She blinked. Silence. Only the candle hissed, eating its own wax.
Aria rubbed her temple, shaking her head. Maybe it was exhaustion. She hadn't slept properly since being thrown into this world. The king's castle had given her a room too large for comfort — velvet curtains, marble floors, mirrors that seemed to judge her. It all felt borrowed.
She looked again at the passage. Whoever he was, his story had ended in ashes. He failed his nation, one line said. Another added, Yet he never stopped walking. The rest of the page had dissolved into brown stains.
Still, something about him tugged at her. A man who wasn't strong but kept trying — that wasn't the kind of hero most legends celebrated. But it was the kind she could understand.
The candle's flame stretched as if breathing with her, reflecting in her eyes. She ran a thumb over the dagger sketch again. It looked almost alive, faintly glowing along its edge. She leaned closer—and a knock startled her.
"Lady Aria?"
The voice was Lena's, soft and polite.
Aria straightened quickly, nearly dropping the candle. "Yes? Come in."
The maid entered with her usual quiet grace, a silver hairpin gleaming in her braid. She offered a small bow. "The banquet is ready, my lady. His Majesty requests your presence."
Aria glanced at the book, still open on the line about the flame that would not yield. For a heartbeat she hesitated. She wanted to keep reading, to understand what the golden flicker meant. But Lena's gentle smile waited patiently at the door.
"Right," Aria said, closing the book reluctantly. "The grand hero should probably show up before they forget I exist."
Lena's eyes warmed. "They will not forget you, my lady."
Aria smiled thinly. "You'd be surprised."
The banquet hall was a cathedral of light. Dozens of chandeliers spilled brilliance over the tables. Silk banners in crimson and gold hung from the rafters, each embroidered with the sigil of Elyndra — a rising phoenix. But despite the splendor, an unease lingered in the air.
As Aria entered beside Lena, conversation dimmed. Hundreds of eyes turned her way. She felt their gazes like small blades brushing against her skin — curiosity, doubt, amusement.
"She's the one?" someone whispered.
"So small… she looks like a merchant's daughter."
"A girl hero? Strange times indeed."
The words weren't loud, but they didn't need to be. She caught the tone beneath them — disbelief wrapped in courtesy.
At the far end, the king stood from his golden chair. His beard shimmered with streaks of white; his crown looked heavy enough to crush him. Yet his smile tried for kindness.
"Welcome, Lady Aria of another world," he said, voice echoing through the chamber. "May this feast honor your arrival and fortify your heart for the trials ahead."
Polite applause followed — brief, hollow.
Aria bowed slightly, unsure whether she should say something. The silence stretched. Finally she managed, "Thank you, Your Majesty. I'll… do my best."
A faint chuckle rippled through the nobles, quickly stifled behind wine glasses. The king motioned her toward the long table beside him.
Food shimmered everywhere — roasted fowl, glistening fruits, bread steaming with honey. Aria's stomach growled, reminding her she'd barely eaten all day. Still, every bite tasted like nerves.
Lena served quietly behind her, refilling her glass whenever it dipped. From across the table, a group of armored men laughed among themselves.
"Do you suppose she can wield a sword?" one said.
"Maybe a quill," another replied, smirking.
"Enough," the king warned softly. "Our guest is under the protection of this court."
The laughter died, but the glances continued — pitying, doubtful.
Aria forced a small smile, chewing carefully. Inside, her chest tightened. She'd always been underestimated back on Earth, but at least there people didn't expect her to save the world. Here, she was both miracle and mistake.
She looked toward the king again. His smile was weary now, eyes heavy with years. He raised his goblet. "To Lady Aria — may courage guide her."
This time the applause was stronger. She lifted her glass in response, trying to mean it.
"To Elyndra," she said quietly.
When the feast ended, musicians struck a soft tune as servants cleared the plates. Nobles began drifting away in clusters, their perfumes mixing in the air. The king rose and approached her.
"You carry yourself with grace, Lady Aria," he said, stopping beside her. "Forgive my people's doubts. They have seen heroes rise before—men of power, warriors of renown. But never one such as you."
"I understand," she said. Her voice didn't waver, though her heart did.
He smiled faintly. "Rest tonight. Tomorrow we will speak of your path."
She bowed. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
The king's robe swept past her as he left, his guards trailing. The hall slowly emptied until only the echo of music remained.
Lena appeared again, her tone gentle. "Shall I escort you back, my lady?"
Aria nodded. "Please."
They walked through dim corridors lined with torchlight. The palace had a strange stillness at night — a hush that made even her own footsteps sound foreign. Lena stopped at her door, bowing once more.
"Sleep well, my lady."
"You too, Lena."
When Aria entered the room, the candle she'd left earlier was still burning but almost nothing remained of it. Its last inch of wax glowed weakly, spilling light across the desk.
Her eyes went straight to the book.
It lay exactly where she'd left it — waiting. But when she looked down and opened it, the pages were blank.
Her breath caught. She flipped forward, backward — nothing. Every word, every drawing, gone as if it had never existed.
"No…" she whispered, fingers trembling. "It was right here."
The pages rustled in protest under her hands, soft and cold. Panic climbed her throat. Had the book been enchanted? Was she losing her mind?
Then the candle flickered violently.
A faint hum filled the air, low and pulsing. Aria froze. Slowly, the last page of the book began to glow — faint lines etching themselves into existence, one by one, as if invisible ink had caught fire.
"When light forgets its will to burn,
Seek the hand that failed, yet learned.
His heart, though frail, defies the end—
Find the flame that does not bend."
________________________________________
Morning broke once again and for a moment she didn't know where she was — only the afterimage of fire flickered behind her eyes. She remembered reaching for a hand, warm and burning with light, and a voice that whispered her name as if it were the only word left in the world. Then silence. Then the weight of reality pressing her into the feather mattress.
Her fingers brushed the desk beside her bed. The book lay there — the same tattered, half-burnt relic from the night before. Yet it looked ordinary now, lifeless. Its faint golden script was gone, as if what had appeared was only a dream.
She ran her hand over the cover. The leather was cold.
Before she could open it again, the door creaked softly. Lena peeked in, eyes bright with polite urgency. "My lady—" she hesitated, still uncertain how to address her, "the King has requested your presence. It's… important."
Aria nodded, rising wordlessly.