Draven:

  The afternoon light slanted through the library’s high windows, spilling golden across the wooden tables and dust-laden shelves.

  I barely noticed.

  My focus was on the pages before me—dense, ink-stained text that blurred slightly from hours of reading. The book was old, its spine worn from decades of handling, but its contents were invaluable.

  Theories on attunement. The limits of the system. The cost of power.

  I tapped a finger absently against the desk, eyes scanning a passage for the third time. The words should have made sense. They usually did. But today, my thoughts felt scattered, restless.

  I sighed, leaning back in my chair, rolling the stiffness from my shoulders.

  The library had always been my refuge. A place where I could disappear into knowledge, into logic, into things that made sense. But even here, even now, something gnawed at the edge of my thoughts.

  I wasn’t a child anymore.

  I had grown into my height, my frame lean but stronger. My face had lost its softness, my features sharper, more defined. But the most noticeable change wasn’t in the mirror—it was in the way people spoke to me now. The way they measured their words. The way they hesitated.

  Evermere hadn’t changed. But I had.

  And I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.

  The library was quieter than usual. Most scholars had already come and gone, leaving only the occasional rustle of parchment or the soft scratch of a quill. The scent of ink and aged paper hung thick in the air, grounding me in something familiar.

  I turned a page, my fingers brushing the rough texture of old vellum. The passage before me detailed the nature of attunement—how the body reacted to magic, how the system balanced itself. I had read variations of this theory before, but something about the wording here caught my attention.

  "Disruptions in the system do not always manifest as force, but as absence. The cost of imbalance is not destruction—it is erosion."

  I frowned, tapping the words lightly.

  Erosion.

  A slow wearing down. Something unraveling so gradually that, by the time anyone noticed, the damage was already done.

  I wasn’t sure why that unsettled me.

  I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. I had been here for hours, but my mind wasn’t cooperating. The afternoon light had shifted since I first sat down, creeping across the floorboards, stretching long across the walls.

  I needed a break.

  Leaning back in my chair, I rubbed my temples and glanced toward the high-arched windows. The sun had begun its descent, casting Evermere in warm, drowsy hues. From here, I could just make out the rooftops beyond the library courtyard, the distant hum of the city beyond.

  For a moment, I let myself sit there, listening to the quiet.

  Then—

  A voice broke through the stillness.

  “Still buried in books, I see.”

  I didn’t have to look up to know who it was.

  Alaric.

  I exhaled through my nose, not bothering to lift my gaze from the page. "Should I be surprised you found me here?"

  "Not in the slightest," Alaric said, dropping into the chair across from me without invitation. "Though I was hoping you'd have come to your senses and left this dusty tomb by now."

  Selene appeared a moment later, moving with less fanfare than Alaric, but no less certainty. She set a small leather-bound book on the table before claiming the seat beside me. "He's been at this for hours."

  I smirked. "You say that like it’s unusual."

  "It isn’t," she admitted, brushing dark strands of hair from her face. "But it does mean you’re overdue for a break."

  Alaric gestured at the open tome before me. "So, what is it this time? Ancient prophecies? The secret to eternal life? A detailed analysis on how to actually enjoy yourself?"

  I scoffed, flipping the page. "Theories on attunement."

  Alaric groaned. "Draven."

  Selene leaned slightly closer, scanning the text. "Anything new?"

  I hesitated, tapping a finger against the passage I had been rereading. "Nothing groundbreaking. Just another perspective on how the system balances itself—or fails to."

  Alaric sighed dramatically. "So, absolutely nothing useful to anyone except people who like making things complicated."

  I shot him a look. "You say that as if magic isn’t woven into every part of our lives."

  "Sure, sure," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "But most people don’t obsess over how it works."

  "Most people don’t ask questions," I countered.

  Selene tilted her head slightly, her expression thoughtful. "What about it is bothering you?"

  I glanced back at the book. The words sat heavy in my mind. The cost of imbalance is not destruction—it is erosion.

  I wasn’t sure how to explain it. Just that something about it didn’t sit right.

  So instead, I sighed and shook my head. "Not sure yet."

  Alaric grinned. "Which is exactly why you need to stop thinking about it before your brain melts. Come on. A change of scenery will do you good."

  Selene tapped the cover of my book. "You can obsess over it later. We’re going outside."

  I looked between them, then back at the text.

  My fingers lingered on the page for a moment longer—before I closed the book.

  We left the library behind, stepping into the warm afternoon air.

  The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the courtyard. Students and scholars moved in clusters, their conversations a soft hum beneath the occasional toll of the bell tower. The scent of parchment and old ink faded, replaced by the crisp breeze carrying hints of city life—fresh bread from the market, the distant smoke of a blacksmith’s forge.

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  Alaric stretched with exaggerated relief. “Finally. I was starting to forget what the sky looked like.”

  Selene rolled her eyes. “You were in there for all of ten minutes.”

  He grinned. “Exactly. Far too long.”

  I shook my head, adjusting my cloak as we walked. The weight of my studies still clung to me, but the fresh air helped dull the sharp edge of my thoughts.

  “So,” Alaric said, walking backward in front of us, arms folded behind his head. “Are we just taking a scenic stroll, or do we actually have a destination?”

  Selene glanced at me. “You’re the one who’s been locked up all day. Any preferences?”

  I thought for a moment. There was a small garden near the south end of the city, tucked between the old stone buildings—a quiet place, away from the usual noise. It wasn’t far.

  “The gardens,” I said.

  Selene nodded. Alaric groaned. “Really? Not the tavern? Or anywhere remotely fun?”

  I smirked. “If you wanted to go drinking, you should have invited someone else.”

  “I did,” he said. “And yet, here I am.”

  Selene ignored him and started walking. “Then you can suffer in silence.”

  Alaric sighed but followed. “You two are unbearable.”

  The city stretched around us, familiar yet distant. As we walked, I let my mind settle—not on theories or questions, but on the rhythm of the streets, the sound of boots against stone, the warmth of the fading sun.

  For now, that was enough.

  Tucked between the aged stone walls of Evermere’s southern quarter, it was a place most people overlooked. A small sanctuary of greenery, where ivy curled around iron trellises and patches of wildflowers bloomed despite the city’s chill.

  It wasn’t grand, like the gardens near the noble districts, but it had always been my favorite.

  Selene found a low stone bench near the fountain and sat, resting her arms on her knees. Alaric, naturally, stretched himself out in the grass without a care in the world.

  I remained standing for a moment, gaze drifting over the garden’s familiar edges.

  I should have felt at ease here.

  But something still lingered at the edges of my mind.

  The words from my studies clung to me like an aftertaste. The cost of imbalance is not destruction—it is erosion.

  I ran a hand through my hair and exhaled, trying to shake the thought.

  Selene tilted her head slightly, studying me. “Still thinking about whatever you read?”

  I smirked faintly, sitting beside her. “Since when do I not?”

  Alaric, flat on his back, groaned. “I’m going to have you banned from the library.”

  Selene ignored him, her attention still on me. “Something about it bothered you.”

  I hesitated.

  Not because she was wrong. But because I didn’t know how to explain it.

  Something was wrong.

  Not just the words in that book. Not just the unease in my chest.

  Something deeper.

  A pressure that I hadn’t been able to shake since I woke up this morning.

  Like something unseen had started moving beneath the surface.

  Like something was about to shift.

  I exhaled again, but the feeling didn’t leave.

  It only grew stronger.

  A breeze stirred the garden, rustling the ivy along the walls. The air smelled of damp earth and fading sunlight, the kind of crispness that signaled the turning of the season.

  I should have focused on that. On the steady, tangible world around me.

  But I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

  Selene must have noticed the shift in my expression because her gaze sharpened. “Draven.”

  I blinked and turned toward her. “What?”

  “You’re doing that thing again.”

  I frowned. “What thing?”

  “The thing where you disappear into your own head and forget the rest of us exist,” Alaric supplied lazily, arms folded behind his head. “It’s very rude, by the way.”

  I shook my head, rubbing my temples. “I just—”

  I stopped.

  The light had changed.

  The golden afternoon glow had dimmed—too suddenly, too completely. The sky above wasn’t clouded, but the sunlight no longer felt warm. The air had stilled. The garden around us seemed sharper, the edges too crisp, the colors too deep.

  My pulse thrummed against my ribs.

  Something was wrong.

  The sensation pressed against my skull like a too-loud whisper, something just beyond the threshold of understanding.

  I reached out, pressing my hand against the rough stone bench beside me, grounding myself. But the moment my fingers touched the surface—

  Everything lurched.

  The world fractured.

  The warm hues of the afternoon drained in an instant, colors leeching into a washed-out haze. The garden around me twisted—not physically, but as if the very air had warped, folding inward. My pulse hammered in my ears.

  Then, the vision took me.

  The sky above Evermere burned.

  Smoke coiled into the heavens, thick and endless, swallowing the spires of the Great Library. The streets I had walked my entire life lay in ruin, stone split and blackened with fire. I saw figures running—some I recognized, some I didn’t—fleeing from something I couldn’t see.

  But I felt it.

  A vast, hollow presence, pressing down on the city like an open wound.

  And then—

  The bell tower.

  Cracked. Tilting. Ready to collapse.

  I stood in the wreckage, frozen, unable to move as the world around me crumbled. My hands were streaked with soot. My breath came in ragged gasps.

  And above it all, beyond the fires and the ruin—

  A shadow stood at the city’s edge.

  Watching.

  Waiting.

  A voice curled through the smoke. Low. Measured.

  "You cannot stop this."

  Pain tore through my skull. A pressure, unbearable, wrong, as if something was pressing against my mind, forcing me to see.

  "You will only watch it burn."

  The vision snapped.

  I choked in a breath—only for my limbs to give out beneath me. The last thing I heard was Selene’s voice, sharp with panic, before the world faded into black.

  I woke to the scent of home.

  Faint traces of cinnamon and parchment, the familiar weight of a woolen blanket draped over me. The air was still, the dim light filtering through the window casting long shadows across my room.

  For a moment, I didn’t move. My body felt sluggish, heavy, like I was waking from something deeper than sleep. The memory of the vision clung to me—smoke curling through the streets, the bell tower cracking, the shadow standing at the edge of it all.

  I exhaled, pressing a hand to my temple. The ache behind my eyes lingered, dull but persistent.

  Slowly, I pushed myself upright. My limbs protested, but I ignored them, scanning the room. My desk was untouched, the stacks of books exactly as I had left them. A glass of water sat on the nightstand, placed there by hands that weren’t mine.

  And then I saw it.

  A note, folded neatly, resting beside the glass.

  I reached for it, unfolding the parchment with stiff fingers. The handwriting was unmistakable—Alaric’s quick, slanted script, Selene’s tidier scrawl beneath it.

  Draven—

  You were out cold, so we brought you home. No serious damage, but you scared the hell out of us. We need to talk when you’re up. Don’t disappear on us.

  —A & S

  I exhaled, rubbing a hand over my face.

  So they had seen it. Not the vision itself, but what had happened to me—whatever that looked like from the outside.

  The weight of the note sat heavy in my palm.

  We need to talk.

  I knew they’d have questions.

  The problem was, I wasn’t sure I had answers.

  I set the note down, running a hand over my face. My head still felt clouded, the echoes of the vision lingering like the last traces of a dream I couldn’t quite shake.

  Then—voices.

  Low, murmured, coming from the next room.

  I frowned, straining to listen. My parents.

  I couldn’t make out every word, but their tones carried something unusual—something weightier than their usual discussions.

  “…not the first time…” My father’s voice, quiet but firm.

  A pause. Then my mother, softer. “But it’s getting worse.”

  A faint rustle, the sound of movement. I barely breathed.

  “It’s always been there,” she continued. “Since he was a child. We just—we never understood it.”

  My pulse ticked faster.

  I leaned slightly toward the door, careful not to make a sound.

  My father sighed. “And what if we never do?”

  Silence.

  It stretched long enough that I almost thought the conversation had ended—until my mother spoke again, barely above a whisper.

  “There has to be a reason.”

  Another pause. Then my father, quieter this time. “I know.”

  A chair creaked. Footsteps shifted.

  I pulled back from the door just as their voices faded, my heart a restless drum against my ribs.

  They didn’t know the cause.

  But they had noticed.

  For as long as I could remember, my parents had treated me the same as anyone else. There were no hushed warnings, no hints of fear or wariness. But now, hearing them speak in whispers, acknowledging something they never had before—

  It unsettled me more than I wanted to admit.

  I let out a slow breath, trying to steady my thoughts.

  The note from Alaric and Selene still sat on my desk, but the words barely registered now. My parents’ hushed conversation pressed heavier against my mind, their quiet admissions unraveling things I had never questioned before.

  They had known something was different about me.

  But they had never told me.

  I exhaled and crossed the room, my fingers curling around the doorknob. The air felt thick, weighted with something I couldn’t name.

  Then, I opened the door.

  And froze.

  A man stood in my room.

  Not a scholar, not a city guard, not anyone I recognized.

  Tall, broad-shouldered, and utterly still, he regarded me with an unsettling calm. His coat was dark, nearly blending into the dimness, the sharp angles of his face half-hidden in the low light. There was no sign of how he had gotten in. No trace of movement, no sound. As if he had always been here, waiting.

  My breath stalled.

  One second.

  Two.

  Three.

  Four.

  Five.

  Then, a voice.

  Not his.

  Not my own.

  Something deeper, curling through my thoughts like a whisper I was never meant to hear.

  "Go to the Great Library. Tonight."

  A chill laced its way down my spine. The words weren’t a request.

  They were an order.

  I gripped the doorframe, pulse hammering in my throat.

  The man didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He only watched me, as if studying my reaction, waiting for something I didn’t understand.

  I had no idea who he was.

  But somehow, I knew—

  This was only the beginning.