I turn, just as he says, “It’s a passage.” My head swings back to him, then to the wooden door just behind the painting. Behind it, I can feel a strong pulse of energy, just like I do on all the planets—yet it feels more concentrated.
I inhale sharply. “Anders, I feel?—”
“Yeah. Me too.” He’s at my side in an instant, removing the painting from the wall. The thing has to be heavy; it’s at least twelve feet tall, and the frame is pure oak. He doesn’t even grunt or break a sweat.
My gaze falls back to the handle, which is a small iron ring. I notice the slight tremble of my hand as I reach for it, the flow of energy getting stronger. I lift the ring, turning it slightly, and the door pops open with a rush of dusty air and an eerie howl.
Anders and I both cough, waving away the dust, and when it clears, I can’t fight the grin that spreads across my face. Inside the doorway is a vast, circular room, its walls lined floor-to-ceiling with row upon row of dusty, ancient shelves. This isn’t a storage closet. This is an archive. I spin, taking in the room. There are so many books. Books, books, and more books. And then tubes of scrolls. I huff out a laugh and turn to Anders.
“Is it wrong to say I want to take them all home?” He shakes his head.
“They have to stay, but we have thewhole day if we need it.”
Hours and more than half the books later, I sit back on a wobbly stool and sigh. So far, we’ve found lineage books, writing in languages even Anders hasn’t seen, books on medicines and weather patterns, temple practices, priestess accounts, a journal, and a log of visitors. I give up on the books and search through the tubes of scrolls. Some are standing upright, while others are on their sides. I begin pulling them out, feeling a little overwhelmed by how many there are, but when I find a mysterious-looking one wrapped in some sort of casing, Anders is immediately at my side.
I pause, looking around, half expecting soldiers to come rushing in. “What?”
He studies the scroll in my hands before reaching for it. “May I?” he asks. I nod and hand it over. He returns to the desk we’ve been huddled over at the center of the room and clears a space to unroll it. My breath lodges in my throat, and my head spins when the parchment begins to unravel, revealing an old text. But it’s the way a wind sweeps through the room—completely unnatural and impossible—that has me stepping closer to Anders.
Anders runs his fingers over the text with pure awe. “I can read this,” he claims, his voice rough with disbelief. “Raea, listen.”
I step closer, studying the weird markings etched into the leather. The words he reads are not in the common language; they’re ancient, breathy, and make the hairs on my arms stand, and at the same time, feel a weight settle in my bones. As he reads, my body tingles, like my blood has been replaced with bubbly water. My shoulders roll uncomfortably before the words transition, filling my mind with understanding. I hear them, understand them, not in the way I’d expect—but directly in my head. They start bleeding into my mind, bypassing sense. They settle in the hollow of me like a truth I never asked for.
“The veil was insufficiently empowered, prompting each family to take action as time diminished. Males and females, alongside their children, voluntarily relinquished their lifeforce to enhance the veil, thereby sacrificing their immortal existence to ensure the continuity of their bloodlines. The youth aged rapidly, with some disintegratingentirely, transitioning instantaneously into the aether. All participants offered their contributions willingly."
Anders’ voice trails off, the last word hanging heavy in the cold air of the chamber. A strange nausea slams into me, forcing my head to hang, my mouth watering. It feels as if I’ve just taken a blow to the stomach. I muffle a cry as my stomach grips tighter.
He keeps reading, “Upon the departure of the last immortals, the gods entered the veil, forfeiting their own mortality and corporeal forms, thus leaving humanity as the sole representatives of the three councils.”
Anders makes a low sound next to me, a sound of staggered surprise. He grips his head. “The empire remained the last of its kind within the system, as all trade and travel to Auralan had ceased...”
The words keep coming. I can’t breathe.
“When the moment arrived for the transition into individual kingdoms, the emperor entered the veil, uniting with his family in the aether. Consequently, Einvald would be sealed, safeguarding everything that remained...”
I choke on a breath. My vision narrows.
“Only the heirs of the restored lifeblood may return to this realm once more.”
Silence.
The words fade. But the weight of them doesn’t. I gasp, bent at the waist, eyes stinging with tears I don’t remember forming.
Anders groans, grabbing his head, fighting something as he leans over the table. The knowledge burns into me, a profound hum deep in my core. Seconds pass, but it feels like an eternity.
When the nausea subsides, all traces of pain vanish. I remain panting over the scroll, trying to regain myself. Anders’ hand runs up my spine. “You okay?” he asks, breathless.
I nod, my mouth still watering, but I stand to look at him, scrubbing at my eyes. All around me, in me, under me, life and power exist. I see an invisible power like lines drifting out of the room. When I glance back at the scroll, an invisible current hums through my veins.
“Anders!” My hands tremble against the cool table. “I can read it.”Elvisiah—I feel the words more than hear them.
He studies me, then the scroll, still rubbing at his temples. “Your magic.” His eyes go wide. “Your aura, it’s…different.” My face scrunches as I look him over; he doesn’t look well. His typically tanned skin now appears pale.
“What’s wrong?” He shakes his head, taking a seat and breathing deeply. After a moment, he opens his eyes, scanning the room. I’ve never seen him look so unnerved before.
“Can you hear it?” he asks, his voice tight. “The hum. It’s...the veil. It’s screaming.” He stands, walking to the wall behind me, where several old artifacts lie scattered. I’ve already looked them over and found nothing of importance.
“A book on the gods...” He pulls an old tome from the very bottom shelf, its cover old and tattered, with a deep hole in the center. “Grab this.” He holds out the book.
