Selene sat at a wide oak desk beneath the stained-glass dome, cool blues and silvers spilling over her skin like moonlight. Open tomes sprawled before her—sketches of celestial symbols, drawings of constellations, half-erased notes on Avalon, dragons, and forgotten gods. Her quill lay abandoned beside her.
She turned another page, frustration tightening her brow.
Fragments. Always fragments.
Whispers of Moon Weavers.
Mentions of a goddess draped in silver light.
Never the whole story.
"There's something about her…" Selene murmured, the words slipping out like breath.
A soft creak broke the quiet.
Rory stepped inside, cheeks flushed from training, still gripping his wooden practice sword as though unsure the library permitted such things.
"Lyra said you might need company," he said. "Or… a distraction."
Selene blinked, then offered a tired, warm smile. "Company, then. I've had too much distraction." She added gently, "And you're not one."
Rory's shoulders loosened. He wandered closer, eyes widening at her notes—dragons inked in curling strokes, symbols older than kingdoms, maps traced in silver.
"You're looking into Avalon?" he asked.
"Not Avalon alone," Selene murmured. "Everywhere. These myths connect, Rory. Avalon may guard the secrets—but it isn't the beginning. These stories come from far older times. Older than kings. Older than history itself."
Rory leaned on the chair beside her. "And the dragons?"
"Symbols," she said. "Gatekeepers. Or prisoners."
She turned another brittle page—its gilded sunburst patterns shimmering faintly.
"I think they were always tied to the Moon Weavers. In ways I don't understand yet."
Rory brightened suddenly. "She's the daughter of the night, right? The moon goddess?"
Selene looked up sharply. "You know of Dianna?"
"Sort of." Rory scratched his cheek. "A storyteller once said the goddess fell in love with a mortal prince, took him to the moon, had a family there—that's how the stars were made." He grinned proudly. "The end."
Selene laughed softly. "Thank you, Rory. That helps more than you think."
He puffed his chest a little, then pointed to a nearby drawing. "Can you teach me to read something about… those?"
Selene pulled forward a heavy tome, its spine cracked from centuries of hands. She opened it to a page glowing with gold ink. Rory leaned in eagerly.
The Myth of the Sun God's Dragons
"When the world was young and wrapped in twilight," Selene read, "the Sun God Ravi looked down upon the silent earth and found it empty of guardians.
So he reached into his own blazing heart and drew out a spark—a shard of living flame."
Rory's breath stilled.
"He shaped it with his hands, stretched it with his breath, and from the fire rose the First Dragon…
Solvaar, the Dawn-Serpent."
Light from the stained glass rippled across the page.
"Where Solvaar flew, daylight followed.
Where he roared, darkness fled."
"Woah…" Rory whispered.
"But the world was vast. Even a god's fire cannot be everywhere.
So Ravi struck the earth with his staff, and from each fragment of shattered sunlight, another dragon rose."
Golden wings. Ember scales. Serpents of living flame.
"The Goldwings carried the day.
The Cinderclaws guarded the mountains.
The Ember-Scaled watched the hidden places where light struggled to reach."
"So dragons came from the sun?" Rory breathed.
"In this myth, yes," Selene said. "Born of light."
She turned the page.
"My mom said she saw dragons once… but Momma didn't believe her. And if there are still dragons, they gotta be in Avalon."
Selene closed the tome gently.
"Come," she said. "Let's start with letters. Once you can read these stories yourself, the world will open wider than any sword swing ever could."
Rory brightened with a shy, grateful grin.
A Few Hours Later
Selene and Rory crossed the castle grounds carrying a bundle of warm bread.
Steel clanged in the distance—Lyra sparring against Elise and Ava, two against one. Elise danced in sharp, quick steps; Ava pressed with smooth, precise strikes that forced Lyra to shift her footing.
From afar, Lyra looked untouchable, almost relaxed—
—until she heard them.
Her gaze flicked briefly toward Selene.
That moment alone changed the flow of the fight.
Lyra's movements sharpened, her strikes gaining an edge of speed and force. Elise and Ava exchanged resigned looks.
The General always fought harder when Selene was watching.
And they knew they'd struggle to keep up.
Shawn noticed them first. "Hey, Selene. Kid."
Selene handed him bread. Rory stared at Lyra, starstruck. "Wow… the General is amazing."
Lyra heard him too. The corner of her mouth twitched—barely visible, but there.
Captain Rita's grin sharpened as she approached — the kind of grin that meant she had seen something she wanted to poke.
"Selene!" she called, louder than necessary.
Half the training yard glanced over.
Lyra did too — a small, involuntary flick of her eyes, just long enough for Rita to notice.
Selene raised the bread. "Do you want some?"
Rita didn't even look at the bread.
She looked at Selene.
And she leaned in just slightly — enough for the gesture to feel deliberate.
"Ah, of course," Rita purred. "I'll never say no to a beauty."
Lyra's footing hitched.
Only for a fraction of a second — but for someone usually carved from absolute precision, the slip was glaring.
Shawn's eyes widened.
Elise whispered, "Oh no."
Ava muttered, "She's doing it on purpose…"
Because they all knew Captain Rita.
And Rita, very clearly, had decided to test something.
Selene blinked, startled. "Rita—?"
"Oh don't mind me," Rita said airily, brushing a stray leaf from Selene's shoulder even though it wasn't there. "Just appreciating the view. And offering my services, of course. If you ever need a guide through the archives… or the city… or—"
Elise's dagger flew.
Fast and silent.
It sliced past Rita's ear, close enough to tug a strand of her hair.
Rita froze.
Every muscle in the yard froze with her.
The dagger embedded into a post behind her with a resonant thunk.
Rita look at Elise who shook her head.
A heartbeat later—
CLANG.
Lyra knocked Ava's blade aside with such force the steel sparked, the sound ringing out like a warning bell.
Rory jumped. "The General knocked it away—whoa!"
But Lyra wasn't watching the blade she'd deflected.
She wasn't looking at Elise.
Or Ava.
Or Rita.
Lyra's eyes were locked on Selene — sharp, fierce, assessing — as though calculating every possible angle of threat.
Rita saw that look.
Oh, she definitely saw it.
And her grin faltered into a brittle, guilty stiffness.
"Aha—ha we've had enough sparring for today," she announced too loudly, clapping her hands like an anxious teacher. "Elise, Ava — let's go. Yes. Somewhere safer. Far away. From here."
She herded them off in a stiff line, Elise smacking her arm on "accident" as she passed.
When they were gone, the yard exhaled.
Lyra stood still, jaw tight, shoulders rigid, sword lowered but fingers white around the hilt. She took one slow, controlled breath before walking toward Selene — every step deliberate, as if she feared revealing how fast her pulse actually was.
But even then…
Something in her gaze still burned.
Not anger.
Not annoyance.
But the unmistakable flare of someone who had watched another person get too close to what she wasn't ready to name…
But absolutely wasn't willing to share.
When the training yard finally quieted, Lyra approached her.
Slow steps. Controlled breathing.
A soldier forcing herself to look calm.
But Selene saw the flicker beneath it — the one no one else ever noticed.
"Lyra," Selene said softly.
Lyra stopped just a little too close. Close enough that Selene could feel her warmth — the faint scent of steel and sun-warmed leather, the heat clinging to her skin from the fight.
"Did she bother you?" Lyra asked.
Her tone was steady.
Her eyes were not.
Selene's lips curved faintly. "No. Rita was just being… Rita."
Lyra exhaled, slow and sharp, as if she'd been holding her breath since Rita touched Selene's shoulder.
Shawn, who had been lingering nearby, cleared his throat loudly. "Rory, let's go and practice your… er… slingshot."
"But I'm done with practice. And I'm eating." Rory stuffed another chunk of bread into his mouth.
"Uh-huh." Shawn scooped the boy up under one arm with military efficiency. "I'm a lieutenant, kid. If I say you need practice, you need practice."
Rory flailed, still gripping his bread. "Hey!"
Shawn marched him off without another word.
Selene blinked, amused, before she and Lyra settled onto a bench beside the sparring yard. She glanced around to make sure no one was watching too closely, then reached out and brushed her fingers lightly over the shallow cut on Lyra's forearm.
Warm light flickered between her palms.
The wound closed instantly.
Lyra didn't look away from her face the entire time.
"Have you found any new information?" she asked quietly.
Selene shook her head. "Not really. Just stories, legends, myths… nothing precise."
"Hm."
Selene broke off a piece of bread and offered it.
Lyra refused with a faint shake of her head. Instead, she shifted closer — slowly, almost cautiously — until her shoulder touched Selene's and then rested more fully, her weight sinking into her.
"Just tired," Lyra murmured.
And Selene let her.
A few seconds passed — warm, quiet, unhurried.
Then Selene began to hum a soft melody, her voice barely above a whisper, settling over them like a calm the battlefield could never give.
Lyra's eyes closed.
Selene's humming softened, carrying the shape of a lullaby older than kingdoms.
For a moment, Lyra let herself lean fully into Selene — just enough for the truth she never voiced to slip through her armor.
"…I thought she touched you," Lyra murmured, so low it barely counted as speech.
Selene's fingers paused.
Lyra didn't look up. Her jaw tightened, the muscle shifting like someone forcing themself back into discipline.
"It wasn't…" Lyra exhaled. "I just didn't like it."
The words came out raw and unpolished — not a confession, but close enough that Selene felt a warmth rise in her chest.
"Lyra."
Her voice softened around the name.
Lyra finally opened her eyes. They weren't guarded this time. Just tired. Honest. A little unsteady in a way she never allowed anyone else to see.
Selene reached up and brushed her thumb near the fading mark on Lyra's arm — a gesture light enough to be innocent, tender enough not to be.
"You don't have to explain," Selene whispered.
Lyra swallowed, lips parting slightly, as if she wanted to say more — something trembling at the edge of confession.
Instead she breathed out, almost defeated.
"I don't want people touching you like that."
There it was.
Unarmored. Unintended. True.
Selene's breath caught, just barely. She could feel Lyra's warmth against her shoulder, the steady weight of someone who carried the world yet allowed herself — just here, just now — to lean.
"That's not jealousy," Selene teased softly, "is it?"
Lyra stiffened. "No."
Selene raised a brow. "Lyra."
"…Maybe."
The word was barely audible. A thread pulled loose.
Selene smiled — not triumphant, not smug, but warm enough to melt the last bit of tension lingering in Lyra's spine.
Her humming resumed, quieter this time, but Lyra didn't move away.
If anything… she leaned closer.