Illiannah sat in her usual corner of the library, utterly engrossed in an ancient tome on forgotten languages. The familiar scent of aged parchment filled the air, a comforting, almost nostalgic presence. The dim, flickering overhead lights cast a soft glow over her focused expression. This particular book was a favorite of hers—not only for its translations but also for the rich tapestry of history and lore woven into its pages. These tales, steeped in antiquity, sharpened her translation skills in ways no other book could.

As her fingers traced the Latin script, a flicker of excitement stirred within her. Languages had always come naturally to her, especially those steeped in history and myth. Some might have called her a recluse or a "nerd," but such opinions did not concern her. Latin and Greek held a special place in her heart, their words imbued with a depth and gravitas she couldn't quite articulate, as though they carried the keys to ancient wisdom lost to time. They flowed effortlessly through her mind, revealing secrets from forgotten ages.

The rhythmic turning of pages was abruptly interrupted by a voice—a sudden, sharp intrusion into her solitude. Startled, Illiannah glanced up to find a young girl standing before her. The child's eyes gleamed with quiet determination, as though she bore a message—or a purpose—that Illiannah could not yet discern.

Illiannah squinted, trying to place the girl's face. She looked vaguely familiar, though no memory stirred in her mind. The girl's unusual features and knowing smile seemed oddly out of place for her age. Taking a deep breath, the child stepped forward, her small hands clasped tightly.

"Um…" Illiannah began, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

The girl paused, then spoke with quiet certainty.

"You are to come with me, my lady."

Illiannah arched an eyebrow and let out a soft chuckle. "Come with you? Where are your parents, sweetheart? Are you alone?" The girl looked no older than ten, and Illiannah couldn't help but wonder if this was some sort of elaborate game.

The girl didn't answer. Instead, she took Illiannah's hand firmly, her grip surprisingly strong for her age. Illiannah blinked in surprise, pulling back slightly, but the girl held on, unyielding.

"Wait," Illiannah said, halting their steps and crouching to meet the girl's gaze. Though she wasn't adept at social interactions—preferring the solitude of books over people—she softened her voice, hoping not to alarm the child. "Sweetheart, as much as I'd like to help you, I need to know where you're taking me."

"Home," the child replied, her voice filled with quiet, unnerving conviction. "I'm getting you home."

Illiannah frowned. The girl must have been mistaken. Surely she thought Illiannah was someone else. Rising to her full height, she attempted to explain. "I think you're confused, honey. Are you looking for your older sister? Or maybe your mom?" she asked gently. "Can you tell me what they look like? I'll help you find them."

But the girl shook her head, her tone unwavering. "My lady, you must come. Further delay is not permitted, as direct orders are essential for the fulfillment of this mission. I cannot entertain such questions. My apologies."

Illiannah froze, her mouth falling open. The girl's speech was far too sophisticated for her age, her words flowing with an authority Illiannah had rarely encountered. For a moment, she could only stare.

"I'm not… I'm not sure how to proceed with this," Illiannah murmured, more to herself than to the girl. Concern crept into her voice as she studied the child. "Are you okay? Has someone been… making you talk this way? Forcing you to study too much?"

The girl tilted her head, her expression calm but tinged with impatience. "Is it necessary for me to introduce myself for your doubts to be resolved? I confess I am unfamiliar with the customs of this valley—"

"Alright, stop," Illiannah interrupted, shaking her head. The situation was growing absurd, and she was far too bewildered to entertain it further. "Let's find your parents, okay? Come with me."

Ignoring the girl's protests, Illiannah led her to the librarian's desk, her pace quick and purposeful. The old librarian, Mr. Woods, glanced up from his work with a calm, knowing expression.

As they neared, he greeted the child with a respectful nod. "Ah. Miss Aria Strombourne. A pleasant surprise to see you here."

Illiannah froze mid-step, her eyes darting between the two. "Wait. You know her?" she demanded, pointing at both of them.

The girl, now identified as Aria, rolled her eyes with the exasperation of someone much older. "If you had permitted me to speak earlier, my lady, I might have properly introduced myself."

Illiannah felt the small hand she had been holding slip from her grasp. A strange sensation washed over her as a fleeting memory—of the girl's smile, of her voice—brushed the edges of her mind. It was a memory she didn't even know she had, yet it felt oddly significant.

Straightening her posture, the girl spoke with measured grace. "I am Arianna Laureleih Elizabeth Strombourne, Lady of the House of Zanithe, Storm of the North. I have come to fetch you, my lady."