Nocturna woke to ivy where her window used to be. She sat up in her own bed, eighteen years old, her white curls spread across the pillow. But green vines climbed the walls of her chamber. They had cracked the stone and pushed through the floor. She pressed a hand to her chest and felt the purple runes there pulse faintly under her skin. Her mother's magic. The last thing she remembered was her mother's voice and a war outside the gates. Then sleep. Now the war was gone, and so was everyone. She swung her boots to the floor and stood. Cold air brushed her ankles. A soft glow moved beside her. It was her dog, but changed now, see-through and pale, his form drifting like mist. He barked without sound and pushed his ghostly head against her leg. She knelt and reached for him. Her hand passed through his neck. "How long?" she whispered. He only looked at her with bright blue eyes. Wind rattled the ivy. A crow landed on the sill, black feathers shining. It hopped inside and settled on a shelf, on top of a small wooden box she did not remember owning. The crow tilted its head at her. She lifted the box and opened the lid. Inside lay a folded letter, the ink faded but readable. "My dearest Nocturna," she read aloud. "I cast the spell and poured the magic I had left into you. I did not think you would sleep so long. I wait for you to wake, your own magic will be waking soon and I give you all mine, this was the only way to protect my only heir to the kingdom." Her hands shook. Her mother had written this before the sleep took her. Nocturna read it three times. Her mother meant to save her from the war. But the letter gave no year, no name, no place to find her. She carried the letter to the broken window and tore the ivy aside. Below her spread the courtyard she knew. The gates hung open and rusted. Vines wrapped every turret and swallowed the walls. Trees grew from the stones where guards once stood. This was not a night's sleep or a year's. Five hundred years had passed while she lay in her bed. The kingdom she was born to rule was gone. Nocturna stepped back from the window. The runes on her arms burned brighter now, answering her fear. Her mother had said she waited. That meant her mother might still be somewhere in this ruin, or had left more than one letter behind. Nocturna folded the paper and pushed it into her sleeve. The ghost dog rose and stood at the door. The crow lifted from the shelf and flew into the dark hall, then circled back, waiting. She pulled her boots tight and followed the bird. She had woken alone into a dead age, with only a ghost, a crow, and her mother's words to guide her. She would find out what her mother left, and why she was the one meant to wake.

The crow led Nocturna down a hall she had once known. Ivy split the walls of the old castle, and dust lay thick on every step. Her ghostly dog padded ahead, his pale form glowing in the dark. He stopped at a door she remembered. It was her mother's room. Nocturna pushed it open. The hinges screamed after five hundred years. Inside, a tall mirror leaned against the far wall. Its glass was cracked but clear. A wooden box sat on the floor in front of it. A folded note rested on the lid. Nocturna knelt and read it. "Use your power, summon my spirit daughter." Her hands began to shake. Her mother had left this for her. A way to speak to her again. Nocturna set her palm on the box. The runes along her arms glowed brighter. She reached for the magic inside her, the magic her mother had poured into her. She did not know the words. She only knew the ache of waking alone. "Mother," she whispered. "Come back. Please." Nothing happened. The mirror stayed dark. Nocturna pressed harder, but the runes only flickered. She thought of the empty gates, the vines, the guards turned to dust. She thought of five hundred years lost while she slept. Her chest tightened. She had followed a bird and a ghost through a dead kingdom for this, and the glass gave her nothing. A tear slid down her face. Then another. She let them fall. Her dog pressed his cold head against her arm. She wept for the mother who saved her and vanished, for the kingdom she could not rule. The mirror flared white. Nocturna gasped and pulled back. The runes on her skin burned hot, answering something on the other side of the glass. A shape rose in the mirror. It stepped out, thin and glowing, into the ruined room. An older woman, her silver-streaked hair tied high, her royal gown shimmering like frost. Queen Nerissa. Her mother. "Nocturna," the spirit said. Her voice was soft, but her eyes held sorrow. "You woke. I feared you never would." Nocturna reached out. Her hand passed through cold air. "Where are you? I searched. There was nothing." "I could not stay," Nerissa said. "I gave you all I had. My body is long gone. Only this remains." She lifted a glowing hand toward her daughter. "Listen to me. There is little time. The spell I cast did more than sleep you. It bound something. A debt I owed. Now it wakes with you." "What debt?" Nocturna asked. The spirit's form flickered. "The witch who gave me the magic will come for it. She let me borrow her power to save you. The price was never paid." Nerissa's light dimmed. "Find her before she finds you, daughter. But know you are more powerful than you think." The mirror cracked wider. Nerissa faded. Nocturna stood alone with a ghost, a crow, and a debt she never chose.