The name burned into her vision, into her very breath.
Lucavion.
'No. No, no, no—'
The air around Elara seemed to thin, folding in on itself, as the world blurred at the edges. She barely heard Selphine's sharp intake of breath, Aurelian's startled murmur. Their voices became static against the roar growing inside her skull.
She was fifteen again.
Standing beneath a canopy of chandeliers and silk banners, dressed in her house's finest silver-and-ice gown. Her hair woven into a coronet of starlight threads. Tonight was supposed to be her moment—her debut—the moment she would stand before the world as Elara Valoria, heir to the Grand Duchy, the living proof of her family's might and future.
The music had swelled. The crowd had gathered.
She had walked forward, every step practiced, every movement laden with expectation.
And then—
The scream.
The rupture of decorum so violent it tore the melody in half.
Whispers rising like a tide, choking the hall.
