The fire had died down to a cradle of red embers by the time Kai sat back at their camp, book in hand, his fingers trembling slightly around the worn leather binding. He stared at the name inked onto the page—Selene—as though it might vanish if he dared to blink. The word burned in his chest like a forgotten song remembered all at once. It wasn't just longing. It was older than that.
It felt like grief passed down through bloodlines.
Like remembering someone you'd never met—but had loved, once, in another life.
He turned the pages with reverent care, the brittle edges whispering secrets with each movement. The paper was coarse and fibrous, worn soft by time and weather, stained by age and perhaps something more. The ink bled in places, the strokes uneven—but the structure of the writing was meticulous. Measured. Ritualistic. Like someone had written not to record, but to bind something in place.
