The Moon never set over Elarion. Its pale light hung above the spires and terraces like a watchful god, silvering the marble streets and whispering over the waters of the star-laced river, In that unending twilight, the people learned to live beneath her gaze - for their queen was the moons daughter, and she, too had forgotten the warmth of the sun.
At the heart of the capital rose the palace of the veil, vast and radiant as a dream turned to glass. No torch ever burned within its halls; instead, the stones themselves shimmered faintly, infused with the queen's power. Where mortals would see night, she had made light everlasting - and yet, within her throne chamber, shadows gathered like memories.
Upon a dais of obsidian and frost sat Queen Seraphyne Elara Auren, The Eternal Queen.
She had not aged in a thousand years. Her hair, pale as frozen starlight, drifted behind her in a slow celestial motion, as if moved by a wind from some higher world. Her gown of moon-silk shimmered with constellations that shifted subtly when she breathed. But her eyes - those fathomless galaxies - carried an ache that no immortal should bear.
Tonight, as the bells tolled the first hour of the moon, Seraphyne stood alone before the Mirror of the Veil. Its surface rippled with living silver, showing not her reflection but the faces of every soul she had ever outlived.
" You return every century" she murmured to the mirror, " And still, I cannot look away."
Her voice was soft, ageless - but heavy with reverence and grief. The mirror shimmered, and in its depths she saw Lyssara, the handmaiden she had once loved. A mortal smile, warm and fleeting. A touch she could no longer recall without pain. Lyssara had died in he arms five hundred years ago, whispering, "if the gods will not end your sorrow perhaps love wil."
But love had not ended her sorrow. It had only carved it deeper.
Beyond the throne room, the air trembled. A faint pulse - like the first tremor of thunder - rippled through the marble. Seraphyne closed her eyes. She could feel the Wane, the corruption that followed her apathy, spreading again through the city. When her heart grew cold, the world itself began to decay.
"Majesty", came a voice at the threshold - low, reverent, and trembling. "The Archon requests audience. The northern borders have begun to fade again."
Seraphyne turned her gaze towards the speaker, a priestess draped in violet robes. " Let them fade," she said quietly . "the stars will reclaim what was once theirs."
The Priestess bowed her head in fear, and the queen felt the distance stretch between herself and her people again - an immortal gulf she could not cross.
When the hall emptied, silence reigned. Seraphyne's gaze wandered toward the balcony, where the wind carried the scent of jasmine and frost. The night air was cool against her face as she stepped outside. Below the kingdom shimmered like a sea of stars, and for a fleeting moment, she thought she heard laughter - soft, mortal and familiar.
She Froze.
Across the gardens, beneath the silver trees, stood a woman - cloaked, motionless, watching her. A mortal figure, but something something in her stance, in the tilt of her head, in the calm defiance of her gaze - it stuck through Seraphyne's chest like a memory reborn.
The queen gripped the marble railing. Her pulse - dormant for centuries - stirred.
"No..." she whispered. "It cannot be."
The cloaked woman turned, and moonlight kissed her face. Seraphyne's breath caught. It was Lyssara - or someone wearing her soul.
The wind carried her scent - jasmine and dusk. And for the first time in five centuries, The Eternal Queen felt warmth.