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Reaching into the box, he slowly slipped out the leather-bound journal and flipped through the pages. But Areanel’s focus was on his eyes—windows to his soul. They were sincere as he confessed, ‘I could never hate you. I know what you did, and why you did it. You have spent your entire life protecting me, Areanel. And for that, I am eternally grateful.’

Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. Areanel used the back of her hand to quickly swipe at them.

‘Are you crying?’ Percival joked, the corners of his lips twitching.

‘Nope.’ Areanel had tried her hardest to sound genuine, but the frog in her throat made the word break as it tumbled from her mouth.

Thank the gods Percival said nothing, but she did not miss the way his almost-smile turned into an undeniable grin, Cheshire-like and teasing. ‘Whatever you say, General.’ His elbow came up to nudge her in the ribs.

The study seemed to brighten. Candlelight flickered in every corner, the flames dancing with the air of playfulness. There was a brightness to Percival’s eyes that hadn’t been there before. Areanel wondered if her cobalt gaze reflected his—a mirror of sorts. She often found solace that—with Percival, she was never alone. He was her replica in almost every way.

Sweet vanilla combined with an earthy tone, bombarding Areanel’s nostrils as Percival continued to flick through Ivan’s journal. The fraying spine crinkled and bent when he turned it upside down and shook the pages. ‘Hey! Percy, stop. You’ll damage it,’ she scolded.

‘It’s not—’ His words fizzled out when a crisp piece of paper, torn and yellowed, slipped between the pages of the journal. Areanel watched in rapt fascination and confusion as it fluttered to the floor.

Bending, Percival gingerly pinched the folded paper between two fingers. His gaze landed on her as he raised a brow in question. Steadily, he rose to his full height, carelessly tossing the journal back into the box and unfolding the tattered page, placing it on the desk between them.

‘Is this the…’

Astonished didn’t seem like the right word to describe how Areanel felt staring at the messy curved scrawl. The rough, irregular edges along one side, where the page had been torn, looked burnt—like someone had held it over a flame with the intention of destroying it, but had suddenly changed their mind. The charred pieces blackened the corners, smudging some of the lettering—and there was a tear in the middle where it had been folded and unfolded numerous times—but it was the spots of splattered blood that drew Areanel’s attention most. The way the writing conjoined and curved, and the ‘a’ never fully met before sweeping into the next letter. The minute details had her chest tightening and heart clenching.

‘I think it is.’ Her fingers danced over the scribbled words.

She’d recognised it almost instantly—the handwriting belonged to her older brother. This was Silas’s writing. But why had he hidden this note within the pages of Ivan’s journal?

Glancing warily at each other, Percival’s voice filled the empty space as he began to read the scroll aloud:

‘A war waged from the hatred of one’s heart shall befall the land,

A child of light will die by fate’s hand.

The former king shall fall whilst his kingdom burns,

Wolves will howl the night away as each world clashes.

Deep in the darkness, the monster shall claim all.

Only then, the magic of the land will be usurped by the beast,

And Andreas shall be reborn.’

Andreas.

Horror, spine-chilling and acidic, drenched her at the harsh sound of the name she thought she would never hear again.

Andreas. A word that struck a spear of dread through her heart.

Andreas. A curse her mother had once warned her about.

If andrea meant “angel” in the old language, then andreas was its polar opposite. Its antithesis.

Andreas. Demon. Villain. Destroyer of worlds.

‘I do not understand. I thought Ada burned all copies of the prophecy. Why would Silas have copied it down and kept it locked away in this box alongside Ivan’s things? Why would Ada give you the key?’ Percival asked.

He was right. Why had their father given her the key? Had he known? Was this a test? The prophecy was known only to a few—from what Areanel understood, besides herself, only her parents and Percival knew. Spoken by her mother, Areanel had thought the words had been forgotten alongside her. Had she been wrong to hope for such a thing? If Silas had written this, then how many others knew of the prophecy?

‘Unless… Ada does not know it was a key. This is Ivan’s study. Maybe Silas hid it in here, knowing none but we would come down here.’