Morning sunlight poured across the terrace of the Coven Tower, bathing the white stone with a golden glow that softened its imposing gothic architecture. From this height, the entirety of the capital city spread beneath them like an intricate tapestry—the palace with its gleaming spires, the sprawling markets, and beyond them, the distant smudge of green that marked the Vhengal Forest.
Home.
Amriel shifted uncomfortably in her seat. The delicate chair, crafted from pale wood and cushioned with silk, felt as foreign to her as everything else about her current situation. Her fingers fidgeted with the fine fabric of the gray gown Lyana had insisted she wear, so different from her practical tunics and leggings.
Across the round table, Princess Irina sat with perfect posture, her dark hair arranged in a simpler style than the previous night but still more elegant than anything Amriel could have managed herself. The princess's doe eyes kept darting toward Amriel with barely concealed curiosity.
"The warm bread is quite delicious," Princess Irina said, breaking the silence that had stretched between them. "You should try it with the honey." Her voice carried the practiced politeness of someone trained to make conversation, but beneath it, Amriel detected genuine warmth.
"Thank you," Amriel replied, reaching for the bread. The loaf was still warm, its crust crackling beneath her fingers as she tore off a piece. The honey, served in a small crystal dish, gleamed amber in the morning light.
Kortana watched their exchange with sharp, assessing eyes as she sipped from a steaming cup of tea. Unlike the princess, whose training had only just begun, the Coven Leader maintained an aura of contained power that seemed to ripple around her like heat above summer stones.
"I hope you slept well," Kortana said, setting down her cup with a deliberate motion.
Amriel swallowed her bite of honeyed bread. "The accommodations were... generous," she said carefully, not wanting to admit how unsettling it had been to sleep in such luxury after a lifetime of simple comfort.
"I hardly slept at all," Princess Irina confessed, a hint of youthful enthusiasm breaking through her courtly demeanor. "It's all so different from the palace."
Kortana's lips curved in what might have been a smile on anyone else's face. "You will adjust, Irina." Her gaze shifted to Amriel. "After breakfast, I will be taking you to meet Archivist Velren."
Amriel's heart quickened. "The Head Archivist?"
"Indeed." Kortana nodded, her silver-gray hair catching the sunlight.
Amriel's throat felt suddenly dry. She reached for her tea, the delicate porcelain cup warm against her palms.
She understood what Kortana did not want to say aloud in front of the princess. They needed access to the tome, to see if there was more to be gleaned from its weathered pages.
A gentle breeze swept across the terrace, carrying with it the scent of flowering vines that climbed the tower's exterior. Below, the city was coming fully to life—the distant sounds of market vendors setting up their stalls, the first bells of the day ringing from the temple district.
"We will depart within the hour," Kortana announced, rising from her seat in one fluid motion.
As Kortana moved toward the terrace doors, her robes flowing around her like water over stone, Amriel found her voice again. "What if he refuses?"
Kortana paused, turning back with an expression that might have been amusement on any other face. "He won't refuse me." Her confidence was absolute, brooking no argument.
The Illumination Tower pierced the sky like a spear of gray stone, its windows catching the light and reflecting it back in cool, silver flashes. Unlike the ethereal white architecture of the Coven Tower, the Illumination Tower was all angles and deliberate strength—a fortress protecting the realm's knowledge.
Kortana led their small procession, her violet robes billowing slightly in the morning breeze, silver-gray hair gleaming in the sunlight. Behind her walked three figures in identical violet robes, their faces obscured by deep hoods—anonymous acolytes to any casual observer.
Beneath her hood, Amriel's skin prickled with nervous energy. She kept her head slightly bowed as Kortana had instructed, trying to mimic the practiced grace of actual acolytes.
"Remember," Kortana had told her when they stood alone after breakfast, "you are a shadow today—present but unremarkable. The fewer people who connect you to what happens at the Archives, the safer you will be."
Beside Amriel, Princess Irina moved with the natural poise of someone born to royalty, even hidden beneath humble robes. On her other side, Lyana moved quietly.
"We will be admitted directly to Archivist Velren's study," Kortana continued as they approached the tower's main entrance. "The fewer eyes on us, the better."
They passed under the great stone archway of the Illumination Tower, its surface etched with the sigils of knowledge and preservation. Scholars and students moved through the vaulted entrance hall, many too absorbed in their own thoughts to pay attention to yet another group of witches.
As they turned down a less populated corridor, Amriel noticed a man standing near one of the alcoves, partially hidden by a stone column. Something about his posture caught her attention—too still, too watchful, his eyes tracking their movement with unusual intensity. Unlike the scholars in their blue robes or the students in their gray tunics, he wore nondescript brown clothing that seemed deliberately chosen to avoid notice.
A chill crept up her spine. She slowed her pace slightly, trying to get a better look without being obvious.
The man turned away as they passed, his face momentarily visible in the shadows—angular features, sunken cheeks and eyes that seemed almost fever-bright. Something about him struck her as familiar, though she couldn't place where she might have seen him before.
Amriel hesitated, nearly breaking formation.
"Keep moving," Lyana whispered sharply beside her.
Amriel forced her feet forward, though she couldn't resist glancing back over her shoulder. The man had vanished.
You're being ridiculous, she chided herself. Your nerves are making you see threats where there are none.
Still, the uneasy feeling lingered as they ascended a sweeping staircase to the Archives' upper levels. The steps were worn smooth from centuries of use, slight depressions marking where countless feet had tread before them.
As they reached the third floor landing, a woman approached from the opposite direction—a noble, judging by her richly embroidered blue gown and the silver chain of office draped across her shoulders. Her graying hair was arranged in an elaborate crown of braids, and jewels glittered at her throat and fingers.
"Coven Leader Kortana," the woman called, her voice carrying the refined accent of Khymarh's eastern provinces. "What a fortuitous encounter!"
Kortana paused, her posture revealing the barest hint of tension. "Lady Mavrene," she acknowledged with a slight nod. "I did not expect to find you at the Archives this morning."
"One must stay abreast of new discoveries, especially in these uncertain times," Lady Mavrene replied, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. She glanced at the three hooded figures with barely disguised curiosity. "I had hoped to speak with you about my niece's application to the Coven. Perhaps we might discuss it now?"
Amriel could sense Kortana's resistance, though the Coven Leader's face remained impassive. "I'm afraid I have an appointment with the Head Archivist that cannot be delayed."
"It would take but a moment of your time," Lady Mavrene insisted, stepping closer. "The girl shows exceptional promise, much like her mother before her."
As Kortana reluctantly engaged with the noblewoman, Amriel became aware of movement at the far end of the corridor—a figure in brown, moving quickly toward them. The same man she'd noticed below. This time, there was no mistaking the purpose in his stride.
Her heart lurched.
"Kortana—" she began, breaking protocol in her alarm.
But before she could finish, the man broke into a run, his hands raised before him. Blue light crackled between his fingers, growing in intensity with each step. His face contorted in a grimace of determination as he shouted words in a language Amriel didn't recognize—harsh, guttural sounds that seemed to tear at the air itself.
Time seemed to slow.
Lyana was already moving, shoving Princess Irina toward the wall, her hands glowing with defensive magic. Lady Mavrene screamed, stumbling backward. Kortana whirled, Power already gathering around her like a storm cloud.
Amriel's body reacted before her mind could process what was happening. She lunged toward Princess Irina, acting on pure instinct to protect the royal daughter. Their bodies collided as she pushed the princess behind a stone column.
The man's voice rose to a crescendo, the blue light expanding around him until he seemed encased in crackling energy. His eyes met Amriel's for a single, terrible moment—and there was no madness there, only cold, calculated purpose.
The world erupted in searing blue light.
The blast hit Amriel like a physical wall, throwing her backward. Heat scorched her lungs as she tried to breathe, the air itself seeming to ignite around her. Her body slammed against stone, pain blossoming across her back and skull.
Through the roaring in her ears, she heard screaming—distant, as if from underwater. Her vision blurred, shadows encroaching from all sides. The violet robe she wore was burning, the fabric melting away in patches of searing agony.
She tried to move, to call out, but her limbs wouldn't respond. Something warm and wet trickled down her face. Blood, she realized distantly.
A few feet away lay Princess Irina, her hood thrown back to reveal her face, now deathly pale. Their eyes met across the rubble-strewn floor. The princess's lips moved, forming words Amriel couldn't hear. Then the light faded from Irina's eyes, leaving them empty and staring.
No...
Amriel tried to reach for her, but darkness was pulling her down, an inexorable tide she couldn't fight. The pain was receding now, replaced by a spreading numbness that was somehow worse.
The last thing she saw was Kortana's face appearing above her, the Coven Leader's usual composure shattered by grief and rage. Her lips formed Amriel's name, though no sound reached through the encroaching darkness.
Then the world faded entirely, all light and sound and sensation slipping away into nothingness.
Falling.
Falling through endless black.
And then...
A voice, calling from very far away.
"The time comes, daughter of Nythia."
Light began to return—not the harsh blue of the explosion, but something softer, silver-white, like moonlight on still water. It gathered around her, through her, filling the void.
"Return."
The darkness receded.
And Amriel began the long journey back.