WebNovels

Chapter 21 - Chapter 21: Ink and Ashes

The library is silent, but not peaceful.

The scratching of my quill sounds like thunder in my ears, each stroke a little harder than it needs to be until—snap. The feather splits. Ink splatters across the parchment like blood.

That's the fourth one.

I sigh sharply, toss the ruined quill aside, and dig through the pile for another. My fingers are stained black to the knuckles, and the parchment before me is a mess of crossed-out words and half-finished formulas. Nothing feels right. My mind refuses to focus.

"Okay," I mutter under my breath, forcing the words out between clenched teeth. "Let's calm down. So—Rowena doesn't like you back. She's… she's just your first crush. Your first childhood crush."

The word childhood tastes strange, too soft for the ache sitting in my chest.

"She's seven years older than you," I remind myself, voice growing a little louder as if arguing with my own heart. "It was never going to work. You knew that."

The quill trembles in my hand again. I freeze before I can break another one. My jaw is tight, my breath shallow.

"Just—just put it into work," I whisper. "That's what you're good at, right?"

I set the tip of the quill against the page, ink bleeding into the fibers like my anger searching for somewhere to go. And slowly—hesitantly—it starts to take shape.

Runes. Spell matrices. Experimental ward schematics.

If I can't control how I feel, I can control this.

Around me, the library hums softly with the residue of old magic. Floating candles drift lazily overhead, and somewhere in the corner, one of my shadow clones quietly organizes a stack of grimoires. The faint sound of parchment shuffling is the only company I have.

And maybe that's for the best.

I glance toward the section of the library where Rowena usually sits when she visits—her favorite desk by the high window overlooking the lake. It's empty now. I stare too long, then force myself to look away.

I dip the quill again, pressing it harder than necessary, and sketch a complex pattern of runes across a new page. A containment array designed to stabilize raw elemental energy. My newest project.

Focus, I tell myself. Focus on what matters.

I write until my hand cramps. Until the anger dulls into a low, familiar ache. Until the only sound in the room is ink scratching and paper turning.

Finally, I lean back and exhale slowly. The library feels a little lighter. My heartbeat has slowed. My thoughts—still raw, still sore—have started to untangle.

"I'll be fine," I say softly, to no one. "I've been fine before."

The words don't sound completely true, but they're close enough.

I stare at the growing stack of notes beside me, the fresh sigils glowing faintly under the candlelight. Magic responds to emotion, and right now, mine burns sharp and focused. If heartbreak is fuel, then I have plenty to spare.

Maybe this is how I move forward—not by forgetting, but by building.

I close my journal, set the quill aside carefully this time, and take a deep breath. The air smells of ink and parchment and quiet determination.

Somewhere deep down, beneath the remnants of anger and embarrassment, I can already feel the faintest spark of resolve taking root again.

Tomorrow, I'll create something new.Tonight, I'll just keep writing.

More Chapters