"Selene, are you still here?" called a familiar voice from the doorway. Old Maren, the town's midwife, stepped in, her face etched with concern.
Selene looked up, brushing a stray lock of chestnut hair from her face. "Just finishing an order. Is something wrong?"
"Another one of those… dreams?" Maren's voice softened, and Selene's stomach tightened. She hadn't told anyone about the dreams in detail, only that they left her shaken and exhausted.
"It's nothing," Selene lied, forcing a smile. "Just restless nights."
But it was far from nothing. Each dream was more vivid than the last, painting scenes of a life she couldn't possibly have lived. A grand throne room bathed in golden light. The sting of betrayal as a blade pierced her back. A man's face, half-hidden in shadow, whispering words she couldn't quite hear.
"Well, take care of yourself," Maren said, though her worry lingered in her eyes. "The festival starts tomorrow, and the town will need you bright-eyed and ready."
Selene nodded, watching the midwife leave. She returned to her work, but the motions felt mechanical. The dreams were growing harder to ignore, their whispers bleeding into her waking hours.
That night, sleep came reluctantly. When it did, it brought her back to the golden throne room. This time, the vision was clearer. She saw herself, not as Selene the apothecary but as Lysandra, queen of Solvara. She felt the weight of a crown on her head, the cool steel of the blade against her skin. And then… darkness.
Selene woke with a gasp, her heart racing. "Who am I?" she whispered into the shadows of her room.
The answer, she knew, lay far beyond the confines of Eldhaven. And it would change her life forever.