[POV: Selene]

  The obsidian columns of the Lunar Pace rose majestically toward an enchanted sky, reflecting silvery lights that seemed to dance across the walls. Every step Selene took along the corridor echoed softly, accompanied by a growing sense of estrangement. The maid guiding her dared not speak, but her silence said enough. Wherever they passed, the servants quickly bowed and immediately lowered their gaze. As if her gaze alone might pierce them.

  “It’s normal to feel... disoriented,” the maid finally whispered. “But everything will feel natural again with time. Royal blood never forgets.”

  The corridor opened into a gallery adorned with imposing portraits. Some bore stern faces, others proud. But between two ornate silver frames, there was a gap. Not simply a bare wall: a dark, finely embroidered drape hung there, as if concealing an absence no one wished to expin. The air seemed colder there, heavy with forgotten sorrow. Selene noticed it and felt an unexpected ache in her chest.

  “Who was here?” she asked.

  The maid lowered her eyes. “No one, my... dy. It has always been this way.”

  A lie, Selene thought. Yet she didn’t press further.

  She was led to the Throne Hall, where the Empress awaited her.

  The door opened with a solemn whisper, revealing the immensity of the chamber. Each step echoed heavily between the columns of lunar stone. The high ceiling seemed to dissolve into the sky, as if the night itself watched over the throne.

  Lysandra sat imposingly on the bck and silver throne. Her long silver hair floated like lunar mist, and her crimson eyes were fixed on Selene like silent bdes. Beside her, standing with a slightly stiff posture, was a young boy dressed in ceremonial garments: Caelum.

  “Caelum,” Lysandra said firmly, “greet your sister.”

  The boy bowed enthusiastically, yet respectfully. “It’s nice to see you awake, Selene. I... I’ve waited for you a long time.”

  “Mother says you’ll be Empress one day, but I hope you’ll still have time to py with me sometimes...” he added with a slightly cheeky smile. “Or I can teach you to duel, if you’re rusty.”

  Sister. The word echoed strangely in Selene’s mind.

  Lysandra stood and descended the steps with sovereign elegance. “You may feel confused,” she said, “but your blood remembers. And soon, so will your instincts. You are no longer merely the one who slept... you are the future Empress.”

  Selene tried to speak, but the words caught in her throat. A chill slithered down her spine. She felt something changing in her body: a deep thirst, impossible to ignore. Her vision sharpened. She could hear the heartbeat of the boy next to Lysandra. The blood flowing.

  A servant entered, carrying a silver chalice. Its crimson contents shimmered under the magical lights of the hall. Selene stared at it, drawn by a desire she didn’t understand, but that felt ancient, essential.

  “You feel it, don’t you?” Lysandra whispered with a half-smile. “The thirst. That which binds us. You are pureblood. You are a vampire.”

  Selene stepped forward. Her hands trembled, but she didn’t stop. She grasped the chalice—hesitated. Part of her wanted to reject everything: the absurd scene, the imposed truth, the unfamiliar hunger. But the pull... was stronger than her will. She brought it to her lips. She drank.

  The world stopped.

  The taste was fire and honey. Concentrated life. Memories.

  A voice. A ugh.A Japanese cssroom. The sound of sliding windows.A girl with golden hair—another life.She called him by name. They ughed together. Passed notes. Their eyes searched for each other, more and more.

  His—her—heart clenched. A warm hand held theirs. A promise whispered in the rain.

  “When we graduate... I’ll wait for you.”

  Then, darkness. The sound of a horn. The fsh of headlights.

  Selene let the chalice fall. The blood dripped onto the floor like crimson petals.

  A servant silently approached, kneeling to retrieve it with swift, precise movements. Selene watched for a moment, a flicker of irritation in her eyes. Not at the act itself, but at her own exposed vulnerability. That sudden fragility she couldn’t control.

  She remained silent, trembling. She didn’t know whether to cry or ugh. The thirst was sated, but her heart screamed.

  The Empress approached and pced a hand on her shoulder. “Welcome to your destiny, my daughter. Whether you want it or not, the Empire needs you.”

  Lysandra paused, then added more softly, “Your awakening happened faster than we expected. Your magic... is already pulsing within you with a strength few of our line have shown so early. It is the sign of royal lineage, of the purest lunar blood. But remember, Selene: great power attracts great eyes. And great expectations.”

  Selene did not answer. But her thoughts spiraled wildly:

  That girl... was she Haruka? And me... who am I now?

  Why didn’t I ever tell her? Why did I wait so long... until I lost her forever?

  That same evening, Lysandra returned to her chambers.

  “Tomorrow you will leave for the Lunar Academy,” she said calmly. “It is there your wings will grow. Every imperial heir has walked that path. Now it is your turn.”

  Selene stared in silence, then nodded slowly. Part of her trembled, but another part burned with anticipation.

  Before leaving, Lysandra drew a small silver medallion from a hidden pocket in her robe. Etched on the front was the emblem of the Empire: a crescent moon embraced by a winged dragon. She offered it to Selene with a steady hand, though her gaze dropped for a brief moment.

  “Keep it with you. It will guide you—as someone once could not.”

  She didn’t know whether to trust her. But in those crimson eyes, for an instant, Selene saw something that wasn’t expectation, nor authority, nor the weight of duty. Something different. Something that, perhaps, resembled protection.

  Selene asked no questions. But as she held the medallion, she felt the metal pulse faintly against her palm. As if it held a memory... or a legacy.

  And there she felt it for the first time.

  A new beginning. Or perhaps, the continuation of a story never truly finished.

  [POV: Arya]

  Shortly after, there was a knock at the door. A young elven maid entered with a light step and a polite smile. “Lady Arya, the Duke and Lady Lysia await you in the sunlit garden.”

  Arya nodded without hesitation. But inside, her heart was beating faster. She had never met these people—yet to the rest of the world, they had always been her family.

  Before she could move, the light in the room shifted. A soft, golden glow gathered at the center of the air, as if the light itself had begun to breathe. Arya—or perhaps Haruka—heard a voice in her mind, as clear as a divine whisper.

  “Haruka... that was your name, once. But now you are Arya. Do not fear what you’ve become. If you accept this new identity, if you embrace this life, you will discover wonders beyond imagination. Bonds, truths... and perhaps, what your heart still longs for.”

  The light faded without a sound. But within Arya’s chest, something had moved. A spark. A promise. It wasn’t just a voice. It was an imprint. A mark on her heart she could no longer ignore.

  She continued on. She walked through the silent halls of the noble estate, past stained gss windows and vines climbing white stone like living veins. Every corner felt familiar... yet also new.

  When she arrived at the garden, she saw two figures waiting beneath a flowering pergo. Duke Eldrin, tall and proud, wore a stern expression softened by warmth. Beside him, a young blonde elf only slightly older than Arya watched her with curiosity.

  “Arya,” said the Duke in a firm but affectionate tone, “you look radiant this morning.”

  “Welcome back, little sister,” added Lysia with a smile. Her eyes gleamed with amused light, and Arya caught a pyful glint on her face. “I hope you haven’t forgotten how to hold cutlery—Uncle Thelen will be at lunch, and he notices everything.”

  Arya stepped closer. Her heart told her she should know these people, that she should feel at home. Yet something within her remained distant. As if a part of her was still searching for something... or someone.

  But for now, she would smile. And py the role destiny had assigned her.

  The Duke extended a hand, resting it gently on her shoulder. “You seem distant, Arya. Did you sleep well?”

  She nodded, but her voice caught in her throat. Lysia stepped forward and handed her a small steaming cup. “Your favorite tea,” she said. “Or so your tastes cim.”

  Arya thanked her softly, barely touching the rim of the cup. These gestures, that spontaneous affection, hurt and comforted her at the same time. It was as if something precious was being offered to her—but she didn’t yet feel it was hers.

  Akira.

  The name drifted through her mind like a broken whisper.

  She couldn’t forget. She never wanted to. He had been everything she desired and never dared to confess. A love hidden behind stolen gnces, unspoken words. And now... was it too te?

  Or maybe not.

  What if this was the second chance?What if this truly was the beginning of something?

  That night, as the sky over Ylthia filled with trembling stars, Arya was summoned to her father's study, lined with ancient wood.

  “Arya,” said Duke Eldrin, “in two weeks, the lessons at the Lunar Academy will begin. It is time for you to go. It will be a crucial step.”

  She lowered her gaze, torn between fear and a strange excitement.

  Perhaps there she would find answers. Perhaps she would fill the loneliness she still carried.

  While packing, she gnced out the window. The sky was clear, and a shooting star crossed the heavens at that very moment. Arya followed its trail with her eyes, and her heart whispered a wish she didn’t dare speak aloud.

  She didn’t know what awaited her at the Academy. But deep down, she felt that something—or someone—there would set in motion the story destiny had merely interrupted.

  A new path. Or perhaps, the moment when what was left unfinished would finally find its voice.