The rough tips of his thumbs wipe tears from my eyes, and something about the gesture feels holy. Reverent. Like a promise to hold the shards of my heart in the palm of his hand until they meld back together.
I can’t speak, words distant and elusive, but Kael sees that, too, in the same way he sees everything when it comes to me. “Best not keep Elandor waiting,” he says, giving me permission to end the conversation.
I nod, sniffling and composing myself. “Best not keep the rest of the realms waiting, either,” I say, and turn to climb the stairs after Elandor.
Kael releases me slowly, as if reluctant to let go of the vow he’s only just spoken into existence. My chest is still tight, but my feet remember how to climb—step by step the staircase reaches higher into the mountain, coiling around a broad tree trunk as the Elarion township grows smaller through the arched windows.
At the landing, the library opens into a quaint, intimate chamber carved directly into the mountain’s bone. Shelves line the walls in concentric rings, every surface sagging with scrolls, bound tomes, and artifacts arranged with obsessive care.
A long oak table dominates the center, etched with burn marks, ink stains, and drawings carved by impatient hands. My friends sit around it, patiently waiting for us, never pushing, never rushing the fragile connection between Kael and me.
Elandor fusses over a stack of scrolls so tall it threatens to topple. He mutters to himself, then shuffles a parchment back into place as if that single sheet might tip the balance of history.
“Come, come,” he beckons without looking up, quill wagging toward the table. “The library likes you best when you sit. It hates impatience, though it also doesn’t like when you make it wait.” He stills for a moment, tip of the quill poised at the edge of his mouth, as if he’s deciphering his own words and if they make sense. He shrugs nonchalantly, deciding to let it go. “Anyhow, sit. I’ve been waiting for this moment for many years.”
I trade a glance with Kael who fights a smirk, but his hand brushes mine in the smallest of touches, steadying me before we take our seat around the oak table.
I let out a heavy exhale, composing myself.
Elandor has scrolls and frayed parchment tucked under his arms, a quill in each ear, glasses still balancing precariously on his nose, and an extra set nestled into his disheveled hair on top of his head.
His robes flap behind him, before he tucks them beneath himself and takes a seat at the head of the table. “I knew of the prophecy long before you were born, Elyssara,” he begins, voice shifting slightly—more authoritative, as if he’s transformed from stammering librarian to Archivist of the realms in a heartbeat. “So I’ve been preparing for when it would be enacted.You see, nothing changes the tide of battle quite like knowledge that can alter the seas,” he says, raising his eyebrows in curiosity.
Teddy huffs in exasperation, and I know why—he has little patience for riddles and obscurity. At least he has the good sense to allow Elandor to keep going.
Seren leans in, her elbows pressing into the table with palpable eagerness.
“But first,” Elandor announces, “I assume you have the great Lunar Codex.” His words reverberate through the chamber as if he’s announcing someone important.
How in the Stars did he know that?
As if he can hear my thoughts, Elandor’s eyes land on mine. “We have Shades in every village, town, and city on every continent, Elyssara, and a very advanced messaging infrastructure that allows us to communicate with great speed and ease,” he explains with a wink. “Benefits of a continent of scholars, I suppose,” he adds with a shrug.
I stammer, searching for words.
“And if you must know, it was Gellesk,” he offers before I’ve summoned a single word to my tongue.
Fucking Gellesk.
A heavy thud echoes through the chamber?—
The Codex tumbles onto the table as Seren pulls the great tome from her satchel and fumbles it.
“Yes,” she confirms, patting the top of the tome with her hand.
The silver sigils flare to life under her palm, splintering across the forbidden book like metallic veins.
Elandor’s eyes blow wide at the sight, seemingly at a loss for words.
“Yeah, she does that from time to time. Hears the winds, speaks to weapons, reads runes—that sort of thing. That’s ourSeren,” Ronyn says, clapping Seren on the shoulder, his ankles crossed on the oak table.
Seren rolls her eyes, shaking her head at Ronyn’s irreverence.
“You’re— You’re…” Elandor stutters, eyes trained on Seren, but he trails off.
“I’m Veilborn, yes,” Seren finishes for him.
Elandor’s hand trembles as it hovers above the Codex, quill tip blotting ink onto the table. The entire chamber seems to hold its breath—no page rustles, no lantern flickers.
