It was quiet, as always, but this time the silence was different—
the kind of restless stillness that comes before a storm.
Even the air felt thicker, as if the wind itself had refused to enter.
As Elara slowed her steps, she noticed something unsettling:
her footsteps made no sound.
It was as if even the stones wanted to hide her presence.
This library had always been her sanctuary—
but now, it felt more like a trap.
She wandered between the shelves, her gaze slipping over the familiar titles, until she reached the farthest, dustiest row.
There it was.
A book, hidden away on a forgotten shelf.
No title.
No author's name.
Just a faded, leathery cover marked with a symbol:
two crescent moons entwined.
At that very moment, her wrist ached.
She clutched her arm instinctively.
The crescent-shaped birthmark she had long since stopped thinking about—
was now visibly reddened.
Her skin warmed, almost glowing.
Elara flinched.
Her heartbeat quickened.
Her breath grew shallow.
When she reached for the book, she felt resistance—
as if someone else’s hand had grasped it at the same time.
But there was no one there.
The shelf groaned under her touch.
She pulled back, hesitating.
Then, gathering herself, she reached out again and seized the book.
She didn’t open it.
Not yet.
Instead, she tucked it into her bag.
It weighed on her shoulder like more than leather and paper—
it pressed directly against her soul.
That night, back in her room, Elara sat alone.
The light was on, but outside the world had fallen into darkness.
She thought of her dreams.
The Moon.
The man.
The dark, burning eyes.
The face she had glimpsed so many nights in nightmares—
and yet, found a strange comfort in.
Was it truly only a dream?
She placed the book on her desk.
Ran her hand across its surface.
It was warm—
but not with the heat of fire.
It pulsed...
like a heartbeat.
She longed to open it, but something held her back.
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A sense that, the moment she did, there would be no turning back.
She glanced toward the window.
The Moon was hidden tonight.
But the silence outside seemed to speak in its place.
A sudden hoot from a distant owl startled her.
Her hand jerked toward the book, about to pry it open—
when a knock came at the door.
Elara jumped, heart hammering against her ribs.
She opened the door.
No one was there.
Only a crumpled piece of aged, yellowed paper lay on the floor.
Three words were scrawled across it:
"He hears you."
Her throat tightened.
She bent down, picked up the paper, and shut the door.
When she turned back—
the book was still on her desk.
But its cover...
It was no longer fully closed.
A soft hum drifted from between its pages.
Since returning from the library, Elara had sensed a murmur inside her mind.
It wasn’t loud—
it didn’t drown out her thoughts—
but it seeped between them, like whispers from a forgotten corner of herself.
The book remained slightly open.
Still warm beneath her fingers.
When she finally lifted the cover, she found a single sentence written on the first page:
"With every full moon, the seal trembles."
It was handwritten,
but not in ink—
the letters shimmered as if traced by moonlight itself.
She looked away, but the words burned behind her eyelids,
like a name—
like a voice.
Serion.
For the first time, his name echoed in her conscious mind.
A shiver ran through her.
It was no longer just a name from a dream.
Elara let her fingers glide over the other pages.
Some were blank.
Some were filled with strange, ancient text—
not Latin, but something hauntingly close.
Others bore symbols:
a double crescent,
a teardrop,
an infinity loop,
a broken crown.
Suddenly, the air in the room shifted.
The dim light flickered.
The lamp didn't explode,
but for an instant—
it was as if the room was filled with pure moonlight.
She turned toward the window.
The glass was fogged over,
and traced there—
without any hand she could see—
was a symbol:
An eye,
and within it, two crescent moons.
And then, a voice.
Not through her ears,
but rising from between the beats of her heart:
"You are no longer alone, Elara."
Her throat closed tight.
She had never heard this voice before—
and yet she knew it.
The silent god of her dreams was speaking now.
But this was not a comfort.
It was a warning.
A call carrying both peace... and fear.
The pages of the book began to turn on their own.
There was no wind.
They stopped.
On the open page, in bold letters, a single word stood:
"Gate."
Elara rose to her feet—
but her knees buckled.
The room disappeared.
No floor beneath her.
No sky above.
Only the Moon.
Only herself.
And a gate—
shimmering silver, finely carved.
As she reached toward it,
the tiny crescent on her pinky finger flared to life.
And then, another voice came.
This time not just in her mind—
but blooming deep within her heart.
Clearer.
More intimate.
More real.
"Beyond the gate lies not only truth—
but the broken pieces of yourself.
Every truth demands a sacrifice."
Then—
the world shattered.
Elara found herself once again in her room.
Moonlight spilled through the window.
The book was closed.
But the mark of the crescent still glowed—
not from her skin,
but from the depths of her soul.
And the words,
soft and inexorable,
continued to echo in her ears:
"You have been chosen.
The Grace of the Night resonates with you alone."