Forge Records

Septis 18

The second I stepped foot back into Goldspire Tower, the air felt wrong. Not the kind of wrong you could touch. No cracked ward or misplaced enchantment. Just quiet. Too quiet.

And not the good kind of quiet either. The suspicious, maybe-someone-went-missing-and-no-one-seems-to-care-kind of quiet.

I dropped my pack just inside our quad and took a long look around. Same stone walls. Same too-perfect ivy climbing up the corners like it had nothing better to do. Same three idiots I’d willingly signed up to live with again.

Ardorion was already sulking like he’d been personally offended by gravity. Shara was unpacking with all the grace of a ceremonial dancer. Rielle hadn’t even made it to her room yet. She just stood by the window, arms wrapped around herself like she could ward off whatever chill had settled into the room.

None of us said it at first. But we were all thinking it.

Halven should’ve been here.

His deep voice should be tumbling out into the hall from the quad across from ours.

Instead, the air felt like a question no one wanted to ask out loud.

Ardorion finally broke the silence by flinging himself into a nearby chair like it owed him an apology. After looking at each of us, he said, “We should check on Aster. Maybe her face will finally crack if we ask the right question.”

Subtle.

Shara gave him one of her patented Wood-Fae stares. Soft, steady, and marginally disappointed. The kind that says, “Please don’t burn anything down today.”

“We should go,” Shara said, in that soft-but-firm way she uses when she’s already made up her mind. “Rielle, would you want to? I mean, you and Halven were close once.”

More than close. Rielle and Halven had dated, only to end their relationship over the summer break. We all had a special bond with the Air Fae, although my connection might have not been the strongest between us.

But Halven was the first person who seemed to understand me. Maybe because he was survivor of the Galestone Wars. He knew what an unstable childhood looked like.

Of my quad mates, I was the only one not born here.

Nothing had been stable about my childhood as my very human mother had been run out of almost every town and city once they knew she had a hybrid Metal Fae daughter.

We didn’t find peace until we came here to Nythral.

Just like Halven.

Now Halven was missing, and it felt like this peace was just as fragile as my early life.

I was worried for Halven. And what that meant for me and everyone living here.

It was a good idea to check in with Aster. And we might as well see if Halven left anything useful behind. A note, clue, severed finger. Something.

The air in our shared quad tightened. The four of us had barely returned, barely unpacked, and already something was off.

Halven should’ve been here.

He was the quiet between the rest of our chaos. And now it was just… silence.

We left together. Me, Ardorion, Shara, and Rielle. Just across the hall. Goldspire Tower holds all the second-years and Halven’s quad wasn’t far, with the same stonework, same floor. But the moment we stepped inside, I felt it. The kind of wrong that clings.

Aster was inside. No surprise there. She stood by the window like she was auditioning to be a statue, hair the color of river ice, expression carved from pure apathy. I gave her a nod. She didn’t return it.

Ardorion, of course, couldn’t resist as he leaned against the doorway. “Well, look who decided to keep the icicle throne warm while the rest of us were actually worried.”

She didn’t even flinch. Deep violet glowed like moonlight seen through ice. “And look who decided to speak without thinking. Again.”

Gods help us. I rolled my eyes. The two of them had more unresolved tension than a binding spell mid-chant.

“You know, for someone who’s supposed to be calm and collected, you’re awfully quick with the frostbite.”

“Forgive me if I’m not impressed by theatrics in leather and flame.”

I swear they flirt like it’s a duel.

“Oh, come on,” Ardorion said, stepping inside now when Rielle pushed him forward. “Just admit you missed me.”

“I missed the silence more.”

“Forgive me if I thought maybe you’d stopped pretending you didn’t care.”

“I care,” Aster said, voice still like snow. “I just don’t shout about it like a Summer Fae with something to prove.”

That one landed, and Ardorion’s jaw tightened.

While they traded barbs like weapons, I drifted further into the room. Everything was a little too neat. Beds made. Floor swept. No real signs of life except Aster, who didn’t exactly radiate warmth.

Shara had already moved deeper into the room, going to Halven’s chamber. “Guys. I found something.”

That snapped the tension.

She crouched near Halven’s bed, holding a piece of water-stained parchment. Torn but probably nothing. But the way her voice had gone sharp made me turn.

We gathered around.

The writing wasn’t just messy. It was madness. Half-thoughts and warnings. A glyph. Voices. Something about a seal. And that last line—Do not trust—

Gone. Just water damage where the rest should have been.

No one spoke.

Even Aster turned from the window, her expression unreadable.

I glanced at Rielle. Her lips were pressed tight, but her eyes were wide.

“We should copy this,” I said, breaking the silence. “Create one for all of us.”

Then the door slammed open.

“Ardorion!”

Elio.

The Stone Dragon himself. Bounding in like a storm given legs. He clapped Ardorion on the shoulder with the force of a minor earthquake and grinned like nothing was wrong in the world.

I stepped back as they started making a scene. Loud, ridiculous, and honestly kind of nice to see.

“Missed you, flamebrain,” Elio said to Ardorion.

“You too, rock skull.”

And just like that, the mood cracked.

Elio made the rounds with a nod to each of us. “Hey, strangers.”

Then he got serious. “Lo went back to the Spring Quadrant. To talk to Halven’s family.”

Aster, ever the queen of the frost, finally broke her silence again. “I brought this to Lady Isa. Told her it’s not natural, this disappearance.”

She looked around the room. Her face didn’t change, but her shoulders gave something away.

“She brushed me off.”

That landed like a rock in the gut.

I didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to. The room spoke for all of us.

And then the bromance started up again, Elio and Ardorion tossing jokes back and forth like they were back in sparring class.

I ducked out.

I didn’t need more noise.

I needed answers.

Back in the hallway, I let the heavy stone door sigh shut behind me. The air was cooler here, quieter. But it didn’t feel any better. Something still buzzed beneath my skin.

And it had nothing to do with Elio’s volume.

My boots echoed as I moved through Goldspire, but I wasn’t wandering aimlessly. Not exactly.

I was thinking about The Nivara Newssheet.

And who would be working on it right now.

Orivian was already putting Halven’s name in bold ink, headlining a piece about his absence and the lack of staff response. It was subtle, but I knew Orivian’s work. You don’t become the Senior Correspondent two years running without learning how to say something loud without raising your voice.

The headline might have been professional. The words were careful. But the choice to publish it at all? That was personal.

Halven and Orivian had become fast friends last year. Not the type of match most people expected. Orivian, purest Metal Fae, a Fall-born product of nobility and spine. Halven, an Air Fae from Spring with scars on his psyche and too much stillness in his soul.

But that’s what made it work.

Halven had gravity.

Even the ones who claimed they were immune to emotion—like Orivian—still found themselves orbiting him.

I’d only learned about Orivian because of Halven.

Now that Halven was gone…

How was I supposed to learn anything else?

There was something that drew me to Orivian, something I refused to name, no matter how much it beat inside my skull.

The Scriptorium glowed like a lantern tucked into the stone, and I slipped in without thinking.

He was there. Of course he was. Quill in hand, posture perfect, face like it had been sculpted by someone with a grudge against softness. His armor gleamed even in rest. Polished curves of gold filigree over snowy-white enamel, sharp enough to cut anyone who got too close.

As Docilis, we were all supposed to wear the academy robes, but Lady Isa understood that for us Metal Fae, not having metal touching our skin was akin to dying of thirst.

And Orivian looked good in metal.

His hair was the color of forged steel in the cooling phase, and like all full-blooded Metal Fae, it moved, just barely, like a breeze hummed through iron filings. Alive and restrained, like him.

And those eyes.

Gods, he is gorgeous.

Eyes of green-gold, hard as mineral glass. Focused. Contained.

Orivian didn’t notice me. Not at first.

I watched him.

Longer than I should’ve.

Something inside me stretched a little, tight and hot and strange.

It was a feeling I didn’t want to recognize.

Didn’t like.

Didn’t trust.

Something that tried to tell me that this is the way things were meant to be, but I hated the restriction of rules. Especially those that governed your future with no way to change it.

So I slipped out again before he could see me watching. Back into the halls. Out of the tower, and outside of the academy walls. The wind caught the robes over my armor and tried to shove me back inside, but I pushed through it.

My feet carried me down to Wintermere Lake. Halven spoke of it in his letter, so I went to see what he might have seen.

The cold there was sharper, purer. It licked across my skin and made the air taste metallic.

And then I saw it.

Near the edge of the water. Something glinting.

Thin. Burnt.

A scrap of something that should’ve been metal, but flexed like parchment. A rune appeared faint, looking like the ones in Halven’s letter.

So I did what any reckless Metal Fae with questionable instincts would do.

I picked it up.

The minute my skin touched it, I heard a whisper. So low, so indistinguishable. No words came through, but an overwhelming urge filled me, and I touched the metallic paper to the lake.

Pain hit like a hammer.

No warning. No chant. Just heat, light, and a damned scream I was very glad no one else heard.

Then heat coiled beneath my skin, like an electrical shock, making my body rigid.

It lasted maybe ten seconds.

Then it passed, but a rune had burned itself into my left wrist, on the underside, a raised welt on my gray skin.

“You shouldn’t be holding that.”

My head whipped up.

Orivian.

He appeared from the mist like he’d been called. No hello. No “Are you all right?”

He was like a secret someone forgot to lock away. Same stupid perfect face. Same immaculately insufferable posture. His white-and-gold armor caught the low light and gleamed like he had enchanted it to remind everyone he was noble. Metal Fae to the bone, with that moonlight-steel hair shifting around his head like it had its own set of rules.

His eyes locked on the scrap in my hand then he lunged and ripped it from my hand.

Bare-handed.

He grimaced. The flash of pain was unmistakable.

“Did something happen to you too?” I asked, already eyeing his wrist.

He turned away, pulling his sleeve down, too fast.

I am not an idiot.

That rune branded him too. He just didn’t want me to see it.

He stood stiff, his jaw set like someone had insulted his family line.

Typical noble.

Always pretending they didn’t feel things.

I reached for the scrap again. “Give it back.”

“No.”

I stepped in closer. “Orivian.”

He stepped back. “It’s not safe.”

“Since when do I care about safe?”

He tried to tuck it into his coat. I lunged.

It turned into a scramble, a full-on scuffle in the frost. He kept trying to twist away, but I was faster. Scrappier. My knee caught his side. He hissed something low and probably not appropriate for public print.

He got the upper hand. Pinned me.

Eyes wild.

Hair like polished steel, rippling as if it had its own temper.

His heart pounded where his chest hovered over mine.

He didn’t say a word.

Neither did I.

Instead, I kissed him.

Hard.

Just enough to throw him off balance.

It worked.

His grip loosened. His eyes went wide.

I grabbed the scrap from his coat and rolled to the side.

He stood slowly, arms still half-lifted like he hadn’t decided what to do with them.

I tucked the metal-paper-thing into my belt and started backing away.

“You’re impossible,” he said.

“Thank you.”

He didn’t chase me.

But just before I turned away fully, he said, “I think it’s tied to the lake. And Halven. I don’t know how. But I’m looking into it.”

Then he was gone.

And I was left alone with a burnt wrist, a stolen clue, and a million new questions.

If Halven left this...

Then what else did he leave behind?

And why did it feel like kissing Orivian solidified something I’d been running from?

Septis 21

By the time I got back to the quad, the light had shifted from silver to rust. Rielle already curled beneath the blanket in her room like a moonstone wrapped in silk.

I didn’t bother turning on the light. Just crossed the room in the shadows, peeled off my boots, and sat on the edge of my bed. Quiet.

The scrap of metal was still hidden under the lining of my belt. The mark on my wrist had dulled from searing to pulsing, like it had a heartbeat all its own. I pulled my sleeve down. No reason to let anyone see. Not yet.

Three nights later, after the first two days of class, all four of us finally ended up in the same place at the same time.

None of us had planned it. No notes passed under doors, no enchanted messages sent down the hall. But we all showed up in the quad at the same time anyway.

Like something inside us had aligned without asking permission.

The air was thick with unsaid things. Not heavy, just full. Like the moment before metal bends or the moment after a vow is made. We took our usual spots. Couch, cushions, floor. Close enough to feel one another’s breath, but not quite touching.

I leaned against the wall near the window, retightening the straps on my bracers. Not because they were loose, but because it kept my hands busy. The rune on my wrist had faded, but I still felt it like a bruise behind the skin.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Orivian. Not just the kiss—I mean, yes, the kiss—but also the way he had looked at that scrap of metal. Like it wasn’t just dangerous. Like it was familiar.

He said he was looking into Halven’s disappearance. That he thought it had something to do with the lake.

And I believed him.

Which scared the hells out of me, because now I wanted to help. Not just for Halven. But to work with Orivian. To share what I knew. And I don’t share easy.

Ardorion started us off. Of course he did. Voice always just loud enough to break silence without asking permission.

He told us about the lake. How he’d gone there after arguing with Aster. How he’d found something strange, a piece of parchment, lying in the snow. A glyph, the same one from Halven’s torn journal page.

“I tried to grab it, but I wasn’t alone.” His short fire hair whipped around his face, showing his agitation.

Rielle leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

He crossed his arms, gold eyes stormy. “There were sprites. Wandering ones, coming out of the Wintermere’s fog. I know they were trying to be playful, but I almost sparked a fire just to see them turn into steam.”

Shara furrowed her brow, a baby-leafed vine curling at her cheek. “Did they speak?”

He shook his head and pulled out a scorched scrap of paper with the Emberglyph in his handwriting. “No. They just watched. Hovered around it. Every time I reached for the glyph, they yanked it away. I backed off and drew what I remembered.”

I let out a sharp breath and pushed my hair behind one ear. “That’s funny because I did grab it.”

Their eyes turned to me.

I pulled the metal scrap from my belt and held it up. I told them how I had found it near the lake, how I had touched it to the water, and how it had burned itself into my wrist. I showed them the mark, faint now, but still glowing beneath the surface like something half-asleep.

“It’s fading now. But it wasn’t just a sting. It felt like a promise. Or a warning. Either way, it’s the same Emberglyph.”

I hesitated, then added what I hadn’t meant to say, heat crawling into my cheeks to accompany my smile. “Orivian showed up. Tried to take it from me.”

There were raised eyebrows, and I shrugged like it was no big deal.

“I took it back. With one well-timed distraction.” The heat in my face became scorching as I thought about Orivian’s body on top of mine. “I use any tools I have to get what I want.”

Shara pressed her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, gods and goddesses, did you kiss Orivian?”

I didn’t answer.

Because I didn’t know how.

Not with the taste of it still ghosting my mouth, not with the question still ringing in my skull.

Did I kiss him because I wanted to?

Or because fate said I had to?

And either way... did I want to do it again?

Rielle curled fingers on her knees when she leaned forward. “I also found myself by the lake, but in my dreams. I had two of them. The first was of Halven, standing on the ice. He told me not to follow.”

This time it was her cheeks turning a pink shade under the blue-gray tone of her skin. “The second dream was of someone else. A man I don’t know but I’ve dreamed of him before. This time he was writing the same sigil into the ground by the lake. When I asked him what it meant, he covered it. Then he... well you don’t have to know that part.”

Shara’s eyebrows shot up. “Did everyone except me kiss somebody in the first days of school?”

Ardorion made a sound between a laugh and a groan. “There’s no one I would kiss.”

That was enough to loosen me. I laughed, arms unfolding. “You mean you wouldn’t survive the frosted kiss of the one woman you can’t have.”

We all cracked up. All of us but him. His fire-hair sparked a little higher, betraying him even if his mouth stayed shut.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered.

Liar. Every one of us knew exactly who had him tangled up.

Once we settled again, Rielle added, “When I woke up from my second dream, I was in the kitchen. Sleepwalking. Again. While there, I wrote down the sigil while it was still fresh, but I spilled my drink across the paper.”

She pulled it out. Showed us the mess. The glyph was smudged, but clear enough. Same shape. Same mark. Same damn mystery.

“Do you know what it means, Ardorion?” she asked.

He shrugged half-heartedly. “The Gemina Flamma. The twin flames, but that’s just a guess. This is an older Emberglyph and not one we use today.”

“I know what it means,” Shara said, and all our heads turned. She looked pleased with herself. Rightly so.

“I found it in a book,” she added. “You know, in that place they call a library.”

We just stared.

“Well, keep us in suspense then,” I said, folding my arms.

She swallowed. “I mean, I have the literal translation, but I’m not sure what it actually means. The text says it means to split strength, ground your fire, and ignite the center.”

Ardorion raised an eyebrow. “What are we supposed to do with that?”

“And why would Halven—an Air Fae—be writing a Emberglyph over and over?” I added, echoing the question burning in all our heads.

Silence settled again. The kind that makes you itch.

“Maybe it meant something to him,” Ardorion finally said, quieter than usual.

That’s when Shara pulled something from her journal. A spiral-shaped leaf. She turned it over, and there it was, another glyph.

We looked to Ardorion. He shook his head. “I don’t know that one.”

Shara’s finger traced the edge. “I think this has something to do with the Gemina Flamma but I couldn’t find it in any of the texts.”

Rielle tilted her head. “Where did you get that?”

Shara didn’t answer.

Suspicious.

“Does it matter if we don’t know what it means?” Ardorion asked.

Rielle frowned at him.

I cut in. “Maybe we can find out in our Runes and Sigils class. Class is on Sylsday, right?”

Ardorion leaned an arm on the table beside him and tapped his fingers. “I guess this is it then. We’re really doing this. We’re looking for Halven and not giving up like everyone else has.”

Orivian hadn’t given up. Perhaps I should check in with him, see what he knew. Maybe we could even work together.

Rielle’s gaze dropped to her sleeve. “Wouldn’t you want him to do the same for us?”

I did. Gods, I did. Halven was the still point between all our storms. He didn’t judge. He didn’t push. He was just there. A solid presence.

“Of course,” Ardorion replied. “I don’t want to give up. But we’ve got classes. Exams. According to Aster, Lady Isa isn’t concerned. So, if we screw this up... What if we disappear like he did?”

“We just have to be smart,” Shara said. “And careful.”

Rielle straightened. “We should make a pact. No one investigates alone. No more secrets.”

I felt my mouth move before I could stop it. “And if one of us goes missing?”

Shara looked at each of us, eyes steady. “Then the rest of us will know why. And we won’t stop until we bring them back.”

“A pact,” Ardorion said, holding out his hands.

One by one, we nodded and linked our hands. Fire, Wood, Moon, and Metal Fae.

Not bound by spell or blood.

Bound by choice.

And in that moment, it felt like the strongest magic in the world.

This sensitve information has been filed away under a separate location. If you find it, you can access the records with the passcode "notmyfate."

 Septis 31

Several days had passed, and we still didn’t know anything new about Halven. Not really. Every thread unraveled the moment we tried to follow it. Every lead just opened up more questions.

It was getting old.

The first week of classes ended with the usual noise, the Practical Duels & Spells Synthesis spectacle. Fourth-years showing off in front of the entire academy, flinging lightning and illusions like parade streamers. One turned a dueling floor into a literal maze of mirror shards. Another stitched fire and mist into something I couldn’t even name.

It was impressive. I wasn’t made of stone. But I couldn’t help thinking how useless it all felt when you couldn’t protect the people who mattered.

I stood by the window in our quad, adjusting the leather ties on my bracers for the third time. The edges were stiff, newly reinforced with spelled thread, my own work. Tying and untying them gave my hands something to do while my thoughts spun useless circles.

Rielle and Shara were on the floor with half a library scattered around them. Diagrams. Scribbled notes. The symbol on the back of a leaf that Shara couldn’t stop turning over like it was going to whisper something if she held it right.

Ardorion was being Ardorion, lounging in the corner like we were all part of his personal theater production.

It was quiet. Suspiciously quiet.

“So,” he said eventually, “Aster says the Water Fae had glyphs.”

Shara looked up. “Yes, that’s what you told us.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I never heard of anything like that.”

“But what if there are other types of glyphs out there?” he asked.

“Why would that matter?” Shara countered. She flipped the leaf over, exposing the marking again.

The glyph. The one that didn’t match anything in the Emberglyph records.

Slysday’s Runes and Sigils class had all four of us in one place, prime time to ask about the glyph. I’d planned to. We all had. But after Isa caught us in the library and issued her veiled threat, we didn’t say a word. None of us wanted to find out what she’d do if we pushed her twice.

Rielle leaned forward. “That glyph doesn’t match anything we’ve studied.”

“Uh-huh, exactly, and—”

Shara cut him off before he could finish. “The glyph could have been one of the Water Fae glyphs!”

Ardorion crossed his arms, clearly annoyed she’d beaten him to the punch. I would’ve laughed if it didn’t actually feel like progress.

Rielle’s fingers brushed the leaf. “We need to go back to the library.”

Shara nodded, but then hesitated like she’d just remembered something. “The Fall Equinox celebration is soon. Less than a week before the Spiral of Seasons Dance.”

“Already? That came fast,” Rielle said.

She sounded surprised, but her expression sank a little. Yeah, I remembered her and Halven at the dance last year, too. You’d have to be blind not to notice how wrapped up in each other they were.

It was a dance to remember for many reasons. During the ritual dances, Halven and Ardorion had turned dessert into a pyrotechnic airshow. Halven floated the pastries, Ardorion set the filling on fire, and one lit up Professor Ilham’s hat like a torch.

Idiots. Talented idiots. But I’d never laughed harder.

Then Halven and Shara had spent another part of the evening laughing as they snuck sweets from the Fall table and danced until the torches died down.

I hadn’t danced at last year’s Spiral of Seasons. Not really.

I ended up at the edge of the courtyard with Halven, both of us pretending not to care about the music. He handed me a mug of cider and said, “You don’t have to enjoy the crowd to enjoy the night.”

It was the first time I spoke of my mother and my childhood, then. The only moments of light before we were run out of the human cities came from my mother singing and dancing with me in our small one-room hovels.

Now dancing made me remember how the humans couldn’t accept one of their own kind just because she had chosen to have me.

That conversation with Halven was the first time I felt like anyone actually saw me. Him, the Air Fae who understood what a messed-up childhood looked like and how it affected the mind for a long time.

And now he was gone.

I sighed. “I love my season’s celebration but I could do without the dancing. Do I have to wear a dress?”

Shara laughed softly.

Rielle turned to Ardorion. “Who will you pair with for the open dance at the end, Ardorion?”

He raised his brows. “You’re assuming I’m planning to stay long enough to dance with anyone.”

Shara wagged a finger. “You better not leave without one of us, which means you’ll be staying a while.”

We were not to be alone for fear our investigation would lead to one of us disappearing, too. Shara and Rielle often paired up which left Ardorian and me together. But I didn’t mind. The Fire Fae was growing on me, and I appreciated that he couldn’t seem to tell a lie, always saying the first thing that came to his mind. There was something refreshing about that.

“I’ll skip out on the end dance with you,” I said, without looking up.

Ardorion thumped his chest in mock devotion. “You are my true love, Garnexis.”

I shook my head, smirking as I pushed off the windowsill and crossed the room. I sat on the floor with the others, unfastening and retying the straps on my bracers again. The repetitive motion helped me focus.

“Do you really think going back to the library will be helpful?” I asked. “Aster said only oral stories were passed down about the glyphs they used.”

Shara turned a page and tapped it like it was already decided. “There has to be some record of the Water Fae using glyphs. We’ll just have to dig deep for any reference. I’ll go with you tomorrow, Rielle.”

As if I didn’t see that coming.

“Hurrah!” Rielle said. Her magic shimmered in her eyes, just for a breath, but I noticed.

“Great,” Ardorion muttered. “You two run off to the quiet corner of the stacks again. I guess someone needs to keep an eye on Garnexis before she tears the place apart.”

“I’m right here, Flameboy.” Ardorion was rubbing off on me with that name I chose for him.

“I know. That’s why I’m volunteering.”

I didn’t reply, just shook my head. It was easier to let him have his moment.

There was a pause. The kind that wasn’t awkward, just heavy.

Then Shara asked, “Has anyone figured out anything else with Professor Tilwyn’s letter? Or that story? What was it?”

“‘Chaos’s Revenge for Sygilla,’” Rielle said.

“That’s the one.”

I looked at Shara. “Orivian believed Halven was looking into Wintermere’s history, so why was he reading that story?”

Ardorion shrugged. “No idea what he was thinking. I read the story twice. It’s either a metaphor or a warning or both. And it’s old. Old like Professor Tilwyn. Which is saying something.”

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. The candlelight caught the metal band across my wrist. “But what if Halven reading it is the reason he disappeared? Orivian thinks it’s all related because the library was the last place he was seen.”

“The library?” Shara repeated.

“I say we go back to the library,” I said. “Just to look around. See what Halven might’ve left behind or see what happened to him.”

Ardorion groaned like it hurt. “Fine. Shara and Rielle will search scrolls and whispers, and I’ll babysit Garnexis while she glares at shelves.”

“Try to keep up, hothead,” I shot back but there was no real heat in my words.

He grinned, his fingers sparking a little flame before extinguishing it.

“Always do,” he said.

Septis 36

We’d been back to the library three times in the last five days.

Three times. Nothing. Just the same shelves and the same dead-end scrolls pretending to be useful. I'd stopped hoping we’d stumble across something definitive. At this point, I was just hoping Ardorion wouldn’t set anything on fire.

“I swear if I have to read one more marginal note from a dead scholar who couldn’t diagram their own spell properly, I’m going to light the table on fire,” he muttered into the grain of the table like he was reciting poetry to it.

I didn’t look up. “If you set anything on fire, we’ll both be banned, and then I’ll have to explain to Rielle why she can’t check out her dream journals.”

He made a sound between a growl and a groan. “Tell her the sprites whispered something insulting. That’ll buy me sympathy.”

“You’re confusing sympathy with pity.”

“Only when I’m bored.” He slumped forward dramatically. “And right now? I’m practically a tragic ballad.”

I let out a long sigh. Not annoyed. Yet. Tired, maybe. We’d made a pact not to investigate anything about Halven alone, and that meant I had to bring him along. I could tolerate the theatrics. That was pure Ardorion. What I couldn’t tolerate was silence and helplessness.

“Besides, you threaten that every time we’re here,” I added, flipping a page in Wards of Warding: A Practical Index.

“Because every time we’re here, I mean it more.” He slapped his book closed. “I’m going to take a vow of silence and join the long-dead Sky Monks if I have to sift through another dead-end treatise on elemental spell drift.”

“You wouldn’t have lasted one day with the Sky Monks,” I said, still scanning my page.

“Because I’d start a fire?”

“Because you’d talk in your sleep.”

“Fair.”

He was spiraling. Again. I let him spin himself out while I kept working. The southeast archives had already proven useless, and now we were back on the main floor, circling the same stone paths as before. In the center of it all was the glowing swirl, permanent, decorative, familiar.

He stood, wandering over like a moth to, well... himself.

“I still don’t know what this thing is supposed to be,” he said.

“It’s a ward of some sort,” I replied, not bothering to look up. “Probably.”

“Helpful.” He crouched beside it. “I mean, how do we even know it’s safe?”

“Ardorion.”

Too late.

His fingers touched the magic, and the glow shifted, deepened. A soft pulse rippled outward like breath, and then gold script bloomed in the air.

I stood immediately and crossed to him, eyes narrowing.

“Access denied. The portal stands sealed. Only the Firebird's Key may grant passage.”

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even spoken. It was just there.

I was beside him in seconds. “You ever hear of the library having a hidden portal in the floor?”

“Nope,” he said, standing slowly. “But I also didn’t think we’d find the words ‘Firebird key’ just floating in the air.”

“You touched it.”

“I was bored.”

“Well, congratulations. You unlocked something with fidgeting.”

He grinned, of course. “It’s my best skill.”

I crossed my arms. “So what now? We find a Firebird and beg it for a key?”

“Firebird,” he hummed, tapping his chin. “That’s actually in the story. ‘Chaos’s Revenge for Sygilla.’ It said the Firebird is the key.”

I shook my head. “What does that even mean? Are we supposed to throw a Firebird at it?”

He snorted. “Maybe it opens when you feed it a bird feather.”

I looked around. “Halven was reading that story here, where he disappeared. And the story mentions the Firebird. Is it possible this is where he went?”

“Yeah, but how did he find the key?”

I looked back down at the glowing swirl. “Maybe we throw the book at it.”

I half-meant it. At this point, we had more bad ideas than good ones. Before he could respond with another one, I saw his expression shift.

He’d gone quiet.

His eyes tracked something over my shoulder, and I turned to see what he was staring at.

Small. Black. Four-legged.

A cat.

She walked into view like she was inspecting the floor plan, her black coat sleek and her golden eyes bright in the low light.

Ardorion crouched immediately, like she was royalty. “Ohhh hello,” he said softly. “Look at you, Little Queen, with those golden eyes. Where’ve you been hiding?”

The cat blinked.

“She’s perfect,” he said. “We’re naming her Queenie.”

“Of course we are,” I said flatly.

“I love her.”

“She’s probably an illusion.”

“Let me believe.”

“She’ll eat your spell notes.”

“They’re useless anyway.”

He reached out, and the cat turned, walking a few steps before stopping at the edge of the shelf. She looked back once, tail raised, then padded around the corner like she had somewhere to be and expected us to follow.

Ardorion stood. “Garnexis, I think we’re supposed to follow the black cat.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You’re serious?”

“I’m never serious.”

“But you’re serious now.”

“Extremely.”

And just like that, he followed. No plan. No hesitation.

I hesitated. Just for a second. Then followed, too.

Because if the library had kept a secret this long, maybe the cat was ready to show us the next one.

I shadowed Ardorion as his so-called Queenie slipped out of the library, golden eyes flashing like she owned the dusk. He didn’t say it, but I knew he was more excited than concerned. We weren’t about to let her vanish, though he’d probably follow her off a cliff if she blinked sweetly enough.

The Fire Fae would never admit it aloud for anyone, but he had a soft spot for small creatures.

The sun was low, dragging long shadows over the courtyard. Cold had sharpened since morning, our reminder that Winter always comes early to Nivara Hall. I folded my arms tight, steps steady beside him, watching the cat just far enough ahead that I couldn’t tell if she was leading us or just toying with us.

We followed her around the edge of the library’s western wall, past the moss-worn path leading toward the greenhouses.

Then gone.

One blink, one breath, and she’d vanished. Just empty grass and creeping ivy where she’d been.

“Did you see—?” Ardorion started.

I frowned and shrugged. “I don’t know.”

He spun in place, scanning the edge of the stone wall like he expected her to reappear with a triumphant meow and a riddle. The wind answered instead.

Then came the sound of footsteps, quick and closing.

Rielle appeared first, then Shara, flushed from running. They didn’t speak. Just stopped beside us and looked where we’d been looking.

Following the cat.

A black cat.

She walked like nothing had happened, tail high, eyes glowing faintly in the gathering dark.

“Queenie?” Ardorion asked.

Her tail swished.

Shara looked between us. “You know this cat?”

“I thought I did but she disappeared. I named her Queenie.” He crouched in front of the cat. “Queenie, is that you?”

She yawned. Gracefully.

“If it is you, what are you trying to show us?”

The cat nodded, then turned toward the greenhouses, walking away with not a shred of urgency.

Whatever this was—cat or coincidence—we followed.

The greenhouses have always been strange, but this one behind all the others was even stranger. Part of the outer hall, overgrown with ivy, sealed behind copper-runed glass and a canopy too thick to be decorative. It wasn’t on the campus map. It wasn’t part of any class.

Most students just called it “that closed-off sunroom.”

Now I knew why.

The cat slipped through a gap in the hedgerow and padded across a narrow trail I hadn’t noticed. We ducked through a tunnel of thorns and vine-twisted stone and emerged into something... other.

The conservatory rose around us like a glass cathedral. Gold-ribbed arches climbed into the dark sky. The moment we stepped inside, the heat hit like a furnace wrapped in blossom petals.

Shara gasped softly beside me.

The air was heavy, humid and warm, like deep summer. It smelled of scorched cedar and something citrus-bright beneath it. Plants surged in every corner, half-wild and humming with old magic. Not Metal magic, or I would be able to read it.

And at the center, nestled in Ashwood and glowing branches, was the creature from legend.

The Firebird.

I didn’t breathe.

His wings were folded neatly, every feather shimmered like burning dawn, living flames that held no destruction. His body radiated heat, not aggressively, but with purpose. His eyes locked onto us like they already knew our names.

Ardorion had joked once about summoning a phoenix. This was not a phoenix. This was a god born of Fire and Chaos, something made of fire-song and impossible time.

Not just a legend but something ancient.

“That’s him,” I whispered.

Ardorion stepped forward. Of course he did.

The Firebird tilted his head, not speaking, just watching. Then he raised a wing, slow and deliberate.

Several glowing feathers floated down like sparks caught in slow motion. We watched, awestruck. They didn’t burn the air. They danced in it.

Then his voice hit, not in the room, but inside us. My chest, my skull, my bones.

Take them. You need to keep them sleeping.

It echoed like we stood inside a forgotten cave, hollow and vast and sacred.

And then, the wing tucked in again.

But what did he mean? Were the feathers living entities because he said to take them and that we needed to keep them sleeping. For some reason, the ambiguous pronouns didn’t seem to be pointing to the same noun. So, if we were to take the feathers, who were we supposed to keep sleeping?

And why did the word them touch on another memory I couldn’t quite recall?

Ardorion dropped to one knee before thinking twice. He picked up the feathers, his hands shaking just enough to tell me everything I needed to know. He stood slowly, half-expecting more. But the Firebird closed his eyes.

No prophecy. No explanation.

Just heat.

And stillness.

We left in silence, awe still clinging to us like the humidity on our skin. Outside, the cold hit hard, a slap back into reality.

No one spoke until we were halfway back to Goldspire.

“What are we supposed to do with them?” Shara asked.

Them.

So ambiguous.

Rielle echoed, quieter, “What did he mean... keep them sleeping?”

Shara threw her hands up. “Just more mysteries!”

I raised my brows. Usually I was the one muttering about mysteries. Not her.

She rubbed her face. “We might’ve found something, though.”

Rielle nodded. “We found the glyph from Veyn’s leaf in a hidden scroll. It’s called Theralen. It’s a Water Glyph.”

“It means ‘To release flow,’” Shara said, quieter now. “But it still doesn’t clear up any of these mysteries.”

Ardorion exhaled, still cradling the feathers like they were live flame, which they sort of were. “I think I might know what to do. Maybe.”

He looked at me wanting me to support him, and I appreciated his belief in me.

I nodded once. “There’s a portal. In the library floor. And it asked for a Firebird key.”

Shara looked at us, wide-eyed. “You think the feathers are the key?”

We shared a glance, but Ardorion answered, and fast. “Halven was researching in the library and read the story ‘Chaos’s Revenge for Sygilla’ which mentions the Firebird being the key. Then Halven went missing, last seen in the library, where there happens to be a portal that needs a Firebird key, which also happens to be where Queenie found me.”

Shara’s eyes widened. “Wow, you put all that together yourself?”

Ardorion’s hair flickered with flaring flames. “What does that mean?”

Her hand on his arm stopped him cold. “Not how you took it, Ardorion. What I mean is that all these little mysteries had become so convoluted, I couldn’t see where any of it connected, but you were able to. You’re amazing.”

His fire died down. Left behind something soft and quiet on his face.

“We should go to the library now. Try out the Firebird’s feather,” I said.

“The library’s closing,” Rielle said softly. “We don’t have time tonight.”

Everyone looked at Ardorion.

He threw up his hands. “Hey now, I didn’t call myself the genius, so why look at me.”

“I didn’t say you were a genius, loony-bird.” Shara bumped his arm. “But I’ll give it to you.”

He beamed like she’d handed him a crown.

“Tomorrow then,” Rielle said. “First light. Before the rest of the school is up.”

No one argued.

Ardorion looked down at the feathers still flickering in his hands.

They didn’t feel like keys.

They felt like warnings.

And we were about to unlock something that might have led to Halven’s disappearance.

Due to the ceremonial nature of the Fall Equinox celebration, the following entry has been archived outside the primary log for preservation and discretion.

Relive the memory of that night by going back to the site of the dance and speak these magic words: Earning It

 Octis 15

 Shara was going to get us all expelled. I watched from the couch as she hunched over that stolen scroll, scribbling like her life depended on it. It probably did. The energy in our common room was tense, a mix of Shara’s frantic focus and the low crackle of the hearth fire. I ran a polishing cloth over my bracer, the repetitive motion a small point of order in the chaos.

Across the room, Rielle fretted, her voice a soft murmur of worry. “Shara, please be careful. If they find out you took that…”

“I know,” Shara snapped back, not looking up. “But we need to know everything we can before they realize it’s gone.”

I didn’t say anything. Shara knew the risks from taking A Winter Record of Forgotten Water Glyphs from the Shadow Index. Meanwhile, I had my own problems to deal with, namely the fretting bonfire beside me.

Ardorion was on the other end of the couch, already in full dramatics about our Elemental Fusion midterm, his hair flickering as though it shared his agitation.

“I’m telling you, it’s going to be a practical,” Ardorion insisted, his voice full of that arrogant certainty he wore like a second skin. “The midterm for Elemental Fusion has to be. Something about offensive combinations.”

I didn’t bother looking at him. “You always think it’s about offense. It’s called fusion, flamebrain, not annihilation. It’ll be about structure. Theory.”

“The professor said pairs have to be from different seasons to work on the midterm. Does that not suggest something practical?” He leaned forward, little flames popping at his fingertips. “We should practice early. Midterms are only twelve days away.”

I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms defensively. “We don’t even know what the assignment is yet. Calm down.”

His hair flared a brighter red. “I just don’t want to fail.”

I sighed, waving a dismissive hand at him, my own resolve softening despite myself. “You won’t fail with me as your partner.”

That annoying, charming, yet genuine smile crept into his voice. “You’ll be my partner?”

I finally looked at him and gave a slight smile in return, holding back the secret pleasure his excitement gave me. It was nice having friends who cared to have you in their lives. “There’s no one else I’d want to work with.”

“Good,” he huffed, the fire in his hair settling down. “My fire, your metal. We’ll build the most offensively structured thing the professor has ever seen.”

I almost laughed. As if I’d let him turn our project into a bomb. I couldn’t help but smile slightly to myself at our exchange. It was easy with Ardorion, even when it wasn’t. Friendship with him was always an argument wrapped in warmth, but I wouldn’t trade it.

Before I could retort, Rielle’s soft voice cut through our truce.

“We should talk again about the tunnels. About what we found down there.”

I let out an exasperated breath. “We’ve talked it to death. The Seal’s door is locked. And we each saw something different in that mirror inside the Docilis Vault. End of story.”

But my mind drifted back to the vision I’d seen in the Docilis Vault. Halven, silent and solemn, kneeling beside Wintermere Lake, pointing toward something beneath the ice. Why had it been me who saw him? We were all looking for him. Was it something only I could understand? Because if so, I didn’t. The lake was perpetually frozen, had always been. If something truly rested within, it had been there a very long time. So, why would it matter now?

Rielle shook her head, her voice insistent. “I don’t think we’re talking about the right thing or asking the right questions. None of us has asked if all it takes to enter that room and see visions is to put in our Docilis ID number, then anybody with our numbers could go in there and pull up visions about us or somehow related to us. So, who else is going there? Who knows things about us that we don’t even know?”

“We did find that map on the ground that someone drew,” I admitted, curiosity sparking in me again. “But when had it been dropped there?”

Rielle’s expression brightened at my question. “If it was recent, then who was just there?”

Ardorion yawned theatrically, leaning his head back and staring up at the ceiling. “I mean, think about it, who has ever seen anyone going through that portal?”

Shara leveled a look at him. “They don’t have to go through the portal during the library’s open hours. Not if they’re faculty.”

I frowned, a sliver of unease running down my spine. “Then are we saying that the faculty are spying on us?”

“Who knows what we are saying?” Shara’s frustration boiled over. “It seems like the more we learn, the less we know.”

“It’s not fair,” Ardorion groaned, dramatically leaving his words hanging in the air.

Without hesitation, I reached over and slapped the back of my hand against his stomach. He jerked forward, wide-eyed. “What was that for?”

“We’re not in your head, so you need to explain what you mean.” I crossed my arms, giving him a mock glare. “And don’t look so hurt, you’ve got abs of pure steel, no give.”

He recovered quickly, smiling cockily before remembering his complaint. “It’s not fair that you all saw someone you knew. Halven, Master Thalric, Neir. I got some strange woman spouting riddles. It was completely senseless.”

Once more the frustration of not understanding Halven’s message in my vision was a bitter taste.

Shara’s quill stopped moving. “Your vision might be the most important, Ardorion.”

He stared at her. “What do you mean?”

“You said the Fire Fae woman in your vision spoke about fire remembering the shape of a spell, and water remembering the feeling. Together, they remember truth.” Shara tapped the scroll. “Ayzella wrote that the Water Glyphs are shapes of feeling. Water has memory.”

We all fell silent. I watched Shara, the pieces clicking together in her mind while the rest of us were still staring at the empty board.

“Well, that explains everything,” Ardorion said, throwing up his hands.

“You’re the one connecting things, Shara,” I admitted grudgingly. “But you have to see that the rest of us have no idea what you’re understanding.”

Ardorion groaned again. “It means I got a vision that should have gone to Shara.”

Shara seemed to get lost then as she looked back down at the scroll and scribbled a few more notes. The rest of us just kind of waited, wondering what she’d reveal from that labyrinth of her mind.

“I feel sorry for her,” Shara murmured, not looking up.

Who?

Shara continued. “She loved him, this Mizunomi man. But she was going to leave him anyway, for her duty.”

Oh, Ayzella. Shara was talking about the scholar and explorer who wrote the scroll. Why did Shara feel sorry for Ayzella?

I was still trying to catch up to that first point when it seemed Rielle had never been lost when she said softly, “Even six hundred years ago, there were not many Moon Fae left. Duty is a heavy thing to carry. I understand her choice.”

Duty. Fate. The words made my skin crawl.

Now I understood. As a Moon Fae and if she had fallen in love with a man from the lost Water Fae tribe, Ayzella wouldn’t have been able to commit herself to him. Not with the Moon Fae persecution by the Summer Fae outside of Nythral.

Just then, I felt my own fate. A faint, familiar hum of magic under my skin, like a resonating wire. The fated bond. It was a constant, low thrum connecting me to Orivian. His presence echoed from across the academy, probably in the Scriptorium, surrounded by his neat stacks of paper and his infuriatingly perfect posture.

I didn’t want this path chosen for me. And yet, the thought of him made my pulse quicken. Maybe I should take him myself into the tunnels, to show him what we’d found. Just to share information, I assured myself. Nothing more.

But I knew it was more than that. I wanted to be near him, to feel that tether between us pull taut.

My thoughts were shattered when Shara leaped to her feet.

“Listen, everyone! Ayzella wrote about another glyph called Nivareth, meaning ‘Bound reflection.’ She says this glyph is both Water and Fire, writing: ‘I am sure of it. I’ve seen it burn in steam and settle in frost. It belongs to both, and neither. I do not know if it is a union or a farewell. But I know it is mine. I gave it to the Mizunomi.’”

When she finished, I just stared, my head spinning. I held up a hand, palm open. “Enlighten us, Shara. What does any of that mean?”

She held out the scroll silently. The sketch matched the Gemina Flamma exactly. I leaned forward with the others, voices colliding in astonishment.

“That’s the Emberglyph,” Ardorion breathed.

“Nivareth,” Rielle whispered.

“Bound reflection,” I echoed, confusion churning within me.

“It’s a Water Glyph, too?” Ardorion asked.

The air chilled abruptly, breaking our collective focus. The flames in the hearth dipped low. Ardorion’s head whipped toward the door. We all followed his gaze.

Aster stood in the entryway, her arms folded, her violet eyes fixed on the scroll.

“Nivareth has another meaning,” she said calmly. She stepped into the room, her movements fluid and silent, stopping beside me to look down at Ayzella’s drawing. “An older Water Fae story speaks of heartbreak and healing. ‘Balance the halves. Pour stillness downward. Release the frozen heart.’”

“Just more mysteries,” Shara sighed.

“Have you ever been taught that water has memory?” Rielle asked Aster.

Aster shook her head. “It’s a children’s story. A folk tale. Nothing to be taken seriously.”

She peered longingly at the scroll. “I’d like to read this—”

“No one else will read that scroll!”

We all jumped as the librarian from the Shadow Index appeared in the doorway. With a flick of her hand, the scroll flew from Shara’s grasp, rolled itself up, and vanished into her palm.

“Do not,” she commanded, “borrow from my library again.” And then she was gone.

“Gods and goddesses,” Shara breathed. “We’re back to nothing.”

“We’ve learned nothing anyways,” Ardorion growled, pacing like a caged beast.

I sat forward, an idea sparking in the mess of glyphs and riddles. “Maybe not nothing. Perhaps it’s like we’ve been learning in our Elemental Fusion class. Maybe we need to fuse Fire and Water together.”

Ardorion stopped. “We don’t know how to do that. It’s not something we’ve learned yet.”

“It was just an idea,” I grumbled.

Rielle smiled optimistically. “The theory is sound. What if it’s not a fusion but just a pairing? Water and Fire magic used together to open the Seal?”

Ardorion’s gaze found Aster’s, a slow smile spreading. “Looks like you’ll finally be able to join us with your contributions, icicle.”

The air between Ardorion and Aster became charged, a silent pull I recognized all too well.

I crossed my arms, feeling the faintest pulse of Orivian’s presence through our magical bond, like a heartbeat calling quietly to mine. “If Aster is helping, then Orivian is, too. We have been sharing information anyway.”

Rielle smiled gently at me. “Orivian is a lovely person. I think that is a wonderful idea.”

The tension in the room finally broke, replaced by focused energy. Hope. I hated hope. It was unreliable. But this felt different. This felt like a plan.

Shara looked around at all of us, her eyes bright with a new fire. Her voice was steady when she spoke.

“Then let’s go to the tunnels.”

Octis 23

 The tunnel’s cold settled in around my boots like a promise, crisp and grounding. It was the kind of cold that cleared the mind, the kind I preferred. Warmth made me itch. Heat always carried expectation, energy too eager to burn. But here, in the tunnel before The Seal’s door, everything felt properly still. Even the others, shifting nervously beside me, couldn’t ruin the peace of this kind of chill.

Garnexis, Ardorion, Aster, Rielle, Shara, and I formed a jagged semicircle before the twin spirals and sharp triangle, a faint glow on the handless door.

Ardorion stepped forward, always needing to be at the front of things. He glanced at Aster, sparks already flickering between his fingers.

Well, the door did need his fire. And it was time to get this over with.

“Alright, icicle. I’ll lead. Watch closely.” His hands flared to life, fire blooming in his palms. “The Emberglyph means to split strength, ground your fire, ignite the center.”

Magic always looked different on everyone, but there were similarities within the same element. Ardorion’s was a barely contained explosion. His eyes turned the color of molten amber, and his hair became a whip of wild flames. Fiery patterns pulsed under his skin like trapped lightning through obsidian. It was all brute force and heat, impressive in its raw power but lacking any real finesse.

His voice dropped. “I start on the outside, where the magic is split until reaching the middle.”

Heat rippled across the stone, flames tracing the glyph, climbing its outer lines.

Even though I didn’t react like Rielle, who looked half ready to flee from the heat, fire was never something I was drawn to. Autumn had a kind of fire, sure, bonfires, slow embers, burning leaves. But that was warmth meant for curling around, not consuming everything in its path.

When the fire curved inward through the spirals, triangle, and into the center, Aster stepped forward.

“I think I have it.” Her voice was calm, not stiff or unsure. Just confident.

“Nivareth translates to balance the halves, pour stillness downward, and release the frozen heart.”

Her violet eyes shifted, spun into blue, shot through with flecks of gold. They became whirlpools ready to draw someone under. Her hands lifted, lavender light trailing like silk. Her light blue hair slicked down in rivulets, dripping onto the stone.

“I must also split my magic like yours.”

Her magic was quieter, more elegant. The light expanded, her entire form shimmering with gentle, golden waves rippling through the lavender. It was beautiful, I suppose, if you were into that sort of thing. I preferred the solid certainty of metal.

Her movements mirrored Ardorion’s, down to the curve of her wrists and the angle of her arms. But where Ardorion was sharp, she was smooth. Where he burned, she cooled.

Together, their spells met. Fire bristled and steam hissed up between them. For a second, I thought the glyph would crack. But then Aster cooled the flow, adjusted without needing to speak. Her magic curved around his. His bent toward hers. Fire and Water mirrored each other, tracing the glyph in tandem.

“Bound reflection,” Shara whispered.

I glanced at her, recalling the scroll the Moon Fae woman had written about the lost Water tribe. I hadn’t read it all myself, but I remembered that part. Shara was sure to fill us in on anything else. She was good like that.

“The Mizunomi’s translation,” she explained, nodding toward the Ardorion and Aster. “Ayzella wrote that Nivareth means bound reflection. She said it belongs to Water and Fire. Both, but neither. This is them reflecting each other. Bound movements.”

Ardorion and Aster exchanged a half-smile.

Fire and Water, flowing in mirrored steps. They moved together like they knew where the other would land before they got there.

Maybe they did. For all their bickering, they’d been spending more time together lately. That could mean a dozen things. Ardorion could flirt with a brick wall, and Aster didn’t exactly make herself easy to read. But they moved in sync now, their power finding a thread between them.

It wasn’t what I would call love. But it worked. Somehow.

I pulled in a breath that tasted faintly of ash and steam and let myself think of Orivian.

With Ardorion being busier with Aster, it gave me more time to slip away unnoticed to the Scriptorium. To Orivian.

A low hum resonated through my bones. The bond. Always there, a faint tether pulling me toward him. He was still at his desk, silver hair glinting in the lamplight, unable to get away and join us. If I went to him now, he’d look up from his perfectly aligned stacks of parchment with that unreadable expression and make space for me. Like he did every time.

We hadn’t had the kind of time together I wanted. Most of our hours were snatched between classes and scribbled margins in the Scriptorium.

Then sometimes, I ran.

I’d refused to look for him. I’d hide.

But he always seemed to find me. No matter how much I tried to outrun the cursed fated bond, he’d find me.

I wanted to bring him down here tonight. He would have loved this. But when I went to fetch him, Lady Isa had been standing by his desk, and his sharp glance toward the doorway said it all. Not tonight.

That didn’t stop me from thinking about what it might be like, just the two of us, him walking beside me through these tunnels while I showed him everything we’d discovered. A private tour. The thought sent a jolt of something hot and thrilling through me, and I cursed myself for giving in to the whims of this damned bond.

Steam hissed as Fire and Water collided. The static made me tense, but then the magics twined, pulled together into something whole. Orange and violet shimmered in a perfect braid. The glyph pulsed. A heavy click echoed, and the door groaned open.

Frigid air expelled in a rush, followed by mist spilling from the doorway, curling around our feet.

Ardorion stepped through. Aster followed. I took my place behind them.

I stepped inside after Ardorion and Aster, the sheer density of power in the room a physical presence. Magic, ancient, layered, and completely alien. No Metal magic that I could detect. None at all.

Ardorion lit candles and then a pair of torches. The light peeled back the dark. The chamber came into full view. The cluttered desk, with books, scattered papers, a mug half full. One wall of solid ice with a luminous glow.

Everything else in the room faded as I registered what stood in the front of the ice wall.

Halven.

Trapped. Frozen. Mouth slightly open. Eyes wide with fear. One hand pressed to the ice wall, staring outward like he saw something deep within.

The sight of him hollowed me out. Like someone had carved out my innards and left only bone and echo.

I didn’t make friends easily. My mother and I had been running for most of my life. And a life on the run meant you learned not to put down roots.

But Halven… he was the first to understand me. He knew what it was like to be a survivor, to search for a place to finally call home. He’d done it. He’d been broken when he arrived, and still he smiled, still he made space for the rest of us in his new home.

It had given me hope that I could find my home here, too. Like maybe it was possible to stop running.

But he wasn’t a survivor anymore. He was a statue, frozen in a moment of pure terror. If this could happen to him, the embodiment of Nythral’s peace, then none of us were safe. The old instinct screamed at me. Run. Get away before this happens to you.

Immediately, Shara put her hands to the ice encasing Halven.

I battled the shrill voice in my head. Run. Run now.

“He’s alive,” Shara’s voice cut through the ringing in my ears.

The sentence didn’t sink in right away.

Then gasps. Questions. Motion. Ardorion flaring up again, fire in his hands, anger in his voice. Rielle still hadn’t moved.

Alive? How?

“What?” My voice was sharp, a crack in the frozen silence.

“How is that possible?” Ardorion’s fire fizzled out in shock.

“I don’t know.” Shara’s whisper trailed as she looked at Rielle, who had stopped dead, tears coursing down her face, both hands clamped over her mouth, frozen in more ways than one.

It was too much. I shook my head.

I needed something to do. Anything but look at him, at Halven. I forced my feet to move. Not toward the exit, as every fiber of my being demanded, but toward the desk to rummage through the papers. My fingers itched for metal, for a tool, for structure. I needed a reason to stay, to fight the urge to flee.

While Aster began working her magic again on the wall of ice, Ardorion threatened to blast Halven free with a torrent of useless fire.

Shara stopped him. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with. Releasing him could kill him.”

His voice cracked with fury. “For the love of the gods above and below! I can’t just leave him in there!”

Shara ignored his outburst to go to Rielle, talking to her in low whispers.

Paper rustled under my hands. Ink smudged across my fingers. Then something older than the rest. A newssheet, faded and brittle with age. I scanned the main article. If I didn’t feel so hollow before, my gut with twist with the journalist’s report.

Then Rielle spoke, her hands now at her sides. Her whisper was raw. “Who did this to him?”

Her large blue eyes filled with more tears. “There’s so much magic here. I can feel it.”

“I have a pretty good idea who or what.” I held up the faded newssheet, and they gathered around the desk, except for Aster who still used her magic on the ice wall. “Year six-thirty-nine.”

Nearly five hundred years ago.

Rielle interrupted before I could read the article, her voice cracking. “The Moon Fae Massacre. It’s the same year. The year most of the Moon Fae clans were wiped out during the Summer Fae Wars.”

Of course it was. The year of fire and blood. Of silence. Of loss. Rielle’s people had nearly vanished that year. And now Halven, our peacekeeper, frozen beneath the lake.

After clearing my voice, I read from the article, the words tasting like poison. “Students at the academy have reported hearing voices… the infirmary is full… by order of Lady Isamore, the academy will be shut down…”

The words whispered in my own mind. Run. Run far away.

“Voices?” Ardorion tensed. “Didn’t Halven mention voices in the journal page under his bed?”

Aster stepped back from the ice wall. “This is Wintermere. Halven said in the journal page he heard the voices and he went to Wintermere.”

That explained the ice. The depth. We were under the academy, surrounded by the frozen lake. The lake Halven went to visit.

Rielle spoke, quiet but certain. “There’s Moon magic in the ice.”

Aster added, “There’s a lot of magic. I feel two signatures of Water magic. One of them is Lady Isa’s.”

Lady Isa. The woman who made this place safe. Who offered sanctuary to all the races in a quest for peace. Her magic was part of this?

Shara tilted her head. “Maybe that makes sense? Lady Isa founded Nythral. She was part of whatever was done with the magic here to make it safe for us. Maybe the lake is part of the magic. But have you felt her magic in Wintermere before?”

Her question was directed to Aster and Rielle, and they both shook their heads.

Aster looked at the ice. “From the surface there’s not even any residue, and with how old and powerful the second signature of Water magic is, I would have expected to feel something. It’s like it’s purposefully being masked, hidden from us. But why?”

“Well, I hate to break it to you all, but I have more to add to the mystery.” Ardorion gave a quick smile before dropping it. “There’s Fire magic, too. In the ice. Kind of like the Firebird. Not exactly. Similar, though.”

It didn’t make sense. Fire couldn’t coexist Water and Moon magics. They were opposite seasons, more likely to cause true destruction when bound together. How could all three survive here?

Shara crossed to the ice. Copper shimmer wrapped her hands. She touched the wall. Closed her eyes.

I waited.

She pulled back, breath short. “Garnexis? Any Metal magic in the room or in the lake?”

“None.” The word dropped flat. It tasted like failure.

Then Shara spoke again, pulling all the pieces together the way she always did when the rest of us were too overwhelmed to find the thread. “So, there’s powerful Water, Moon, and Fire magic inside the lake itself. None of us have felt it above ground.”

“Lady Isa’s magic is also part of what encases Halven,” Aster said. “The only Water magic. But there’s another magic mixed in.”

And there it is. Everything I thought I understood about our Grand Magister. She wasn’t just aware of what had happened to Halven. She was part of it.

“Veyn,” Shara whispered. “There’s Wood magic in the ice around Halven. Somehow, Veyn is part of the spell. I don’t know what it’s meant to do.”

Of course, all of their magics pulsed in the ice and in this chamber—Water, Moon, Fire, even Wood. No Metal magic, though. I felt a strange sense of detachment. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad one. It just meant I was an outsider here, in this place like in every other place I’d ever lived.

The voices yelled for me to run again.

Then Shara’s words cut through the noise in my head. “Lady Isa knew where Halven was this whole time. She told us to stop looking because she trapped him here. So the question is, why? And is Veyn helping her, or is he trying to help Halven?”

Lady Isa and Veyn. Our guardian and our professor. Both involved.

I gripped the edge of the desk. Every instinct screamed at me to leave. But I looked toward Shara. Aster. Rielle. Ardorion. Then I looked at Halven, the first person who had made this place feel like a home.

I couldn’t run. Not yet. Not at this time.

The struggle against that lifelong instinct made my stomach churn.

I wouldn’t leave him. But the minute he was out of that ice, I was gone. For now, I would fight.

“Why was Halven even here?” Rielle’s voice was quiet.

I lifted the newssheet again. “The voices.”

I knew how much voices in the head could influence people.

Shara nodded. “He followed them. Same as before when he followed them to Wintermere. This must be where he came at the end when his spells didn’t work above ground.”

I thought back to the burned glyph Ardorion and I had found at the shore of Wintermere. The same glyph Halven had written into his journal over and over.

Then Rielle gasped, her gaze on the newssheet. “Turn it over.”

I did.

A picture caught my attention. Lady Isa. And beside her, Neir. Close. Familiar. Comfortable. At the edge of Wintermere.

“Neir,” Reille whispered.

Her hands, which had flown to her mouth, dropped to her sides, clenched into fists.

“I wasn’t sure before,” she said. Her voice had lost its softness. “I’ve only felt his Moon magic once, but now I’m certain. It’s in the lake. It’s in this room. He’s part of this.”

“You said he was a guardian of old magic, right?” Shara’s voice stayed low. “Maybe he meant the lake.”

Rielle only stared at the picture.

“The Water magic feels old,” Aster said. “Perhaps it’s the same with the Moon magic and he’s tied to it?”

Rielle looked up. Her eyes burned. “He said he came to check on the magic surrounding Nythral. If he spoke the truth, then it’s all connected to Wintermere. Or he’s lying.”

Shara put it together. “What we know is Lady Isa, Veyn, and Neir have all been here, and they know something of what’s going on. And they haven’t told anyone.”

Ardorion shoved aside papers, then lifted something.

A spoon. One that was familiar, engraved, and unmistakably Lady Isa’s.

He presented the spoon to us. “I would say your assumptions are sound, Shara. This desk belongs to Lady Isa.”

“If she owns the desk, and her magic froze Halven,” Rielle looked to Aster who nodded, “then can we trust her at all?”

“Or any of them,” Shara said, rubbing her chest. “They could be working together.”

I picked up the half-empty tea mug, smelling it. Stale tea, cold, which wasn’t surprising given the temperature in the room. Very unhelpful. “I think the more important question is, how long ago was she here?”

Aster looked toward the doorway. “And when will she be back?”

My gut churned harder, and I fought the blinding need to bolt form the room.

Ardorion rushed to restore the desk, his hands moving quickly. “I don’t want to end up as an ice cube for standing in the wrong place.” He wiped his palms on his robes. “Let’s get out of here.”

We left quickly, the door groaning shut behind us.

As we shuffled down the hallway, Rielle’s whispered words echoed. “We have to help him.”

Shara took her hand. “We will.”

I didn’t hesitate, shoring my resolve to see Halven freed. “I don’t plan on leaving him there either. But we can’t help him if we get caught. We need a plan.”

I would stay. For now. For him.

But Nythral was no longer a sanctuary. It was just another place to run from.

There are pieces of the story I don’t write down—not because I forgot, but because some truths are meant to be followed, not handed over. What happened when I brought Orivian into the vault... that’s one of them. You’ll find the account where it was meant to be found. The packet has the details. If it hasn’t reached you yet, the archivists should have a copy waiting.