with her new college ID was buried under three layers of unfolded laundry.

Her cramps weren’t helping, either.

Neither was the fact that the nerves in her stomach were now in a full-blown mosh pit.

Today was supposed to be perfect.

Her first day at her dream college — Chrestvelle Aerospace, the most elite institute in the country, known for cutting-edge research, AI-assisted design, and students who basically breathed equations.

She had fought for this.

Sleepless nights, double shifts at the coffee shop, scholarship rejections, acceptance letters, late-night tears, dreams whispered to the stars—

And now, she was running late.

Of course.

By the time she slammed the apartment door shut and bolted down the stairs, shoelaces flailing and tote bag hung on her one shoulder struggling to keep up with her pace, she could barely breathe.

Mochii watched from the windowsill, still wrapped in the bedsheets she’d left him in.

And from rooftop, a pair of hazel eyes watched her again.

A small smile curled at the edge of his lips.

She had no idea who he was about to become to her.