Elara basically lived in the Archives now. She hadn't set foot outside since the day she found that weird old parchment. Days? Weeks? Who even knew. Outside, Silverwood's sky stuck to its gloomy gray, like it was just waiting for her to do something. She didn't really care anymore. Meals just appeared—some silent helper would drop them off, and she'd barely notice. Sleep? Forget it. Her dreams were a chaotic mess: voices muttering nonsense, star patterns melting into each other. Honestly, she was hanging on by a thread.
The star-map on her desk still glowed, even in the daytime—creepy, honestly. Five out of seven stars pulsed, slow and steady, like a heartbeat you could see.
She dragged her ink-smudged fingers across them, mumbling, "They're waking. All but two." Was she talking to herself? Yeah. But whatever.
That night, just as her last candle fizzled out, a cold gust whipped through the room. Not from the window, either—more like the universe itself just took a deep breath. Gave her chills, not gonna lie.
Then this sound—tiny, delicate, like wind chimes a million miles away.
She looked up, heart hammering.
The wall? Gone. Just… gone. In its place: a door, if you could call it that. Stuffed with stardust, covered in freaky old symbols. It didn't swing open—it sort of folded in on itself, rippling like silk in slow motion. And behind it? Pure blackness, but not empty—full of stairs going every which way. Up, down, sideways, you name it. Like something Escher would've painted if he had a cosmic fever dream.
Then someone called her name. Not out loud, more like her bones hummed with it.
"Elara."
She stepped forward, and the whole world flipped inside out.
---
She landed in the House Between Stars.
Calling it a place felt wrong. It was more like a half-remembered dream, ancient and foggy. Gravity? Optional. Time? Just a soft buzzing under her feet. The rooms shifted around her, whispers and forgotten songs drifting everywhere. Dust floated by, swirling into weird old symbols she almost recognized.
Right in the middle—this massive mirror.
No reflection. Nothing like that.
Just a shadowy shape. Definitely female. Wrapped up in light and darkness both, and wings made from shattered runes stretched out behind her, stuck mid-flap.
The sixth Choir member.
Nerethiel. The Dreaming Chord.
Elara crept closer, nervous as hell.
"She dreams all things into being," someone whispered, right next to her.
Startled, she spun around. There was a woman—hidden in silver mist, face covered. The Keeper, apparently.
"She's been dreaming since the Choir fell," the Keeper murmured. "Her sleep is the glue holding this world together."
Elara stared at the goddess. She looked peaceful, but—unsettling, too.
"And if she wakes up?" Elara's voice came out shaky.
The Keeper's tone dropped, heavy and dark. "She could unravel everything. Dreams without song? That's how nightmares happen."
Elara took another step.
Nerethiel stirred, just barely.
A thin crack split the glowing chains wrapped around her. Her lips moved, almost silent.
"…Maelin…"
Elara's breath caught. Wait—what? She knows Maelin?
The Keeper nodded. "They're connected. When Maelin sings, Nerethiel listens. But soon… Maelin has to come here herself."
Elara turned back to the mirror. There was a crack in it now, running right through.
Not much time left.
The seventh star hadn't woken up.
But the dreamer sure was.
And if Maelin didn't get here before the last note faded… Well, the world might not survive whatever song Nerethiel was about to unleash.