The Library of Moonstone Vaults — Evening
The moonlight filtered through stained-glass windows shaped like elven glyphs, casting fractured colors across the polished marble floor of the Grand Archive — the oldest library in the Arcanum Magisterium. Towering shelves wound like a labyrinth beneath the spired dome, their contents ancient and enchanted, some whispering softly when no one was near.
Rael walked in silence.
His boots made no sound, not because he tried to be quiet — but because the air itself seemed to still around him. Shadows bent subtly away. The enchantments embedded in the books recognized him, reacting with a mix of curiosity and deference.
He turned a corner and paused.
She was already there.
Sitting on a velvet cushion in the far alcove — a girl with pale silver hair and eyes like mirrored frost. Her form was cloaked in a thin veil of moonlit silk, and her presence radiated a soft sorrow that seemed to make even the books fall quiet.
She looked up. She suddenly panics, as if she recognizes him through a distant memory.
"You," she whispered, her voice like glass over water. "Why are you here?"
Rael stepped closer, but not too close.
"I heard there was a cursed song echoing through these halls," he said calmly. "I came to listen."
She blinked, visibly startled. Not at the words, but at their weight.
"Most avoid me. You… make riddles."
"Only when the truth is heavier than silence."
In private, she whispers: "Why does he feel like the one I killed?"
She turned away, closing the tome she was reading. "You've already caused enough disturbance for one day. Why bother with a ghost?"
Rael didn't answer right away. Instead, he knelt across from her, placing a stack of aged texts between them — one of which bore a sigil in the shape of a chained star.
"Because ghosts don't bleed. And you do."
She flinched.
"You shouldn't have come," she said softly. "They're watching me."
"Let them watch," came another voice — Cassian Gormund of House Gormund, warm and grounded. The broad-shouldered heir strode into the alcove with a slight smirk. "They'll learn what happens when they underestimate us."
Behind him, Aelira Caerthyn of House Caerthyn appeared — silent as snowfall. She bowed her head slightly toward the elf girl.
"Lady Elarin," Aelira said gently. "You are not alone."
Rael looked between them all, then finally turned to the cursed girl — Elarin. Her name now had a face.
"I brought you something," he said, sliding the chained-star book toward her. "This text is forbidden in most towers. It speaks of ancient bindings — especially ones that twist the soul's resonance."
Elarin stared at the cover, her lips parting in disbelief.
"How did you find this?"
"It remembered me," Rael said simply.
Cassian let out a low whistle. "Remind me never to play cards with you, Rael. Even the books like you."
"They fear him," Aelira corrected. "Fear often comes before awe."
Rael ignored them, watching Elarin closely. "You've hidden the nature of your curse well. But not from me. It's not demonic, is it?"
She went pale.
"No," she whispered. "It's… older."
"Fae?" Rael asked.
She nodded reluctantly. "A pact made by my bloodline. I was born into it. I carry the chains of a thousand years."
Cassian crossed his arms. "That explains the Court's silence. Even the Archons don't meddle in fae-bound legacy curses."
Aelira's eyes sharpened. "Which court?"
Elarin hesitated. "The Weeping Thorns."
Rael inhaled sharply. "That court is supposed to be extinct."
"So was I," Elarin murmured.
Silence fell between them, heavy and laced with invisible knives. Then Rael stood, turning to a nearby lectern and flipping open a different volume — one filled with symbols even the library tried to hide.
"I can break it," he said at last."Not now. Not yet. But soon."
Elarin's voice trembled. "Why… why would you help me?"
Rael met her gaze, and something ancient flickered in his expression — a memory, maybe, or a buried oath.
"Because the chains you carry are part of the storm that's coming."
"You… you know?" she asked in disbelief.
"I remember more than I should," he replied. "And the world has forgotten too much."
Cassian looked between them. "Alright, now you're both talking in riddles. Someone explain before I go mad."
Aelira placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "This isn't something to joke about."
"He's right, though," Elarin said after a long pause. "You deserve to know. The Weeping Thorns did not die. They merely slept. And now… something is waking them."
Rael turned a page, pointing to an illustration — a twisted crown of thorns dripping with starfire.
"Then we find the key," he said, "before they do."
Aelira narrowed her eyes. "You think they're after you?"
"Not me," Elarin whispered. "What's inside me."
Rael stepped closer.
"And what's that?"
Her lips trembled.
"A seed. Of their king.
Buried in my soul. Waiting to bloom." The candlelight flickered violently. A shadow passed across the moon outside, and the books around them seemed to shudder.
Rael extended his hand.
"Then we burn the roots."
For the first time, Elarin looked at him not with suspicion — but hope.
"You're not afraid," she said.
"I am," Rael replied. "But I don't let fear decide who I become."
Cassian grinned. "Well, I'll be damned. Alright, I'm in."
Aelira nodded. "So am I and them "
Rael looked back toward the deep library vaults, where darker truths lay waiting.
"Then let's begin."