My gaze lingers on a section halfway through the new volume. The script is in an older language, the letters curling like vines.
Dimitri leans closer to translate, his brow furrowing. “This is written in an ancient language that even I don’t know.”
“I thought you’dstudied them all,” I say.
He continues to stare at it, like he might instantly be able to understand it.
“I thought so too,” he murmurs.
Ravelle tilts her head. “You know you won’t find everything tonight. You two need rest.”
She’s right; I am exhausted. My body aches. My mind races. Yet the pull of this knowledge refuses to let me go.
I let my hands rest on the table, staring at the faded script. “I can’t stop,” I murmur, almost to myself.
Dimitri sighs. “Just pace yourself. This path could be long, and it will demand more than you think.”
I nod as my shadows twist around me.
The night stretches on, the library filling with the soft rustle of parchment and the occasional whisper of translation.
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Scrolls and tomes are stacked in precarious towers across the table. It’s been almost two weeks since Dimitri talked me out of leaving. My eyes sting from scanning the same half-faded lines over and over, but still I press my palms into the table, refusing to give in to exhaustion.
“This is what we have so far,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “Scraps. Half-legible maps, cryptic footnotes, and enough scattered references toRoxnos and Gravenholme to drive me mad. We have nothing new on the Veil or the artifacts. And westilldon’t know why Elowen needs the lumenstone.”
Dimitri leans lazily back in his chair, a smirk playing on his mouth, my shadows around his feet again. “Careful, Ren. If the scraps are already breaking you, what will the truth do?”
I lift my gaze, meeting the silver gleam of his. “I’ll be ready for it. It’s just…we don’t know how much time we have until she finds the other artifacts. Once she does, we can’t stop her. Not when we don’t even understand what she plans to do. What if she isn’t even planning anything bad? This could all be a waste of time.”
Something flickers across his expression, too quick for me to name.
Ravelle clears her throat softly, redirecting the weight ofthe conversation. She has spread the parchment in perfect order before her, sketches and sigils aligned as though the chaos of centuries can be tamed with neat handwriting. “Let’s start with what we do know. Gravenholme was the kingdom of the Vorthari. Their shadow-magic—unlike anything seen since, even differing from us vampires—was rooted in Roxnos’sinfluence. Even after the kingdom fell, traces lingered. Serenya, your abilities…I don’t think they are just rare. I think they may be related to the Vorthari somehow.”
A knot pulls tight in my chest. “How?”
She hesitates. “We can't be sure yet.”
The words should send disappointment through me, but instead, they excite me. The type of shadow and healing magic I have, so often mistrusted, is starting to feel less like an accident and more like a question I’m meant to answer.
I draw a long breath, forcing the tension from my shoulders. “The Vorthari tried to erase themselves from history. We need to find out why. If it’s because of the gods, then finding out could lead us to clues about Elowen’s plans. There are breadcrumbs scattered in every forgotten manuscript. If we can string them together—”
“—we might trace the trail,” Ravelle finishes. Her manicured fingers spread one of the maps across the table. “Here. And here. These sigils appear again and again across different centuries. Always faint, always tucked between unrelated notes. Yet, they connect.”
I bend over the map, tracing the symbols with a trembling finger. The same shape repeating, always pointing toward the same patch of land. My heart quickens, not with fearthis time, but with the first real taste of progress.
Ravelle’s voice remains calm, steady as stone. “We catalog every piece. We chart the sigils. We match them to the lore. Only once we understand what they mean can we predict Elowen's next move.”
Dimitri gives a soft huff of laughter. “Never thought I’d find myself poring over history lessons again. But fine.”
“We can’t overlook anything. I only have a few days before I have to return to Syltheriel for the ball and final trial, but I will return immediately after the Divine Ceremony. While I’m away, you have to continue the search in my place. We can’t be careless, and we can’t waste time,” I say firmly.
Silence settles over the room, heavy, but not hopeless. The three of us lean over the maps and scrolls as though willing them to give up their secrets. And beneath the candlelight, despite the chaos of half-legible notes and scattered lore, hope begins to form. A sense that, together, we might actually find the trail through the dark. I exhale slowly, letting determination anchor me. The scraps aren’t enough yet, not nearly. But they’re a start.
------------? ? ?? ?------------
The dining hall is quiet in the morning light. The scent of toasted bread mixes with faint incense, grounding me in a moment of calm I didn’t realize I’d been craving.
