A Vision in the Smoke

The halls of the Ivory Palace stretched endlessly before Ophelia as she walked, the weight of the ancient book clutched tightly against her chest. The scent of aged parchment still clung to her fingertips, mingling with the faint traces of incense that lingered in the air.

Starborn.

The word haunted her. The name Zoriel had been erased from history, buried deep beneath layers of silence and fear. Why?

She needed answers. But first, she needed to get out of the palace.

The guards still patrolled the corridors, their golden armor glinting under the warm glow of torches lining the marble walls. She kept her head down, her steps quiet against the polished floors, hoping to avoid drawing attention. The book in her arms felt heavier than it should, as if it carried something far greater than mere words.

She reached the courtyard, where the scent of roses and morning dew filled the air. The palace gardens stretched beyond the marble archways, a maze of winding stone paths, ivy-covered statues, and ancient oaks whose branches seemed to whisper secrets to the wind.

This was her chance.

She quickened her pace, slipping past the hedgerows and disappearing into the greenery.

The moment she was hidden from sight, she exhaled.

The palace had become a cage, but at least out here, beneath the vast open sky, she could think.

And yet—she did not look up.

For the first time in her life, Ophelia feared the stars.

She arrived at her observatory as dawn painted the horizon in delicate shades of violet and gold. The tower stood atop a hill overlooking Seraphis, its domed ceiling of glass reflecting the soft glow of the morning sky.

Pushing open the heavy wooden door, she stepped inside, her heart still hammering.

The air was cool and familiar, filled with the scent of ink, aged paper, and melted candle wax. Scrolls and maps lay scattered across her desk, remnants of last night's frantic search. But now, there was only one book that mattered.

She placed it carefully on the desk and ran her fingers over the worn leather cover.

Slowly, she opened it.

Dust spiraled into the air as she turned the brittle pages. The text inside was written in the old celestial script, a language few in Seraphis could still read. But Ophelia had spent years studying it, learning its forgotten meanings.

Her eyes scanned the first few passages, and her breath caught.

"There were once those who walked between the heavens and the earth, beings neither mortal nor divine. The Starborn were forged from the light of dying stars, their fates written across the cosmos before they were even born. They were kings and warriors, prophets and scholars. But above all, they were cursed."

A chill crept over her skin.

She flipped the page, the parchment crackling like fire beneath her fingertips.

"One Starborn rose above the rest, a prince whose name was feared even among the gods. His fate was sealed the moment he was born. His destiny, intertwined with the fall of empires. His name…"

Ophelia's fingers tightened around the edge of the book.

The next few lines were smudged, deliberately destroyed.

Someone had erased him.

A sudden gust of wind rattled the glass panes of the observatory, sending a flickering candle toppling to the floor.

Ophelia startled, heart pounding. She bent down quickly, reaching for it,

And then,

The room vanished.

She was no longer in her observatory.

Smoke curled around her like living tendrils, thick and suffocating, swirling with shadows. The scent of burning wood and ash filled her nostrils, stinging her throat.

She turned sharply, heart hammering, but there was nothing. Just the endless, suffocating gray mist.

A vision.

She had experienced visions before, glimpses of things the stars whispered to her in dreams. But this-this was something else.

A city loomed before her, its towers crumbling, its streets drenched in the eerie glow of a dying sun. The sky above was cracked, splintering like shattered glass, bleeding streaks of deep crimson and gold.

Seraphis?

No.

This was somewhere else. Somewhere forgotten.

Footsteps echoed through the smoke. Slow. Steady.

Someone was there.

Ophelia turned, her breath catching.

A figure stood in the mist, his back to her, draped in a long, tattered cloak that billowed in the unseen wind. He was tall, his shoulders tense, as if he carried the weight of something unbearable.

The smoke curled around his boots as he took another step forward, toward the edge of the ruined city.

Ophelia tried to move, tried to speak, but her voice was gone.

The figure turned his head slightly, just enough for her to glimpse golden eyes burning like fire in the shadows.

Recognition slammed into her like a thunderclap.

She had seen those eyes before.

In her dreams.

Her lips parted, his name forming on the tip of her tongue.

But the moment she tried to speak it, a blinding force tore through the vision like lightning.

Pain lanced through her skull.

The world shattered.

She awoke with a gasp, choking on air, her body drenched in sweat.

Her observatory swam into focus, the flickering candle still lying on the floor beside her. The book was open in front of her, its pages fluttering in the wind that seeped through the cracked window.

But something was wrong.

The words had changed.

Her hands trembled as she lifted the book again.

The passage that had been smudged, the name that had been erased!

It was there now. Written in dark ink, bold and unyielding.

Zoriel.

Her breath hitched.

The book had rewritten itself.

Outside, the wind howled. The sky darkened, the stars shifting ever so slightly, as if watching her.

She clenched her hands into fists, trying to steady herself.

She had thought the danger lay in what she did not know. But now, as her pulse pounded in her ears, she realized something far worse.

The danger lay in what she was beginning to remember.

And the stars had no intention of letting her forget.