Rowan's feet felt like they were rooted to the ground. Lyra stood at the end of the hallway, half-draped in shadow, her silver eyes locked onto his. She wasn't just watching - she was waiting.
Avery tensed beside him. "We shouldn't be talking to her."
Rowan ignored him. He was done letting other people decide what he should know. Without another word, he stepped forward, closing the distance between them.
Lyra didn't move. She stood perfectly still, as if she had expected this exact moment.
"You were there," Rowan said quietly. "Weren't you?"
Lyra tilted her head slightly. "In the chamber?" she mused. "No. But I felt it."
Rowan's fingers curled. "Then you know what happened."
Her lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "I know what almost happened." She flicked her gaze toward Avery. "You stopped him from taking the book?"
Avery crossed his arms. "Obviously."
Lyra sighed, her silver eyes glinting under the candlelight. "Then he's running out of time."
Rowan's pulse quickened. "What does that mean?"
Lyra studied him for a long moment before saying, "Walk with me."
Avery scowled. "No way—"
Rowan didn't hesitate. He followed Lyra as she turned and disappeared around the corner, her black cloak swirling behind her. Avery cursed under his breath but hurried after them.
They wound through the darkened corridors of Blackthorn Academy until they reached the east tower, a section Rowan had never been to before. The air here felt thicker, charged with something old and powerful.
Lyra finally stopped before a tall, iron door covered in ancient symbols. With a wave of her hand, the runes flickered and dimmed, allowing the door to swing open silently.
Inside was a small, circular room. The walls were lined with books, older than anything Rowan had seen in the academy's library. In the center stood a single pedestal, but instead of a book, it held a glass sphere filled with swirling silver mist.
Lyra turned to face him. "The Thirteenth House wasn't just erased from history," she said. "It was erased from memory."
Rowan frowned. "What do you mean?"
She gestured toward the sphere. "This is a fragment of what was lost. It holds echoes - whispers of the past."
Rowan took a slow step forward, his heart pounding. He could feel the magic radiating from the sphere, pulling at something inside him.
Lyra's voice softened. "If you want the truth, Rowan… you have to remember it yourself."
Avery shifted uneasily. "This is a bad idea."
Rowan barely heard him. The silver mist within the sphere swirled faster, responding to his presence.
This was it.
The answers he had been searching for.
Rowan reached out—and touched the glass.
The moment Rowan's fingers brushed the glass, a cold shock ran through his body. The room around him fractured, breaking apart like shattered glass, and suddenly—
He was somewhere else.
A city burned beneath a sky choked with ash. Shadows moved through the streets—figures in dark cloaks, their eyes burning like embers. At the center of it all stood a throne, its golden frame cracked, its seat empty.
And in front of it, someone knelt.
Rowan felt his own breath catch. The figure was a boy—not much older than him—with wild black hair and glowing blue runes carved into his arms. He looked up, and Rowan's heart stopped.
Because the boy's face was his own.
"What—?" Rowan staggered back, but he had no body here, no form. He was simply watching—trapped inside this vision.
"Do you accept the burden?" a deep, hollow voice echoed through the burning city.
The other Rowan—the one in the vision—lifted his head. His eyes blazed, brighter than the fire consuming the city.
"I do."
A pulse of raw magic erupted from his body. Blue flames spiraled into the sky, twisting and coiling like living things. The air cracked with power, and the shadows watching from the darkness bowed.
Then—
Pain.
The vision ripped apart, and Rowan was slammed back into his body. He collapsed onto the cold stone floor, gasping for air.
The sphere was gone. No—shattered. Silver mist hissed as it dissipated into nothing.
Lyra stood over him, her silver eyes burning. "You saw it." It wasn't a question.
Rowan pressed a shaking hand to his head. "That wasn't a memory." His voice came out hoarse. "That was—"
"A truth that was erased," Lyra finished.
Avery cursed under his breath. "This is bad. Really bad."
Rowan struggled to his feet, his body still trembling. "That boy—" He swallowed. "That was me."
"No," Lyra said softly. "That was the last one."
Rowan's breath caught.
"The last person chosen by the Thirteenth House."
Lyra's expression darkened. "The one who lost.
Rowan's pulse thundered in his ears. The last one? The last person chosen by the Thirteenth House?
Lost.
The word clung to his skin like ice.
"That doesn't make sense," he said, shaking his head. "There is no last one. There is no Thirteenth House. It was—"
"Erased," Lyra finished. "Yes. But not completely."
Avery took a step forward, his expression tight. "This is insane. Even if that was real, even if Rowan just saw something from the past, why would anyone erase an entire House from history?"
Lyra's silver eyes flickered. "Because they were afraid of what we could do."
We.
Rowan went still. "You're part of the Thirteenth House."
She nodded once. "And so are you."
The words settled heavily between them.
Rowan clenched his fists, his mind racing. If what she was saying was true, then everything—his acceptance to Blackthorn, the strange way magic reacted to him, the whispers behind his back—wasn't a mistake. It was a warning.
Someone had tried to bury the Thirteenth House. And now, it was waking up again.
Avery exhaled sharply. "Okay. Let's say I believe this—just for a second. You're telling me a whole House of magic users was wiped out, their history erased, and nobody remembers?"
"Not nobody." Lyra turned to the bookshelves, tracing her fingers across their spines. "Some of us still do. The ones who are meant to remember."
She pulled out an old, leather-bound book and opened it. The pages were yellowed with age, but Rowan could see names scrawled across them in careful ink. Names that had been crossed out.
A shiver ran down his spine. "What is this?"
Lyra's voice was quiet. "A record of every student who was ever chosen for the Thirteenth House."
Rowan scanned the list. Dozens of names—no, hundreds—all of them struck through. Their fates unknown.
His stomach twisted. "What happened to them?"
Lyra met his gaze. "They disappeared."
Avery swore under his breath. "This just keeps getting worse."
Rowan barely heard him. His eyes drifted to the bottom of the page—where a new name had been added in fresh ink.
His own.
Rowan Vale.
His breath caught.
Lyra closed the book with a soft thud. "Whoever erased us isn't finished," she said. "They'll come for you too."
Rowan swallowed hard. He wasn't sure what terrified him more—the idea that the Thirteenth House had been hunted down…
Or the fact that he was next.
A chill ran through Rowan's veins as he stared at his name in the book. The ink looked fresh. As if someone had known he would end up here.
"How did my name get here?" His voice was barely above a whisper.
Lyra hesitated. "It writes itself."
Rowan's stomach dropped. "What?"
"The book," she said, running her fingers over the cover. "It's enchanted. It only records the names of those chosen by the Thirteenth House. The ones who…" She trailed off, her silver eyes darkening.
"The ones who disappear," Avery muttered.
A heavy silence filled the hidden room. The candlelight flickered, shadows stretching along the stone walls like watching eyes.
Rowan exhaled slowly, trying to steady his thoughts. "If this House was erased, why are we still here?"
Lyra looked at him, her gaze sharp. "Because someone failed."
Rowan blinked.
"They tried to erase us, but something went wrong," she continued. "Somehow, the magic of the Thirteenth House survived. And now, after all these years, it's found you."
Rowan's skin prickled. He thought of the blue fire that had erupted from him during the duel, the way the professors had looked at him in horror. As if they'd seen a ghost.
"They knew," he realized aloud. "The professors. They knew what I was."
Lyra nodded. "And if they know, that means they're coming."
Avery tensed. "Who's coming?"
"The ones who hunt us."
A chill slithered down Rowan's spine. "Who?"
Lyra's silver eyes gleamed in the dim light. "The Order of Twelve."
Rowan frowned. "What's the Order of Twelve?"
"The reason the Thirteenth House was erased."
The candles flickered violently, as if reacting to her words.
Avery let out a slow breath. "Okay. And what exactly do they do?"
Lyra's jaw tightened. "They keep the balance. They believe magic must stay within the Twelve Houses—no more, no less. The Thirteenth House was… an anomaly. A mistake."
Rowan's throat felt dry. "A mistake?"
Lyra nodded. "They wiped us out to protect the others."
Rowan's heart pounded. "And now that I'm here?"
Lyra didn't blink. "They'll do it again."
A sharp knock echoed from above.
The three of them froze.
Then—a voice. Deep, calm, and far too certain.
"Rowan Vale. Come with us."
The hunters had arrived.