SERAPHINA’S POV
The Frostbane library had always been solemn and dignified, impressive in its own rigid, aristocratic way.
The New Moon Institute's library, colloquially referred to as the Hall of Memories, felt like stepping into a world conjured straight out of a movie.
A magical one.
The moment I crossed through the archway, my breath caught.
Soft light spilled from shimmering glass panels embedded in the ceiling, shifting like slow-moving constellations. Shelves towered upward, carved from dark wood etched with flowing script that glimmered when the light touched them. Floating platforms carrying stacks of books drifted between levels, moving as if weightless.
Pages rustled quietly—though no one nearby touched a thing. The entire library, its tomes and volumes, seemed alive.
For a moment, I simply stood, awed by its quiet majesty.
No wonder scholars worshipped this place. It felt sacred.
