The castle was quiet.
Not the silence of sleep, but the stillness that comes when the world holds its breath—when even shadows dare not move for fear of waking what should not stir.
Rose padded barefoot through the stone corridor, her silk nightgown whispering against her legs like a secret. The candle in her hand flickered with each breath of the old keep, casting long, golden trails over the faded tapestries and ancient reliefs that marked forgotten victories. Her blue eyes shimmered with quiet resolve, even as sleep tugged at the edge of her thoughts.
She didn’t know why she had woken. Only that something had called her.
Not with words.
With memory.
The great library waited near the heart of the castle, carved into a tower of gray-veined marble that twisted higher than any spire.
