Elara barely slept that night. The fire beast's breath still warmed her skin, its unexpected trust stirring questions she wasn't ready to answer.
By dawn, the palace was cloaked in mist, the gardens dripping with dew like scattered jewels. Nobles stirred to another day of whispered rumors and veiled glances, but Elara slipped through the halls like a ghost, her thoughts tangled in shadow.
She made her way to the palace library a labyrinth of ancient tomes and forgotten knowledge, where the walls seemed to hum with secrets. The stone had chosen her, yes, but why? What made her different?
As her fingers brushed across dusty spines, she found a small, weathered book bound in cracked leather. The title was almost erased: The Origins of the Ancients.
Its pages whispered of a time when the world was young and magic was raw and wild. Of how the stone wasn't just a relic, but a fragment of something far greater a shard from the heart of a dying star, pulsing with untamed power.
Elara's breath caught.
If the stone held the universe's fire did that mean she held it too?
Suddenly, footsteps echoed behind her.
"Studying the legends again, Chosen?" a voice whispered.
She turned sharply.
M.—the one who'd sent the note stood in the shadows. His eyes were sharp and cautious, but held a flicker of something close to hope.
"They fear what they don't understand," he said, stepping closer. "And they want to control that fear."
"Why help me?" Elara asked.
"Because you're not just a pawn," M. replied. "You're a spark. And sparks start fires."
Before she could respond, a crash shattered the quiet.
The stone's chamber had been breached.
Guards stormed the library, shouting orders.
"Elara, come quickly!" M. urged.
She followed, heart pounding. A cold dread coiled in her chest.
The palace was a cage but it was also a battleground.
And the fight for her destiny had only just begun.