The market buzzed with its usual life—vendors shouting prices, children weaving between carts, and the scent of bread mixing with the air of concern.
Sheraphina walked with purpose, her hood drawn low. Eyes watched her, some with curiosity, some with fear. Whispers followed her steps—talk of curses, of nobles and commeners dying in silence.
Her steps slowed near the village well.
She stood at its edge, peering into the deep stone mouth as a breeze carried the faintest floral scent. Her eyes narrowed.
What could be the link?
Just then, a young boy ran up, cupping his hands to draw water and drink eagerly.
She knelt beside him. "Do the people around here all drink from this well?"
The boy wiped his mouth and nodded. "Everyone does, Lady. It's the cleanest around."
Sheraphina frowned, then drew a sample of the water into a small glass vial. It was clear—crystal and pure by sight. But as she raised it to her nose, something in the scent pulled at her memory.
I know this...
Panic fluttered in her chest. She turned sharply. "Prepare the carriage!" she called to her escort, voice sharp with urgency.
---
She burst into her chambers, tossing her cloak aside and flinging open her notes.
"No... not this... Where is it—why isn't it here—"
Pages turned in a blur of ink and parchment. Her hands trembled.
Then it struck her.
The royal library.
---
The heavy doors creaked as she entered, the scent of old parchment settling around her like a whisper. Her fingers traced the spines of books until she found it—the text she hadn't seen since her childhood.
She flipped quickly through the pages and then—"Here it is! I found it!"
Clutching the volume to her chest, she rushed back to her room.
---
At Night
Later, alone in her chamber, Sheraphina sat cross-legged on her bed, reading by the amber light of a lantern.
"Moonshadse Sickness"
Her heart raced.
Just then, the lantern flickered.
A strange, sweet scent drifted through the air.
Moonblossom.
A rare flower found only in select regions of Aurelis. Odorless to most—except when focused.
Her eyes widened.
From behind her, a gloved hand reached silently—just inches from her shoulder.
She twisted away instinctively, rolling off the bed and spinning to face the threat.
A masked man now sat calmly where she had just been, his black robes blending into the dim room. His mask was black, and eerie in the glow.
He didn't move. He simply... watched her.
Sheraphina darted her gaze to the corner, where her sword rested.
In the blink of an eye, he was on his feet.
Too fast.
His hand grabbed her wrist mid-reach and shoved her back against the wall with force.
Her breath caught—his strength wasn't human.
He's fast. Way too fast.
He leaned closer, his breath warm near her ear.
And then—