Elara
Elara sighed and put the book down on the bench she was sitting on, the weight of the coming night already a comforting presence in her thoughts. The sun, a brazen eye in the sky, pressed down on the girl, each ray feeling like a subtle accusation. She rubbed at her eyes. Even reading became a chore during the day; it was no wonder their scholars locked themselves away in dark chambers when the sun shone to do their work.
Just like Calista used to.
A familiar sharp pain stabbed through her heart at the thought of her sister. But it was duller now that some time had passed. The first few days were the worst. She had cried until she was all dried up. And then it was just guilt and sorrow that battled in her chest.
Calista was dead, but she was never supposed to be the sacrifice. was. She had grown up knowing she was special and chosen, even if her life was destined to end a bit sooner than most. On the day of the final purification ritual, she had smiled and prayed, ready to fulfill her destiny and protect her people and all of Velaria, when an uncomfortable hush fell over the room.
Her glorious destiny was over in a moment. Murmurs spread that the prophecies had been misinterpreted. The other twin was needed. She kept kneeling there, her smile dying slowly, but nobody came to check on her. They were all fussing over Calista, who had been brought from the tower with her hair mussed and fingers stained with ink as usual, clearly irritated to be grabbed from her research.
Elara remembered the look on her sister’s face when she realized what they were saying, that she was going to die.
Unlike Elara, Calista hadn’t been raised to die. Her life had meaning. Her research and contributions were valuable. She had a life outside the luxurious prison of the temple. The girl who had once been a sacrifice couldn’t imagine that. She had lived as a kind of ghost in elaborate silks. Nobody wanted to get too close to her. They knew she would be dead soon. Deeper friendships. Romance. She knew none of these things.
And now she was a ghost, but no longer a meaningful one. The temple didn’t seem to know what to do with her. They waited for the wise ruling of Queen Alear. Elara probably wouldn’t be sent to the outer wards with those who were almost entirely human, too removed from the divine line to have access to any gifts. But she was not an artisan or researcher, nor had she been trained as a priestess or healer.
She let out a little laugh as she snatched up the book of legends and stood up. She was nothing. The sacrifice that didn’t die. A girl who punished herself by sitting in sunny courtyards and reading old legends about beings that were even more unfortunate than her. She related to him a little bit. They were both supposed to serve a purpose and were ultimately discarded, even if the reasons differed.
Elara tucked the book in her pocket. It was from the forbidden archives, so she would need to sneak it back in there later. She scoffed as if there was anything mysterious about a children’s tale. What a waste of her afternoon.
Leaving the warmth and open sky of the courtyard, where the scent of sun-baked stone and the distant chirping of temple birds had offered a fleeting sense of normalcy, she stepped through a massive archway carved with intricate lunar cycles. The air immediately shifted, growing cool and heavy with the scent of aged parchment and dust motes dancing in the slivers of light that pierced the high, narrow windows.
The corridors of the innermost circle of Selvarin were a stark contrast to the bright exterior. Walls of smooth, dark obsidian reflected the dim light, punctuated by tapestries depicting scenes of celestial events and the lineage of the moon-touched.
The Moon left behind seven daughters and seven sons before she ascended. Elara stopped to admire their images, as she often did. Lyra, the princess, lost in the tragedy of Aetharys, was depicted sitting on a throne and holding a mirror in one hand and a leash in the other. Why, Elara had no clue. That was the sort of detail Calista would have known.
Elara’s stomach tightened at the thought of her twin sister. Sometimes she had this sensation that perhaps her own jealousy had led to her death. The thought made her shiver.
Kneeling next to Lyra was the knight of the sacred flame, born to serve. They had that in common, Elara thought with a wry smile. A powerful warrior with divine might, Xavier’s figure should have been an epic one in their stories. But he was always depicted as subservient to someone. Fate was cruel sometimes.
Astraea was depicted as wearing a dress made of stars and looking off into the distance. It was said that Astraea was the divine daughter from whom they were descended, though they were seven generations removed. That absent look in her eyes reminded Elara of her mother and sister, so it made some sense, she supposed. She walked down the dark halls with a final lingering touch on the shimmering threads. It was her link to her past and people, and it felt like the only physical proof that she belonged here.
The people here moved with a quiet authority, their robes of deep indigo and silver thread whispering against the polished stone floors. Many wore delicate silver circlets or crescent-shaped adornments in their starlight-hued hair, marking their direct descent from the moon goddess. These were the divinely favored, their bearing radiating a sense of innate power and privilege.
As Elara navigated the passages, the usual hushed reverence of the temple felt… different. A low murmur, like a disturbed hive, permeated the air. The scent of incense, usually calming, now carried a sharp undercurrent of anxiety. Priests and acolytes, even those with the serene expressions they were trained to maintain, moved with a hurried unease she hadn't witnessed before, their indigo robes swirling as they passed.
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They were familiar to her, but nobody stopped to greet her today. She hadn’t died, but she was still a ghost.
Snippets of hushed conversations drifted to her: "...no word from the Luminary Tower..." "...whispers of a large winged shape near the outer wards..." "...Queen Alear's chambers remain sealed..."
A prickle of unease traced its way down Elara's spine. The Queen's absence was clearly causing significant unrest even within this sacred heart of the temple. Usually, such matters of state were kept far from the concerns of someone like her, the forgotten sacrifice. But the palpable fear in the air was undeniable.
As she navigated the familiar passages towards the forbidden archives, her thoughts drifted to Alyn, the studious researcher with kind eyes and a gentle smile. He was the one who had shown her and Calista the secret way to access the rooms of ancient legends. The memory of him was bittersweet. Even Alyn, with his quiet understanding, had always been drawn to Calista's sharp intellect, her vibrant energy.
She remembered the day she’d sought refuge in the cool silence of the archives, hoping to lose herself in ancient scrolls. The heavy oak doors, etched with constellations, had groaned softly as she pushed them open. She’d found Alyn there, his dark scholarly robes a familiar sight amidst the towering shelves, his brow furrowed in concentration as he leaned over a massive, leather-bound tome with Calista beside him, her finger tracing lines of text as she peppered him with questions. Their heads were close, a shared bubble of intellectual curiosity that Elara had never been invited into.
Before he noticed her, Elara had seen something. It was the way he turned to look at Calista when she was busy looking at the book, a lingering look of heat and admiration. It was the way Elara always hoped he would look at her, and her heart felt like it sank into the pit of her stomach. That was the day she realized Alyn was in love with her sister.
Alyn had looked up when she approached, his smile polite but distant, his attention quickly returning to Calista's eager inquiries. Elara had mumbled a greeting and retreated to a dusty corner, the weight of her isolation pressing down on her. Even the one person who had shown her kindness seemed to see her only in the periphery, his true focus always on her brilliant, irreplaceable sister.
Elara was dressed in the finest silks, patterned with the lights of constellations, her hair elaborately set, while Calista’s white cotton robes were slipping off her shoulder, because she couldn’t even be bothered to tie them properly when she was working. Her hands were dark with ink, and there was even a smudge of it across her cheek.
The memory, sharp and clear despite the passage of time, left a familiar ache in her chest. She was a shadow, even in the presence of those who were kind to her. And now, with the temple in disarray and the Queen gone, that feeling of insignificance felt amplified. As she finally reached the heavy oak doors of the forbidden archives, the weight of the stolen book in her pocket felt less like rebellion and more like a desperate grasp for some small piece of meaning in a world that seemed to have no place for her.
She slipped inside, the hinges groaning softly behind her. The air within was even stiller, the towering shelves of ancient texts casting long, silent shadows in the dim light filtering from a few high windows. The scent of decaying paper and forgotten lore was thick here, a scent she associated with scholars.
She moved stealthily between the towering stacks, her footsteps muffled by the thick dust on the stone floor. Her goal was a specific alcove in the deepest section. As she rounded a corner, she paused. The shadows in the alcove seemed to deepen and coalesce for a fleeting moment, taking on a vaguely humanoid shape before dissolving back into the gloom. A low, almost imperceptible whisper seemed to brush against her ear, not a sound in the air, but a thought planted directly in her mind.
the whisper seemed to murmur, the tone laced with a gentle understanding that echoed the rare moments of genuine connection she felt with Alyn. The scent of old parchment seemed to shift for a heartbeat, replaced by the faintest hint of Alyn's familiar sandalwood oil. Her throat tightened.
Then, as quickly as it came, that sensation faded. The shadows in the alcove seemed to flicker again, and this time, for an instant, Elara had the distinct impression of a figure standing where the darkness was deepest. Not a solid form, but a shimmering outline, and within it, a sense of sharp intellect and radiant confidence. Along with the visual impression came another whisper, this one a subtle undercurrent beneath the silence of the archives.
Elara blinked, her heart pounding softly. The strange sensations were gone. The shadows were just shadows, the air still and smelling of dust. Had it been her imagination, the stress of the day, and the temple's unrest playing tricks on her mind? Yet, a subtle unease lingered, a feeling that she had been… noticed, understood on a level that no one in the temple ever had.
Finding the narrow ladder tucked away in a corner, Elara began to climb, the aged wood creaking beneath her weight. Just as her fingers brushed against the designated shelf, a violent tremor shook the very foundations of the temple. The towering bookshelves swayed precariously, sending a rain of dust and loose scrolls cascading around her and making her cough. Elara gasped, her grip tightening on the ladder as the world lurched. A deep, resonant groan echoed through the stone, followed by a chorus of terrified shouts from outside the archives. A cold dread clenched in her chest – this was far beyond the usual temple unrest. This felt like… doom.
Abandoning her attempt to reshelve the book and just shoving it onto the closest shelf, Elara scrambled down the ladder, her heart pounding in her ears. She burst out of the forbidden archives to find the serene order of the inner temple completely shattered. Priests and acolytes were running in panicked disarray, their faces white with terror. The air was thick with shouts and a flurry of confused orders being barked.
"Elara! Elara!" A familiar voice cut through the chaos. It was Arden, a young acolyte with cheerful, inquisitive eyes, who had often sought Elara’s company in the sun-drenched courtyard to relieve the boredom of her studies. This time her eyes were bright with fear, shock, and just a hint of excitement.
"The news… just came… it's… it's Castle Aetharys! It's gone! Collapsed… into rubble!"
Arden’s words were barely out when a bloodcurdling roar echoed from above, a sound that seemed to shake the very sky. Elara took the acolyte’s hand and pulled her down the long halls towards the exterior, her heart pounding in her chest.
People screamed, pointing towards the high, arched windows. "A dragon! Colliding with the wards!" Arden and Elara fell into each other as another deep BOOM shook the city.
“Don’t cry,” she told Arden absentmindedly and pulled her back up.
Elara’s mind was reeling. Castle Aetharys. Where the Hollow Knight waited. Where Calista had met her end. Her sacrifice… it was supposed to contain the sleeping deity. So… what was going on? A terrifying, disorienting thought crashed through her confusion: if Aetharys was gone, if Maelzar was free… then
