It had been long since the halls of the Grand Library echoed with more than lullabies and weeping. Queen Rennala sat upon her chair beneath the suspended chandeliers, the amber egg cradled close, its faint golden glow bathing her pale face. Around her, the reborn “sweetings” whispered and hummed broken melodies, their small hands clutching books they could no longer read. The moonlight filtered through cracked stained glass, casting silver pools across scattered scrolls and fallen tomes — remnants of a kingdom of thought now drowned in sorrow.

A sound broke the silence. The great doors groaned open, ancient hinges protesting after years of stillness. Dust swirled like drifting starlight.