The sanctum chamber had quieted since morning. The soft hum of enchantments whispered through the white marble walls, carrying the faint scent of celestial lilies that only bloomed inside the imperial sanctum. Light spilled through high arched windows, diffused by glass etched with constellations of emerald and silver—like the reflection of two souls bound by destiny.
Shellia sat on the edge of the grand bed, still half-dazed from waking. Her fingers brushed the soft fabric of her robe, the one she did not remember wearing when she fainted on the battlefield. It was lighter, embroidered with the insignia of the Aurora Empire—silver wings and a crescent moon entwined.
Before she could gather her thoughts, the heavy door of the chamber opened with a low creak.
