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