The campus library was almost empty that night. The air was cool, the kind that made even the hum of the fluorescent lights sound sleepy.
Jack sat by the window, his books scattered across the table like fallen dominoes. Outside, the city glowed faintly through the rain.
It was already past nine.
He sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. "History of Western Civilizations, huh? If I fail this again, Professor Miles will actually kill me."
He reached for another reference book on the top shelf — Ancient Kingdoms of the Old World. But as he pulled it out, something behind it moved.
A dull thunk.
A second book, hidden behind the others, slid forward and landed right in front of him.
It was old — far older than any book should've been. The cover was dark, almost black, with faint golden threads tracing symbols that looked alive in the dim light. No title. No author. Only a crest embossed in the center: a circle divided into twelve parts, each bearing a different sigil.
Jack tilted his head. "Huh. Some kind of collector's item?"
The moment he brushed the dust off, the symbols glowed faintly, like veins of molten gold.
He sat down, curiosity winning over reason.
The first page crackled as it opened — written in ink that shimmered faintly blue.
"Here begins the tale of the Twelve Kingdoms of Fonterra."
The words felt… heavy. As if they weren't just ink on paper, but something alive.
The pages told of ancient nations: kingdoms built on magic, steel, and blood. Of Schiera, the kingdom of lilies, known for its peace and beauty. Of Varkon, the kingdom of fire and forges. Of Nethra, veiled in eternal night.
Each page was illustrated in breathtaking detail. Jack ran his fingers across one — and the image of a castle seemed to ripple under his touch.
Then he noticed something strange at the bottom of the page: a handwritten line, unlike the printed text.
"When the seeker of truth opens this tome under the quiet of the ninth bell, the Gate shall awaken."
Jack frowned. "Ninth bell? That's... nine o'clock."
The clock on the library wall ticked. 9:02 p.m.
A soft hum filled the air. Then, light—brilliant, white, blinding—poured out from between the pages.
"Wh—what the hell!?" Jack staggered back, but the book's glow swallowed everything. The table, the shelves, the city outside — all dissolved into a storm of swirling light.
Then came silence.
When he opened his eyes again, the world was... different.
He stood on a dirt path surrounded by endless meadows. The sky shimmered gold, painted by two suns setting side by side. A breeze carried the scent of wildflowers and something faintly metallic — like magic itself.
Jack blinked.
"This has to be... a dream?"
He pinched his arm. It hurt.
Nope. Definitely not a dream.
In the distance, a great city rose — towering spires of white stone, banners of gold lilies fluttering in the wind. Beyond its walls shimmered floating airships and winged beasts soaring across the sky.
"...Schiera." He whispered the name he had just read.
Suddenly—
"Look out!"
A blur of white and gold rushed toward him — a horse carriage barreling down the road. Jack barely had time to move when a young girl was thrown from the carriage door.
Instinct kicked in. He lunged forward, catching her mid-fall. They tumbled onto the grass, her weight knocking the wind out of him.
"Ugh— are you okay?" he managed.
The girl blinked up at him, eyes like emerald glass. Her long silver hair shimmered under the sunlight, a small crown still perched crookedly on her head.
"I... I think so," she whispered, then gasped. "Wait— you're not from here, are you?"
Jack stared at her, half in awe. "Uh, depends on what you mean by here."
Before she could answer, several armored men rushed over, shouting, "Your Highness! Princess Lyra!"
They surrounded her instantly, glaring at Jack like he was a criminal.
"Unhand the princess, stranger!"
"Whoa, wait—she fell! I was just—"
"Silence!" One knight raised his sword.
But Lyra stepped between them. "Stop! He saved me."
The guards froze. Jack swallowed hard, not daring to move.
The princess turned to him, her expression soft but curious. "You truly aren't from this land... are you?"
Jack hesitated. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
She smiled faintly. "Try me."
That night, after a long and awkward escort into the city, Jack found himself seated in the grand hall of Castle Schiera. Every wall glowed with runic light, and portraits of the royal family watched from above.
Princess Lyra sat across from him, sipping tea with a calmness that didn't quite match her youthful appearance.
She explained quietly: "My parents — the King and Queen — were murdered two weeks ago. The kingdom is in chaos. The other nations accuse one another of the crime... and war is near."
Jack's throat went dry. "That's... terrible."
Her eyes flickered toward him — hopeful, uncertain, yet resolute. "And then you appeared. Just as the prophecy said."
"Prophecy?"
Lyra nodded. "A traveler from another world will come when Schiera's light begins to fade. He will bear no crest, no lineage, yet his presence will alter the course of fate."
Jack let out a shaky laugh. "That's— that's gotta be a mistake. I'm just some random college guy who opened a weird book."
"Maybe," she said softly, "or maybe that's exactly what makes you different."
Outside, thunder rolled over the twin suns. In the horizon, storm clouds shaped like dragons gathered.
And deep within the castle, the hidden book glowed once more — its pages turning by themselves, whispering in a voice only the night could hear.
"The stranger has arrived. The kingdoms will awaken."
The moonlight that night was pale and foreign — two silver orbs drifting above Schiera's capital like silent sentinels.
Jack lay awake in the guest chamber the royal guards had hastily prepared for him. The bed was soft, the curtains velvet, but sleep refused to come.
His mind was a storm.
I was in a library a few hours ago… right? And now I'm in some fantasy kingdom talking to a princess. What even is my life anymore?
He turned toward the table where the book sat — the same one that brought him here.
It glowed faintly again, its golden patterns pulsing like a heartbeat.
He got up, drawn to it as if by invisible strings.
When his fingers brushed the cover, the world fell silent. The candlelight froze mid-flicker, and a whisper crept into the air.
"Twelve thrones. One truth."
"When kings fall and stars weep, the stranger shall decide."
"Wh-who's there?" Jack whispered, backing away.
No answer. Only the rustle of unseen pages turning themselves. Then the ink began to move — shapes twisting into new words across the parchment.
"Beware the shadow that wears the crown."
A chill ran down his spine. The room dimmed. The walls dissolved into mist.
He was standing now in a grand hall of fire and glass. Twelve thrones surrounded a crystal table — eleven filled by armored figures, the twelfth empty. Their faces were hidden behind masks of gold, silver, and bone.
A woman's voice echoed through the chamber, sorrowful and sharp:
"The blood of Schiera has been spilled. The balance breaks."
One masked figure slammed his fist onto the table. "Then war it is!"
The others shouted — a cacophony of accusations. Flames rose between them, swallowing the hall in chaos.
Jack covered his ears. "Stop it! Stop!"
A final whisper pierced the noise:
"Find the truth before the twelfth sun rises, or Fonterra shall drown in its own crown."
Then darkness — and silence.
He gasped awake, drenched in sweat. The candle was out. The book sat closed on the desk as if nothing had happened.
He checked his hands — shaking. His pulse, racing.
A dream? No. It felt too real.
Someone knocked softly on the door.
"Jack?" It was Lyra's voice. "I heard you shouting… are you all right?"
He hesitated. "Yeah, just… a nightmare."
Lyra stepped in, her night robe shimmering faintly in the moonlight. She looked fragile, yet her eyes were strong — the kind that had already seen too much loss.
"You're not the only one haunted by dreams," she said quietly, sitting at the edge of the bed. "I see my parents every night — standing in that same hall. Then they vanish before I can reach them."
Jack's heart tightened. "...I think I saw that hall too."
She looked up sharply. "You did?"
He nodded, recounting the vision — the twelve thrones, the masked figures, the warning voice. When he finished, Lyra's face had gone pale.
"That's the Council of Crowns," she whispered. "It meets only once every century — when the kingdoms prepare for war."
Jack exhaled slowly. "Then it's starting again, isn't it?"
Lyra stood, her expression resolute despite the fear in her eyes. "If that vision is true, then the Twelve Seals of Fonterra are breaking. My parents died protecting them... and whoever did it will strike again."
The wind outside howled through the towers. The two moons aligned, casting twin shadows on the wall — one over Jack, one over Lyra.
She turned to him. "Jack, whatever brought you here… I think it wasn't an accident."
He met her gaze, the weight of fate pressing down on his shoulders. "Then I'll help you find the truth. We'll stop this before it starts."
Lyra's lips curved into a faint, hopeful smile. "Then our story begins tonight."
The book's pages fluttered once more on the desk — unseen by both of them — as the words glowed faintly in gold:
"And so, the stranger took his first vow beneath the twin moons of Schiera."