Junon was born into a world that had already forgotten what came before.

They found her among the ashes: nameless, without ancestry, carrying no history anyone could confess to. And because men cannot endure a miracle without giving it an office, they made the child a symbol, the symbol a sovereign, and the sovereign a story.

But she remained inconveniently human: quiet where others expect grandeur; curious where obedience would be easier. Watchful, possessed of that dangerous tenderness which cannot pass a ruin without wondering what crime required its burial.

They say she survived the old world. Perhaps.