Selene had always believed that palaces were built to keep people in, not out.
By day, the marble corridors gleamed with sunlight, tapestries spoke of ancient wars, and courtiers bowed so deeply their noses nearly kissed the floor. By night, however, when candles burned low and the silence grew heavy, the palace felt like a gilded cage.
She was twelve years old and already Empress of Arendral, a realm stretching from snow-peaked mountains to seas as green as emerald glass. Too young, the councilors had whispered. Too delicate, the nobles had sneered. Yet the crown was heavy upon her brow, whether she wished it or not.
And so, when her ladies-in-waiting slept and guards dozed at their posts, Selene stole away with slippered feet to the palace library.
The library was her sanctuary, a cathedral of parchment and dust where no one demanded decrees or treaties from her. Tonight, however, something was different.
As she wandered through the labyrinth of shelves, she noticed a faint glow between the rows of ancient tomes. It pulsed gently, like the beat of a heart. Selene's own heart answered it, quickening.
She followed the light.
At the farthest end of the library, hidden behind forgotten chronicles, sat a single book upon a pedestal. Its cover was black as midnight, yet it shimmered with veins of silver that moved like rivers of starlight. Strange runes curled across the leather, unreadable yet familiar, as if they had always been waiting for her eyes.
She reached out.
The instant her fingers touched the cover, the ground shuddered beneath her. Pages flew open of their own accord, winds howled through the shelves, and the room dissolved into darkness. Selene cried out, clutching the book as though it were the only solid thing left in the world.
And then—silence.
When she opened her eyes, she was no longer in the library