She felt it today, under her skin.
In the ache left from Kael’s training strike. In the cool of the dining hall as he stared her down, asking silent questions she didn’t know how to answer.
Who washe?
Why did he feel… familiar?
Why did he stir something in her chest she couldn’t name?
She clutched her goblet tighter, forcing herself to meet Kael’s gaze.
Gods, she wanted him — still burned at the memory of his hands on her body, the sound of his voice in the dark.
But something had shifted.
And the part of her that had begun to feel safe was now whispering again.
Tread lightly.It warned.
The candlelight danced across the parchment like it was alive, the flame hissing softly with every breath she took. Maris dipped the quill again, staring at the empty page in front of her. The ink clung heavy, ready, like truth waiting to spill.
She hesitated.
Then slowly she wrote:
I dreamed of a male made of starlight. He knew my name before I spoke it. Not the name I was given, but the one I’d never heard: Veil Breaker.He called me that as if it meant something. As if he had been searching for me. His voice was kind. His presence was warm. Not like Kael’s. Kael is fire and shadow, consuming. This male felt like — the beginning of something. A key turning in a lock I didn’t know existed. But I don’t know what it means. And it terrifies me.
She paused, her hand trembling, then continued:
I should tell Kael because some part of me is afraid he’ll see it for what it is. A shift. A change. Something neitherof us can control.
She folded the paper in thirds and slid it beneath the false bottom of a drawer in her writing desk. Safe. Forgotten. Until it wasn’t.
The library tower was quiet when she climbed the spiral steps the next morning, the scent of old vellum and ash clinging to the air. She found Aldwyn seated where he always was— cross-legged on a sunken cushion before the hearth, his eyes covered, his aged hands folded around a thick leather tome.
“Lorekeeper,” she said softly.
“Ah,” he murmured without lifting his head, “The little moth returns to the flame.”
She frowned. “That’s not ominous at all.”
Aldwyn smiled. “You bring questions.”
“I always do.”
“Today, they taste different.” His head tilted. “Heavier. More — divine.”
She blinked. “You taste questions?”
“I do,” he said calmly. “Especially the ones that ripple.”
He gestured for her to sit. She did, folding her legs like his.
“I’ve had dreams,” she began, unsure how much to say. “Dreams I can’t explain.”
“Few dreams worth chasing are meant to be explained,” Aldwyn said, brushing dust from the cover of his book. “But yours are not ordinary, are they?”
She swallowed. “No.”
