The Spire of Luneveil

The city of Luneveil was built not by kings or conquerors, but by dreamers who whispered to the stars.

At its center stood the Celestine Spire—a shard of the moon itself, said to pulse with the breath of forgotten gods. Each century, when the moon aligned perfectly above, the Spire would awaken and cast its glow deeper than light, stirring visions in those brave enough to listen.

On this eve, as the moon crowned the sky and the bells of twelve rang through the canals, a ripple cut through the water. Aurelin, an orphaned scholar of the Starlit Order, stood at the water’s edge, clutching an ancient scroll no one had dared to read aloud.

“The Spire speaks,” she whispered, her voice barely a tremble.

And it did.

The crystal pulsed once—then erupted in a storm of light. Boats rocked. The sky cracked with quiet thunder. And above them all, from the tip of the Spire, a path of silver fire reached toward the moon.

Aurelin’s breath caught.

Her journey had just begun.