The next morning, the library was unlike anything Aaron had ever seen.
He stepped inside, expecting stillness and rows of dusty scrolls, but instead found books floating gently in midair, ink dripping slowly from open pages, and the faint whisper of paper turning on its own.
At the far end of the room, beneath a grand stained-glass window, Frankfurt stood with his arms crossed, waiting patiently.
Ashen followed close behind Aaron, his wide eyes reflecting both awe and uncertainty.
"You said we'd train here?" Aaron asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Frankfurt gave a slight nod. "This room is more than a library. It's a living archive of the Skyborn's memories. It listens. It responds. But it only opens itself to those who carry the blood of the flame."
With a graceful motion, he gestured toward the floor between them.
Slowly, the marble shifted, revealing a spiraling staircase glowing faintly as it descended into the depths of the estate — beneath stone and silence.
---
The chamber below was nothing like Aaron had imagined. The walls pulsed with ancient glyphs, pools of silvery light shimmered along the floor, and faint illusions flickered in the air — echoes of battles long past, flames dancing, shadows of death.
Frankfurt faced them both. "Your training has three parts: Control, Memory, and Resistance."
He pointed to Aaron. "You will begin with controlling your flame."
Then he looked at Ashen. "And you… will learn to extract memory."
Ashen cocked his head in confusion. "From what?"
Frankfurt smirked slightly. "From me."
---
Aaron's lesson was harsh and unrelenting.
He was placed inside a circle inscribed with glowing runes, the fire crackling softly beneath his feet.
"Summon your flame," Frankfurt commanded. "Then hold it steady."
Aaron raised his hand, and blue fire erupted — alive, warm, and obedient.
But before he could relax, Frankfurt stepped forward and threw a dagger, aiming for Aaron's thigh.
Aaron flinched, the flame faltering as the blade grazed his skin.
"You lose control when you let fear take hold," Frankfurt said coldly. "Try again."
And again.
Pain. Focus. Flame. Blood. Resolve.
By the fifth attempt, Aaron's flame burned steady — unshaken even as the blade sliced his side.
---
Meanwhile, Ashen's training was of a different kind.
He stood before Frankfurt, his eyes glowing faintly as he pressed two fingers to the older man's forehead.
At first, nothing happened.
Then, visions flooded his mind.
A younger Frankfurt, kneeling in a ritual circle.
A woman with sky-blue eyes — his sister — lying lifeless on the ground.
A ring dropped into her fiery grave.
And a secret birth — a child with hair the color of ocean stone.
Ashen gasped, breaking the connection.
"Who was she?" he asked.
Frankfurt's voice was flat. "My sister. Your mother, Aaron."
Cold dread sank into Aaron's chest. "You… knew?"
Frankfurt met his gaze. "I saved you. She broke the Pact. The Thorn ordered her death. I burned her body to hide your blood."
---
Far from the estate, in the ruined cathedral cliffs of Hollowmere, the Pale Thorn convened.
From the shadows emerged a new figure — tall, armored in black vines, his serpent skull mask cold and cruel.
"I am Sevrin, Speaker of the Pale Thorn," he announced.
The gathered bowed in silence.
"They have awakened two. One pure. One fractured."
He raised a crimson scroll stained with blood.
"The child survives. The sister failed. The fire lives."
Turning to an altar, a chained Lineborn child trembled beneath a glowing sigil.
"We cannot kill them yet," Sevrin hissed. "But we can… unmake them."
---
Back in the estate, Aaron sat on the cold stone floor, blood staining his sleeve, Ashen silent beside him.
Frankfurt stepped forward, his eyes unreadable.
"You know the truth now. Your mother was one of us — one of them. And I defied the Thorn to save you."
Aaron clenched his fists. "Then we fight."
Frankfurt nodded.
"Good. Because they have just declared war."