Her fingers hovered over the spines of the ancient tomes, their dark leather bindings exuding an aura of foreboding. She hesitated for a moment before pulling one free, its weight grounding her as she opened it to the first brittle pages. The text was dense, filled with descriptions of beings from realms she could scarcely imagine.
The words painted vivid pictures of chaos and power, of creatures that thrived in shadows and wielded forces beyond comprehension. She felt a chill as she read, the knowledge both fascinating and deeply unsettling. Each passage seemed to carry a warning, as though the book itself was aware of the danger it held.
Despite the unease curling in her chest, she couldn't stop herself from turning the pages. There was something here—something she couldn't quite name—that felt important. It wasn't admiration or awe, but a strange pull, as if these words were meant to find her, even if she didn't yet understand why.
After looking at the books, she picked one heavier than the rest. Its cracked cover bore the title The Shadowed Realms: A Study of Dormant Darkness. As she turned the first few brittle pages, a faint creak echoed from beyond the library walls.
Her breath hitched. The sound grew louder—slow, deliberate, like heavy footsteps in the corridor. Instinctively, she shut the book and placed it back. Her pulse quickened, and without hesitation, she slipped out of the library and hurried down the dim hall.
Reaching her room, she closed the door quietly and pressed her back against it, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Silence hung in the air, heavy and unbroken. For now, she was safe.
A short while ago... on Azareon's POV
From the quiet of his chambers, Azareon's sharp senses detected a faint noise—the creak of hinges, barely audible but unmistakable in the stillness of the castle. He rose silently, his piercing gaze directed toward the darkened halls as he stepped out into the corridor.
His footsteps carried him with purpose, each stride deliberate and steady as he followed the sound. The flickering torches cast shifting shadows along the stone walls, their glow outlining his commanding presence. It wasn't long before a sudden movement caught his attention—a figure darting through the hall with hurried steps.
The fleeting glimpse revealed flowing hair of dark black, reflecting the faint torchlight in fleeting waves. His brow furrowed as recognition struck: it was Lilith. The sight of her rushing from the library at such an hour stirred a mix of confusion and unease. What could she be doing there? he wondered, his expression darkening with suspicion.
Continuing toward the library, he entered the grand room, his eyes sweeping across the shelves. Nothing appeared disturbed at first glance, but his instincts led him to the section of dark magic, its aura subtly oppressive even to him. There, one book rested slightly askew: The Shadowed Realms: A Study of Dormant Darkness.
Azareon carefully picked up the book, his fingers tracing its worn cover. The thought of Lilith interacting with such a text lingered in his mind. He placed the book back, his gaze hardening as he considered her intentions. The princess was no stranger to curiosity, but this felt different— Many questions come to the king's mind. He had to discover what this girl wanted with this part of de library.
Coming back to Lilith
Lilith slipped into bed, resting her head on the pillow. The voice and the book lingered in her mind, faint echoes of the strange pull that had unsettled her earlier. Her curiosity tugged at her thoughts, but the weight of exhaustion was too strong to resist. Sleep swept over her quickly, quieting the whirlwind of the night.
For now, the mysteries of the library would remain unanswered. Lilith's heavy eyelids closed as she surrendered to the pull of sleep.
Lilith found herself standing in an endless expanse of white light, the ground beneath her shimmering like polished marble. The silence was deafening, yet it carried an unspoken weight, as though the world itself was holding its breath.
A faint whisper broke through the stillness—a voice, distant and soft, calling her name. She turned instinctively, and the light began to dim. Shadows crept in from the edges of the space, weaving together until they formed a towering mirror before her. Its surface was smooth and dark, like a pool of still water, and as she stared, her reflection slowly emerged.
At first, it was her—unmistakably. But then, the image began to shift. Her eyes darkened, the golden warmth replaced by an inky blackness that seemed to absorb the light around it. Her hair transformed, flowing like liquid ink streaked with white at the tips, a luminous contrast that danced like silver fire.
Dark, intricate marks began to bloom across her skin, spreading like ink in water. They mirrored the symbols she had seen etched into the books in the library, ancient and otherworldly. The marks spiraled down her arms, coiling around her wrists like living bracelets, and stretched across her collarbone, glowing faintly as if alive with energy.
Then, the horns appeared. Rising gracefully from her temples, they curved back with an almost regal elegance, their surface smooth yet faintly ridged. They glowed faintly, not menacing but commanding—a balance of beauty and power.
Her reflection stepped closer within the mirror, its movements fluid and deliberate. The voice echoed again, stronger this time: "Do you see now? This is who you are. Both light and shadow. Both creation and destruction."
The words reverberated through her, shaking the very ground beneath her feet. She wanted to deny them, to refute the image before her, but something held her back. A flicker of light radiated from her chest—a golden glow that pushed back against the encroaching darkness.
The two forces clashed—the glow from within her battling the shadows around her reflection. The mirror rippled violently, and the world seemed to shatter like glass, pulling her into weightless chaos.
Lilith jolted awake, her chest heaving. The room was silent, the faint glow of moonlight spilling in through the window, but her heart raced as if she had been running. She brought a trembling hand to her forehead, her mind racing. The dream had been too vivid, too real to dismiss as fleeting imagination.