Elenora had no desire to watch the festive preparations that filled the entire castle. Instead, she slipped away into the old library—a place that had been her refuge since childhood.
The hall was vast, with vaulted ceilings and shelves that reached so high one needed ladders to touch the upper rows. The scent of leather, parchment, and dust hung heavy in the air, while countless candles and lanterns flickered in their iron holders.
Her feet carried her, almost of their own accord, to her favorite corner: a cozy spot near the great fireplace. There, beside a tall window, stood a small sitting area, softened with an old animal pelt used as a cushion. Elenora settled into her place, poured herself a steaming cup of herbal tea, and opened the book she had read more times than she could count.
"The Chronicles of the Four Dragons" gleamed in golden letters on the dark cover. It told the legend of the four dragons said to have watched over the world thousands of years ago—dragons of Wind, of Earth, of Fire, and of Ice. Guardians of the elements, keeping the balance of the world in harmony.
But the chroniclers had long dismissed it as myth. Few records, few traces remained to suggest that dragons other than Fire and Ice had ever existed. And even of the Fire Dragons, only a handful still lived.
Elenora sighed and brushed her fingers gently across the page where an illustration of the Dragon of Wind was drawn—radiant and pale, with wings that looked as though they were spun of mist and morning light.
From the window beside her, she could watch the arrival of the guests. Carriages rolled through the castle gates, their coats of arms gleaming in the evening light. Noblemen in splendid garments descended, followed by ladies with towering hairstyles and gowns that shimmered like jewels. Servants hurried about, while the great entrance hall of the castle swelled with the splendor of high society.
Elenora took a sip of her tea, though her gaze lingered longingly on the guests. How dearly she wished to be among them, to be part of that glittering world.
And then it came again.
A sound, scarcely audible. A whisper, like a call, resonating deep within her chest.
She froze—the book nearly slipped from her hands. It was not the first time. Many times she had dreamed of such a call, a voice that seemed to breathe into her very soul. But this was no dream. She was awake, and the sound pulsed through her veins.
Elenora held her breath.
Something—or someone—was calling her.