The night the stars shifted, Elara Vale was supposed to be asleep.
Instead, she stood barefoot on the cold stone balcony, fingers curled around the iron railing, watching the sky bend in a way it never had before.
The constellations shimmered, then slowly slid out of place, as if someone unseen were rearranging them.
Elara swallowed.
That only happened in stories.
A sharp wind rushed through the palace towers, tugging at her dark hair.
Below, the city of Lumerin lay quiet—lanterns dim, streets empty, everyone unaware that the heavens themselves were changing. Everyone except her.
It always happens when I'm awake, she thought.
A soft knock sounded behind her. Elara jumped and spun around.
"Still awake?" came a familiar voice.
Rowan Ashford leaned against the doorway, moonlight catching in his silver-trimmed cloak. He wasn't supposed to be here—apprentices weren't allowed in the upper towers after curfew—but Rowan had never been very good at following rules.
"You'll get caught," Elara said, though relief washed over her at the sight of him.
He smiled, that crooked smile that made her chest feel strangely tight. "Worth it. You looked like you'd seen a ghost."
She hesitated, then stepped aside so he could see the sky.
Rowan's smile faded.
"Oh," he breathed. "That's… not normal."
"Stars don't move unless something powerful is happening," Elara said quietly. "My grandmother used to say they only shift when magic wakes up."
Rowan glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "And you believe that?"
Elara met his gaze. "I think it already has."
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air felt heavy, charged, like the seconds before a storm breaks.
Elara became painfully aware of how close Rowan stood—close enough that she could feel his warmth in the cold night.
"You should stay inside," he said at last, softer now. "If something's coming, I don't want you out here."
Something fluttered in her chest at the concern in his voice. "Since when do you get protective?"
"Since always," he replied, too quickly.
Before she could respond, a low hum echoed through the tower, vibrating through the stones beneath their feet. The stars flared bright white.
Elara gasped.
Somewhere deep within her, something answered the sound—an unfamiliar pull, ancient and alive.
Rowan reached for her hand. "Elara… whatever this is—"
"I know," she whispered, fingers tightening around his. "Everything's about to change."
Above them, the stars burned on, and the future began to unravel.
The hum did not fade with the light.
Long after the stars settled into their new, unfamiliar patterns, the vibration lingered in Elara's bones, like an echo that refused to die. She lay awake in her bed, staring at the carved ceiling as moonlight crept across the room. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt it again—that pull, deep and insistent, as if something beneath the palace were calling her name.
Elara Vale did not answer strange calls in the night.
At least, she had never answered one before.
A bell rang somewhere in the eastern tower—low and urgent. Not the clear chime for morning prayers or meals, but the alarm reserved for emergencies. Elara sat up at once, heart hammering.
So it wasn't just me.
Boots thundered in the corridors beyond her door. Voices followed—hushed, tense, overlapping. The palace of Lumerin was awake now, and it felt wrong, like a body jolted from sleep by pain.
Elara pulled on her boots and cloak, barely bothering to fasten the clasp. The moment her feet hit the floor, the pull sharpened. Not toward the windows. Not toward the towers.
Down.
She stepped into the corridor and nearly collided with Rowan.
"Good," he said, relief flashing across his face before he masked it. "You felt it too."
"Felt what?" she asked, even though she knew.
"The summons," he said quietly. "The stones started singing."
Elara stared at him. "Stones don't sing."
"They do tonight."
Another shudder ran through the floor, subtle but unmistakable. Torches along the walls flared brighter, their flames bending inward, as if drawn toward the palace's heart.
Rowan glanced around, then leaned closer. "The Council's heading for the Deep Vaults."
Elara's breath caught. "Those are sealed."
"They were sealed," Rowan corrected. "The wards are failing."
That should have frightened her more than it did. Instead, a strange calm settled over her, the same calm she'd felt on the balcony beneath the shifting stars.
This is why I'm awake, she realised. This is why it always happens when I'm awake.
Without another word, she turned and headed toward the central stairs.
"Wait—Elara," Rowan said, grabbing her sleeve. "We're not supposed to—"
"I know," she said, gently but firmly pulling free. "But this isn't about rules."
They descended in silence, spiral step after spiral step, the air growing cooler and older with every level. The palace above was all marble and light; below, it became something else entirely—rough-hewn stone, walls etched with sigils worn nearly smooth by time.
At the foot of the stairs, the Deep Vault doors stood open.
They were enormous slabs of black stone veined with silver, runes crawling across their surface like frozen lightning. Members of the High Council clustered nearby, their ceremonial robes whispering as they argued in urgent tones.
Elara recognised Archmagister Thane at once—tall, severe, his staff glowing faintly at the tip. When his gaze fell on her, his expression darkened.
"Lady Elara," he said sharply. "You should not be here."
Before she could respond, the hum surged—stronger, louder—and the runes on the doors flared white.
Everyone froze.
The sound came again, no longer just a vibration but a rhythm, slow and deliberate, like a heartbeat.
Elara's heartbeat matched it.
She stepped forward.
"Stop her," someone hissed.
Too late.
The moment Elara crossed the threshold, the noise vanished.
So did the light.
The vault beyond the doors was vast and circular, its ceiling lost in shadow. In the centre stood a stone plinth, cracked down the middle. From within the fracture seeped a pale glow, soft but steady, like starlight trapped beneath the earth.
Elara felt the pull snap into place.
This is it.
She reached out.
"Elara, don't!" Rowan's voice echoed from behind her, strained with fear.
Her fingers brushed the light.
The world inhaled.
Images flooded her mind—stars being born and dying, cities rising and falling, magic flowing like a living thing through the veins of the world. She saw Lumerin as it once was, crowned in light, and as it could be, fractured and burning.
At the centre of it all was a thread of power—ancient, watchful, awakening.
It recognised her.
The glow surged upward, wrapping around her wrist like a band of fire and ice. Elara cried out, dropping to one knee as the mark seared itself into her skin.
Then everything went silent.
When she looked down, the light was gone.
In its place, a sigil shimmered faintly on her wrist, star-shaped and unmistakably alive.
The Council stared in horror.
Archmagister Thane whispered, "The Starbound… It was only a legend."
Rowan knelt beside her, gripping her shoulders. "Elara. Talk to me."
She met his eyes, still dizzy, still burning with borrowed starlight.
"I think," she said slowly, "the stars didn't just move."
Another tremor rippled through the vault, stronger than before.
"I think they chose."