Students were scattered across the main tables, hunched over scrolls and jotting notes with enchanted quills that occasionally paused to shake themselves out like tired birds. A goblin stood at the far end with a wand pointed sternly at a rebellious stack of books that refused to alphabetize themselves.
I gave her a soft nod and moved past, deeper into the aisles.
The murmur of pages and the rhythmic creak of the upper gallery ladders filled the air. Everything about the library was warm and familiar and reminded me of my first time at the Academy when only the sprites, my grandma, and I wandered the aisles.
But under the nostalgia, I could feel something else. A subtle pull, like my magic brushing against the spine of a memory I hadn’t touched yet, started calling.
I didn’t know where I was going, but the library did.
That’s the thing about living structures, especially magical ones. They pay attention. They learn your breath, your footsteps, the shape of your needs before you name them.
So I walked past stacks with names I knew.Spied literature on herbal enchantments and alchemical misfires.
I roamed deeper when three book sprites darted into my path. Their wings glimmered like pressed glass, and their eyes alight with purpose. One circled my head and tugged a strand of hair. Another zipped ahead, paused, then waved me on.
“All right,” I whispered. “I’m coming.”
They led me past the rear study chambers, and the air cooled slightly as the dust danced in the light.
We stopped at a narrow aisle hemmed in by two towering shelves of aged volumes. The sprites hovered, then parted like they were stepping aside for something sacred.
My heart thudded.
I reached out and let my fingers skim the spines.
History of Bent Wards and Their Consequences.
That wasn’t what I expected.
I pulled it free.
And behind it, tucked in the hollow space where the book had rested, was something I didn’t recognize.
A box that was small, square, and wrapped in deep violet fabric, frayed at the edges.
It thrummed faintly with magic.
I stared.
And that’s when I realized—
It washumming.
Soft and low, like a lullaby I couldn’t quite place.
I reached out.
And just before my fingers touched the cloth, a voice echoed behind me.
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
The voice slid through the air with softness and certainty, but laced with a disappointment I hadn’t heard before.
I froze.
