---
Morning light rarely touched the Old Quarter.
The city's modern towers shimmered in glass and steel above, but down here — where the cobblestones still whispered of old tongues — the air was heavy with the scent of dust, parchment, and something faintly metallic.
I stood before the Veiled Archive, my fingers brushing over the sigils engraved into its door. The metal was warm — warmer than it should've been.
Rowen noticed too. "It's pulsing again," he said softly. His voice always carried that edge of awe, even fear, when it came to anything supernatural.
"The seal recognizes something," I murmured. "Something that's not supposed to exist."
He adjusted his glasses, frowning. "You mean like last night — the tremor? The one that rattled the wards?"
I nodded. "And the Sanctum bell tolled. For the first time in centuries."
A silence fell between us. Rowen shifted uncomfortably, his psychic sensitivity already stirring. "Elaris, maybe we should wait for Lady Thalindra—"
The air rippled before he could finish.
A flash of silver, soft as falling snow, filled the corridor. Then, like mist taking shape, Lady Thalindra Veyra stepped from the ether. Her cloak trailed across the floor like living smoke, silver threads pulsing faintly with runes.
"My children of ink and dust," she greeted, voice smooth as velvet. "You heard it, didn't you? The bell."
Rowen bowed instinctively. I did not.
"Yes," I answered. "The ground trembled, and the seals of the lower vault cracked open. Something woke beneath us."
Thalindra's gaze swept over the chamber. Her eyes — ancient silver — reflected the sigils faintly glowing in the walls. "Then prophecy stirs again. The threads have begun to pull."
She moved closer to the great table in the center of the Archive. Upon it lay fragments of the Book of the Veil, written in the language of the Old Gods — the same scripture from which the Prophecy of Blood and Vow was torn.
Rowen leaned over one fragment. "We translated most of this last night, but the last verse keeps changing. It rewrites itself every hour."
Thalindra placed her palm over the parchment. The ink bled, shifting beneath her touch. Letters burned crimson, rearranging into new shapes until the words formed a single line that made my breath catch:
> "The Heir has risen from dust — the Veil cracks anew."
Thalindra's expression hardened. "It's as I feared."
I stared at her. "Feared? You knew this would happen?"
"I knew it was only a matter of time," she whispered. "The bloodlines were never meant to sleep forever. His awakening means the seal is weakening — the Veiled One stirs in its cage."
Rowen's pulse quickened. "Then that tremor—"
"Was the world remembering him," Thalindra said. "The Heir of Ash and Light. A creature neither holy nor damned." Her gaze fell on me, heavy, knowing. "And you, Archivist, are his tether."
The words struck like lightning.
"I'm what?"
She smiled faintly — a sad, knowing smile. "Your blood carries the spark of remembrance. You touched the seal that bound him. Now your lives are woven."
Rowen stepped forward, protective as always. "Then what happens to her?"
Thalindra looked away, eyes flickering with something almost human — regret. "If she stays near him… the prophecy will unfold as written. If she flees…"
Her gaze found mine again, sharp and ancient. "The world may still burn, but without love's mercy to temper it."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Dust drifted down from the cracked ceiling.
I whispered, "Then it's true. The prophecy — all of it."
Thalindra nodded. "Ink remembers what flame cannot. The vow will call. And when it does, you must decide which side of the gods you stand on."
Her form began to fade — light scattering like shattered glass.
"Wait!" I called. "How do I find him?"
She smiled — soft, sorrowful. "You already have, my dear. You simply haven't remembered yet."
Then she was gone.
Rowen turned to me, wide-eyed. "Elaris… what did she mean by remembered?"
I looked down at the glowing parchment, at the single crimson verse that refused to fade. My pulse echoed in my ears — one heartbeat too loud, too fast, as if it wasn't entirely mine.
"I think…" I whispered, tracing the words, "I've seen him before."
Outside, the Sanctum bell tolled again — once, then twice. The sound rolled through the air like a promise.
And somewhere far below, Lucien Vaelrith opened his eyes again — and smiled.