The city square buzzed more than usual.
Selene had only come out to trade for wax thread, but now she was standing in a cluster of townspeople, all staring up at the Guild's central notice board. The paper at the center bore the golden seal of Lord Everen D'Sair and a crimson ribbon—signifying a public challenge.
Clarence, perched on her shoulder, tilted his head and squeaked. Selene squinted up at the parchment.
_______________________________________
⚖️ City Proclamation — Office of the Lord
"A call to all artisans, builders, scholars, and talented citizens.
The Ancient Archive of the Second Flame, built by a Lord of centuries past, is in a state of unusability and must be restored.
Attempts by the Guild to repair the space have failed. The archive resists enchantment, structural alignment, and magical interpretation.
Any individual capable of creating a viable restoration plan and demonstrating improvement to one section of the archive will receive:
Lifetime Guild Permit (Level 2)
100 Gold Coins
Private Audience with the Lord
The archive may be inspected under Guild supervision.
Submit your proposal by season's end."
________________________________________
Selene blinked.
A royal challenge… to fix something even the Guild couldn't touch?
She tilted her head.
"…Maybe they just didn't have the right wrench," she muttered.
Clarence gave a judgmental squeak.
It wasn't curiosity that led her to the site that afternoon. It was something else.
The kind of pull she got when standing in a room and knowing exactly where the couch should be—even before someone asked.
The Archive stood like a forgotten relic at the edge of the inner city walls. Grand, angular, and... confused. No guards. No enchanters. Just birds and dust.
Selene passed through the cracked archway with the cautious awe of someone stepping into a misplaced museum.
Inside, the layout was wrong.
Stairs curled into dead ends.
Light filtered through stained glass into unnatural shadows.
Shelves blocked doors.
Paths circled on themselves, hallways ended at windows.
It wasn't just broken.
It felt... like someone tried to build a memory without the tools to finish it.
Selene stepped into a slanted alcove and ran her fingers along the stone grooves. Patterns. Angles. Intent. The way the benches were placed, the odd spacing of steps…
It wasn't magical. It was designed. Just—by someone with a very specific kind of logic.
Her kind.
Then her hand caught on something.
A loose stone shifted under her fingers, and with a soft mechanical click, a thin drawer opened from the wall. Inside, wrapped in aged silk and dust, was a small journal.
Brown leather cover. Cold to the touch.
She flipped it open.
Strange symbols danced across the page. Familiar. Her breath caught.
Not symbols.
English.
"It's been twelve years since I came here. I thought maybe this archive could hold something real. But no one understands what I'm trying to do. Not even the Guild. I hope someday, someone will."
Selene's heart thudded.
"If you're reading this, I guess you can understand me. Which means—maybe you're not from here either."
Ding!
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"Note: Not all tools are made for this world."
She slowly closed the book, fingers trembling slightly.
No one in this world had been able to read this journal. They called the script "unreadable" or "ancient tongue." But Selene—she understood every word.
She wasn't ready to ask what that meant.
Not yet.
But for the first time in a long time…
She wasn't just fixing broken furniture in an alley.
She was standing inside someone else's unfinished dream.
And somehow, she was the only one who could see it.