Long ago—
Renara, though appearing no older than a young teenager, sat in majestic composure, her eight magnificent tails fanning out behind her like a living tapestry of ethereal grace. She occupied the heart of a grand chamber, its vast expanse echoing with silent reverence. The floor was draped with carpets embroidered in shimmering golden threads, while the towering walls were entirely consumed by shelves, each straining under the weight of countless tomes, both ancient and recent—volumes on the science of governance, the philosophy of devotion to homeland, and the subtle yet profound arts of leadership.
Some of the manuscripts breathed out the rich scent of ancient ink, their pages weathered by centuries, while others glowed faintly, bound with spiritual seals that shimmered with restrained power, warning against even the slightest attempt at tampering. Renara sat cross-legged in the very center of this sanctum, her small hands turning page after page in patient silence.
