Since Sailor Tempesti had discovered it, the abandoned library within the Tower of the Winds had carried a distinct pall of melancholy. A sense akin to loneliness from a millennium without visitors, no chance to be of help to anyone. Maybe she was projecting, the mere thought of being entirely unable to make herself useful briefly brought down her spirits. After her and Ronan’s visits, however, it almost seemed as though it was perking up. Beginning to recover a liveliness that it must once have had. Maybe it was their careful attention that brightened the place. She’d put a lot of effort into cleaning, polishing the crystals to cast their light throughout the chamber, rescuing each surface from centuries of grime while her friend tended to the book she brought to his attention.

His understandable stubbornness had led to a delay in his work as he refused so much as to touch the materials until she could provide him with information on how the books were made and helped him find what limited information was available on how to maintain them, though he was pleased with how well preserved most of the book was. The end result proved to be well worth the effort. Despite the fact that Ronan couldn’t read the language, over several weeks he was able to restore most of the words that were largely intact. Enough that she was able to fill in most of the blanks as she translated while he grumbled about their inability to control the temperature and humidity of the room.

As Tempesti slowly pieced together the text in her own notes, an excitement dawned within her. This was a lovingly illustrated book of hours. The identities of the creator was unclear, as was that of the owner, but it clearly depicted years of Tempestine holidays observed by the writer. She couldn’t understand the concept behind many of them which often revolved around the wills of the spirits revered by the denizens of the planet, though she hoped to better understand them one day. Among these confusing texts, however, she found records of what translated to a “Lantern Festival” in which citizens created lanterns intended to guide the souls of the recently deceased on their journey to the Galaxy Cauldron. Even though it was ostensibly a festival for reverence of the dead, these words and illustrations depicted days of revelry and a profound and powerful celebration of life and renewal. The deep belief that the souls travelling toward their reincarnation was cause for rejoicing among the grief.

Tempseti smiled as she read, it felt appropriate. A festival dedicated rebirth amid the planet’s reawakening and healing from years of neglect. She might not be able to replicate the entirety of the tradition but maybe she could revive a small part of it. Just enough to reclaim one piece of Tempestine culture from the ages. Carefully reading each passage and photographing each illustration, a plan began to form in her head. Maybe with some allies, she could help this sliver live again.