The moon was full the night Luneth turned sixteen.
It hung low and pale above the palace gardens, caught in the branches of silver-leaf trees like an omen no one dared to name. Lanterns glowed softly along the marble paths, music drifted through open arches, and for one fragile evening, the world pretended to be kind.
Luneth sat at the long banquet table, hands folded neatly in her lap, listening to laughter that felt almost unreal. Candles flickered, reflecting in crystal goblets and polished armor. Faces she loved surrounded her—warm, familiar, safe.
She did not know this was the last time she would see them alive.
“Make a wish,” her guardian said gently, pushing the small moon-shaped cake toward her.
Luneth smiled. She closed her eyes.
She wished for nothing extraordinary.
No crowns. No power. No destiny.
She wished for this—only this—to last.
The moment she exhaled, the candles went out.
Not blown.
Extinguished.
The music faltered. Somewhere beyond the palace walls, the night went silent—too silent. Luneth felt it then, a pressure in her chest, sharp and sudden, like the air itself had turned against her.
The moonlight dimmed.
A scream tore through the far gate.
Steel rang. Stone cracked.
“Lock the doors,” someone shouted.
Too late.
The ceiling shattered in a rain of marble and fire. Heat slammed into the hall, violent and suffocating. Flames roared to life where there had been silk and flowers moments before. The scent of burning wood and blood filled the air.
Luneth froze.
Her guardian was already moving, dragging her from the chair as a shadow fell across the hall—vast, ancient, wrong. A roar shook the palace, deep enough to rattle bone and soul alike.
Dragonfire.
“They’ve found her,” someone whispered in terror.
She didn’t understand.
Found who?
Arrows flew. Magic flared. None of it mattered.
People threw themselves in front of her—servants, soldiers, friends—forming a wall of flesh against something that could not be stopped. One by one, they fell. Blood streaked the marble floor, mixing with ash.
“Don’t look back,” her guardian ordered, voice breaking as he pushed her toward a hidden passage behind the tapestry.
Luneth did look back.
She saw the hall collapse.
She saw the fire consume names she would never speak again.
She saw the moon reflected in a pool of blood—burning silver.
The passage sealed behind her with a final, hollow echo.
Darkness swallowed her scream.
She ran.
Barefoot through stone corridors, through tunnels carved long before the palace existed. Her lungs burned, her vision blurred with tears she refused to let fall. The world above thundered and died while the earth hid her like a guilty secret.
At last, the tunnel opened into a forgotten chamber. The old guard stopped there, shaking, wounded, eyes full of apology.
“Listen to me,” he said, gripping her shoulders. “Your name, your past—forget them. Live. That is the only way you honor the dead.”
She wanted to argue. To demand answers. To go back and burn the sky in return.
Instead, she nodded.
Because she could still hear the roar.
When dawn came, smoke stained the horizon where her home had been.
Luneth did not cry.
Something colder settled into her chest—heavy, patient, enduring.
That night, the girl who wished for peace died with her kingdom.
And somewhere far above the clouds, an ancient curse tightened its hold—unaware that the child it sought had survived.
Unaware that one day, she would seek it back.
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