"A very specific poison. One that mimics magical exhaustion. One that only the High Keepers have access to."
The implication hung between us like a blade. Natalia. Natalia had killed my mother.
"Why are you telling me this?" My voice came out hollow, empty. "Why now?"
"Because the Gate is failing. Because you're changing in ways they didn't anticipate. Because the princes—" He paused, then pulled out the final book. "You've spoken with them."
Not a question. I nodded.
"Their names are forbidden knowledge, but they exist in the oldest texts. Kaelen, the dragon prince, heir to the Eastern throne of Olympus. Flynn, the wolf prince, guardian of the wild places. Thane, the bear prince, protector of the innocent. Elias, the phoenix prince, keeper of prophecies and patterns."
Each name resonated in my chest, confirming what I'd somehow already known.
"They weren't conquerors," I said. "They were invited. They came to help."
"Yes." Master Theron pulled out a fragment of parchment, so old it looked like it might crumble at a touch. "This is from something called the Chronicle of Betrayals. Most copies were destroyed, but fragments survive, hidden in the bindings of other books, tucked behind false walls, preserved by those who couldn't bear to let truth die entirely."
He handed it to me with careful reverence. The text was in the old tongue, but I could read it:
'And so the princes came at our behest, bringing healing for our plagues, wisdom for our conflicts, power for our protection. The marriage contracts were drawn, the ceremonies planned. Pandora, most beautiful of our daughters, would wed the Dragon and become the bridge between worlds. Until the Council met in shadow and spoke of different futures. Why serve as equals when we could rule as masters? Why share power when we could steal it? The betrayal was planned in moonlight and executed in daylight. Pandora wept as she spoke the binding, her tears turning to crystal that sang of sorrow. "Forgive me," she begged as the chains took hold. "Forgive me, my loves, for I am weak and they have made me their weapon."'
I read it three times, each word carving away another piece of everything I'd believed.
"The Chronicle of the First Betrayal, the one we study, is a fabrication," Master Theron said. "Written fifty years after the actual binding to justify what they'd done. Each generation since has added to the lie, made it more elaborate, more convincing."
"But why maintain it? Why keep lying for a thousand years?"
"Power." He pulled his spectacles off, cleaning them with shaking hands. "The princes' imprisonment doesn't just keep them contained. It creates a barrier between realms that the Council controls. All magical energy that seeps through comes through the Gate, through the Keepers. They decide who gets access to magic, who doesn't. They've built an entire civilization on controlling that flow."
"And if the princes were freed?"
"Magic would flow freely between worlds again. The Council's monopoly would end. Their power would dissolve." He replaced his spectacles, fixing me with those magnified eyes. "That's why they'll kill you if you show any sign of choosing differently. Just like they killed your mother. Just like they've killed every Keeper who questioned too deeply."
My legs gave out. I sank onto the floor between the stacks, surrounded by the weight of truth I'd never wanted. The golden veins in my palm pulsed with warmth, spreading further up my arm with each heartbeat.
"What do I do?"
Master Theron knelt beside me, his joints creaking with the effort. "You learn. You prepare. You survive long enough to make a choice that's truly yours." He pulled out one more slim volume. "This contains excerpts from various suppressed texts. Hidden accounts, forbidden histories, truths they couldn't quite erase. Read it. Memorize it. Then burn it."
"Master Theron?—"
"I'm old, Aria. Old and tired of living with lies." His hand covered mine, papery skin over golden veins. "But you're young. You're strong. And you're changing in ways they didn't expect. The princes chose you for a reason."
"They didn't choose me. I'm just the latest Keeper."
"No." His eyes held certainty that made my chest tight. "You're Pandora's heir in more than blood. You have hercapacity for love, her strength to choose, her ability to bridge worlds. That's why your blood sings differently. That's why the Gate responds to you the way it does."
"You're speaking of prophecy."
"I'm speaking of patterns." He struggled to his feet, bones protesting. "The same patterns Elias sees. The wheel turns. What was bound will be freed. What was broken will be mended. Or everything will burn. The choice, as always, is yours."
He shuffled toward the stacks' entrance, then paused.
"Your mother would be proud of you. Proud that you're questioning. Proud that you're strong enough to bear truth." He looked back at me, those watery eyes suddenly sharp as winter. "Don't let them make you into another link in their chain, Aria. Be the key instead. Break the wheel. End the cycle."
He left me there, surrounded by forbidden knowledge and terrible truth. I opened the slim volume he'd given me, reading by moonlight until my eyes burned.
Account after account of the princes' benevolence before the binding. Descriptions of the prosperity they'd brought. Letters between council members planning the betrayal, discussing how to control Pandora, how to use her love against them all.
