"Impossible," she whispered, the word fading away in the silent antechamber.
The ancient tome sat open on a marble pedestal, its weathered pages spread like wings across the white and blue veined stone. The chamber resonated with strong preservation and protection magic—a complex lattice of spells that had kept the book intact for millennia. Dust motes danced lazily in beams of morning light filtering through narrow glass windows.
Amriel Vardon stood before the tome, her fingertips pressed against her palms so hard they left crescent-shaped indentations in her skin. She hadn't moved in nearly twenty minutes. The chill of the antechamber to the Great Hall of the Illumination Tower had seeped into her bones, but she barely noticed, transfixed by what lay before her.
Her cobalt eyes—a trait inherited from her father—traced the curling patterns of symbols inked in an impossibly steady hand. Symbols that had mocked archivists, witches and warlocks alike for several millennia, yet now seemed to whisper directly into her mind.
Her heartbeat roared in her ears like the spring rapids of the Tendracil River where she'd spent summers as a child, leaping from water-polished boulders while her father called warnings from the shore. Warnings she'd invariably ignored.
Oh shit. I can understand this!
She blinked hard, wondering if her overly tired mind was playing tricks again. Her hands, calloused from years of grinding herbs and mixing tinctures, trembled slightly as she reached up to tuck a strand of glossy, raven-black hair behind her ear.
Three sleepless nights tending to a neighbor's deathly feverish child—brewing willow bark tea and applying cold compresses until the fever finally broke this morning at dawn—had left dark circles under her eyes. Perhaps exhaustion had finally driven her to hallucination.
This isn't real, is it? Her mind spun and she blinked again but the ancient words remained the same.
The brass plaque mounted before the display gleamed in the colored light:
THE TOME OF LYGENESS
Dated to the Early Third Era. Origin Unknown.
Property of the Illumination Tower
Do Not Touch – Protected Artifact
Since its discovery two thousand years ago, though it was thought to be much older, the greatest minds in all of the Kingdoms had tried to decipher even a single line of this text. All had failed.
The legendary Master Archivist Keiran had spent forty years studying it before declaring it "a puzzle meant for minds yet to come." The Witch Elyana Vos, one of the most powerful of her kind, had gone mad trying to unlock its secrets, claiming in her final days that the book spoke to her in dreams.
The Illumination Tower dominated Nylos's skyline, and within these grey walls of knowledge, Amriel had passed the ancient tome countless times on visits to her friend Mara, now a novice Archivist.
More than once, she'd stopped to ponder over the tome and entertain herself with wild theories about its contents while she waited.
But never once had the tome actually made any sense. Not a single symbol. It was just a nice thing to look upon and wonder about. Nothing more.
Until today.
Amriel's fingers drifted to the iron ring that hung about her slim neck on a leather thong—a gift from her father. She twisted it absently between her fingers, the motion as natural as breathing.
"Oh, come on," she muttered, glancing around to make sure no one was watching her talk to herself. Again. "I do not have time for an ancient enigma to suddenly decide I'm special."
Her lips parted, the ancient syllables feeling both foreign and familiar on her tongue. The first few words formed in her mind, but she hesitated, some instinct urging caution. The tome had remained silent for many millennia—what would happen when someone finally gave voice to its secrets? Would the words themselves hold power?
Yet curiosity pulled her forward. Her grip tightened on the iron ring as she whispered the first line, the meaning unfurling with the inevitability of a blade being drawn from its sheath.
"When silver fire rains from the heavens, and shadows stretch beyond the breaking dawn..."
The words felt alive on her tongue, resonating with something deep within her. She clenched her teeth, fighting the impulse to step away. The rational part of her mind screamed that this was exactly how horror stories began. But the stubborn determination that had gotten her through her father's death and her mother's abandonment refused to back down now.
"When the hymn of forgotten stars is swallowed by silence..."
"When the last of the Starlight Witches falls—The Door to Eternity shall open."
A violent shiver tore through her as she broke out in a cold sweat. The iron ring pressed into her flesh as she clutched it tightly, its warmth a stark contrast to the sudden chill that had settled over the chamber.
None of this made sense.
Starlight Witches? A door to Eternity?
A terrible certainty settled in her bones as she tucked the ring back beneath her tunic, its weight a familiar comfort against her sternum.
Her week just got worse. So. Much. Worse.
The blood rushed inside her head until her pulse was all she could hear. She took a step back, her heel catching on the uneven flagstone. She needed to tell someone—but who? The Master Archivist? The Coven Leader? Who would even believe her?
Then she collided with something solid. Warm. Alive.
A sharp gasp escaped her as strong hands gripped her shoulders, firm but careful, keeping her upright. The touch sent a jolt through her system, as if her body had forgotten that the world contained anything but ancient words and dire warnings.
"Whoa there, Amriel," a familiar voice drawled, warm with amusement. "I see you're still getting wrapped up in your daydreams."
A fresh surge of heat raced up her neck as she turned and found herself looking up into the warm, dark brown eyes of Nikola Vrasic.
Of course, that's just my luck.
Of all Archivists in the Tower of Illumination, it had to be him. Nikola, whose smile had won half the hearts in the kingdom, including hers for a time.
The scent of ink and parchment clung to him—a smell that once meant shared research tables and stolen kisses between the library shelves. Now it just left a hollow ache in her chest.
His hands lingered just a second longer than necessary before releasing her, and she hated the way her heart still skipped at his touch.
"You alright?" he asked, cocking his head slightly. His voice held its usual friendly tone, but there was an edge of concern beneath it. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Or worse."
Does a dead language count?
Then, with that infuriating half-smile of his, he added, "Don't tell me you fell asleep in the library again and drooled all over the books. Archivist Thorne nearly had an apoplexy last time."
Amriel blinked, still reeling, her thoughts a tangled mess of ancient prophecies, cryptic warnings, and the uncomfortable awareness of his proximity. Say something normal, she begged herself. Act like you haven't just discovered a five-thousand-year-old prophecy that might herald the end of everything.
"I—no, I didn't drool," she managed weakly, cringing internally at how pathetic it sounded.
Nikola's brow arched, and she instantly regretted her choice of words. The tiny crinkles at the corners of his eyes deepened.
He smiled, more gently than she expected, "That," he mused, studying her with altogether too much perception, "sounds exactly like something a person who definitely drooled would say."
She folded her arms across her chest, straightening to her full height—which still left her nearly a head shorter than him. "For your information, Vrasic," she huffed, summoning every ounce of composure she could manage, "I was not napping. I was studying."
She needed to get away from him, needed time to think about what she'd just discovered.
"Studying?" he echoed, his eyes softening slightly. "Is that what we're calling daydreaming with your mouth open these days?"
Amriel's breath hitched—barely, but enough that she wanted to kick herself. You're supposed to be smarter than this, Riel. But something about Nikola had always bypassed her defenses, even now, months after they'd agreed their paths were taking them in different directions.
She opened her mouth to retort—to say something that would put some distance between them—but before she could, salvation arrived in the forms of Niamh Liandris and Mara Hess.
"Riel! There you are!"
Amriel had never been so relieved to hear her best friend's voice.
The arched doorway framed Niamh's tall, curved figure as she strode in, golden sunlight spilling behind her like she'd orchestrated the entrance herself. The silver butterfly pin securing her dark red hair—piled in what she called a "practical mess" atop her head—glinted in the early light.
Since they'd met as children splashing in the fountains of Nylos's central square, the northern born Niamh had been a brightness in Amriel's life. She moved with a bouncing energy that seemed to make even the ancient chamber feel more alive. The pale green robe she wore, thickening slightly at the waist with her most recent pregnancy, was almost a perfect match for her eyes.
A step behind Niamh followed Mara, her presence a calm counterpoint to Niamh's exuberance. Where Niamh burst into rooms, Mara glided, each movement precise and calculated. The delicate, blonde-haired Archivist acolyte was several years younger than either of the other two women, but carried herself with a maturity beyond her years. Her intellect had earned her the rare honor of direct apprenticeship to the Master Archivist despite being only twenty-one.
Like Nikola, she was dressed in the muddy brown robes of the novice Archivists, though hers were impeccably pressed and adorned with a chain that marked her as top of her class.
Niamh's sharp pale green eyes flicked between Amriel and Nikola, a knowing smirk curving her generous lips. "Morning, Nikola," she greeted smoothly, barely hiding her amusement. "Am I interrupting something?"
Nikola straightened and stepped back just enough to give Amriel room to breathe as Niamh and Mara approached to join them.
"Nothing that wouldn't benefit from an interruption," Mara observed quietly, her sharp, hazel eyes cataloging the scene. She adjusted the chain of office around her neck, a habitual gesture whenever she spoke. Despite her youth, Mara had an uncanny ability to read situations—and people.
"Good morning, Niamh. Mara." Nikola nodded politely. "No interruptions needed. I was just heading to meet Sarai to prepare for the royal festivities." He hesitated, as if about to say something more, then simply flashed that familiar smile one last time before turning toward the Grand Hall. "See you at the celebrations, perhaps."
Amriel exhaled sharply, watching him go, a complicated tangle of emotions churning in her stomach.
Damn him for still affecting me like this.
Niamh's smirk deepened as she crossed her arms. Mara's face, on the other hand, returned to its usual composure, though a hint of concern lingered in her eyes.
"You're flushed," Mara observed, not bothering to hide her disapproval. "Tell me you're not still letting him get to you."
Amriel chose to ignore that one, and instead asked, "How long were you two hiding there?"
Niamh shrugged and grinned back at her, "Not long, but 'I didn't drool?'" she echoed, her voice easily into a gentle tease. "Was that really the best you could come up with? Seriously?"
"To be fair," Mara offered softly, "Social eloquence tends to abandon most people when confronted with ex-lovers. It's a documented phenomenon." She tapped a passage in her notes. "Archivist Vellen's treatise on emotional responses suggests a thirty percent decrease in verbal acuity during unexpected encounters with former romantic partners."
Amriel groaned, dragging a hand down her face, which still felt too warm. "Don't. Just... don't."
Niamh flashed a sympathetic grin. "You're lucky we came to save you," she said, looping her arm through Amriel's. "I also happen to know exactly what helps in moments like this."
"Oh?" Amriel arched a brow at her friend. "Do tell."
"Watching grown men beat each other silly with swords and sticks," Niamh grinned, her eyes lighting up with anticipation.
Today was the engagement of the king's eldest daughter, Princess Mhegan, to the prince of the wealthy kingdom of Calavorn, Khymar's neighbor to the east. The festivities would include a tournament of arms and jousting—just the distraction Amriel needed.
"You're insufferable, you know that?" Amriel rolled her eyes and shot her a halfhearted glare, but the corners of her mouth twitched despite herself.
Besides, it wasn't like Niamh was entirely wrong. She'd been looking forward to today's celebrations for just that; a distraction. Now more than ever.
"Obviously," Niamh grinned. "It's part of my charm." But then something in her expression shifted. The teasing edge softened, replaced by genuine concern as she took a closer look at Amriel.
Her smile faded.
"Riel," Niamh said softly, squeezing Amriel's arm. "You've got that weird panicked look you get when something really bad happens."
"The same look you had when we broke into the Coven Tower as children," Mara added, her voice even and deadpan. She pushed a stray blonde lock behind her ear, a rare break in her composed demeanor. "And when your father died."
The reminder sent a pang through Amriel's chest. They'd been there for her through everything—Niamh bringing food and forcing her to eat when grief had stolen her appetite, Mara quietly organizing her father's belongings when Amriel couldn't bear to touch them. And when her mother had left without warning, they'd helped her search, then held her through the anger and abandonment that followed.
Amriel opened her mouth to brush it off, but her throat was dry. The iron ring felt unnaturally heavy against her chest, as if the prophecy's weight had transferred to it. "I'm fine," she croaked, and even she didn't believe it.
How could I even begin to explain it?
She wanted to—needed to—tell them, but how did you put into words something that shouldn't be possible?
How did she tell her best friends that she had understood a language no living person could read? That the Tome had whispered its ancient warnings to her and her alone?
Niamh studied her for a second, then let out a resigned sigh, squeezing Amriel's shoulder. "Alright, fine. Think about it and tell me later." Her bright smile returned, though concern still lingered in her eyes. "But right now, we need to get a move on. The festivities start at noon, and I am not missing the opening ceremonies."
"Indeed," Mara agreed, adjusting her chain of office. "Postponement is acceptable; avoidance is not."
Amriel nodded, grateful for the momentary reprieve. She cast one last glance at the Tome of Lygeness as they departed, its pages seemingly innocent once more. But she knew what she had read.
Whatever this meant, she would need to figure it out soon—before the silver fire rained from the heavens. Before the Door to Eternity opened…and only the gods knew what came through.