The old library was a skeleton of its former self. Its once-majestic arches stood cracked and weathered, ivy creeping along the walls like veins in ancient stone. Shelves that once held the wisdom of countless generations now sagged under the weight of dust and time. Yet, the air inside was charged, faintly alive, as though the knowledge left behind had fused with the magic flowing through Mornvale.
Amara stirred the fire they had lit in the center of the crumbled hall, her face flickering between shadow and light. Finnick leaned against the remnants of a column, idly whittling a piece of wood with his knife—a nervous habit he hadn't shaken since they were children.
Caelum sat near the edge of the room, the vial cradled in his hands. It had grown dimmer since their journey began, its pulse faint, but still alive. He tried not to stare at it too long, afraid of the pull it seemed to have on him, afraid of what he might see if he looked too closely.
"You know," Finnick said, breaking the silence, "I've got to say, this isn't exactly how I imagined my life turning out."
Amara arched an eyebrow. "Oh? And what did you imagine? Let me guess—some cushy life in the merchant district? Selling trinkets and counting coins?"
Finnick grinned, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Something like that. Maybe not cushy, but definitely less… cursed fog, ancient magic, and world-ending stakes."
Amara snorted. "Well, congratulations. You've got front-row seats to the apocalypse instead."
Caelum's lips twitched into a faint smile despite himself. He didn't say anything, but he appreciated their banter. It kept the suffocating weight of their mission at bay, if only for a moment.
But the reprieve didn't last. As the fire crackled and the shadows danced along the walls, a low sound stirred in the distance—a faint hum, almost imperceptible.
Amara stiffened, her hand instinctively going to the hilt of her sword. "Did you hear that?"
Finnick's knife froze mid-whittle. "Hear what?"
The hum grew louder, resonating through the air like a low, mournful song. It wasn't coming from outside. It was inside, emanating from deep within the library itself.
"It's the magic," Caelum said quietly, rising to his feet. "This place is alive."
Amara shot him a sharp look. "Alive how, exactly? Because I've had just about enough of mysterious forces trying to kill us."
Caelum didn't answer. Instead, he moved toward the source of the sound, his steps slow and deliberate. The others followed, their weapons drawn, their breaths held.
The hum led them to a crumbled archway at the far end of the library. Beyond it lay a smaller chamber, its ceiling partially caved in, moonlight streaming through the gaps. At the center of the room stood a pedestal, much like the one in the tower. But this one was different.
It was cracked, its surface worn smooth by time, and atop it lay a book bound in deep blue leather, its edges glowing faintly with the same light as the vial in Caelum's hand.
"Is that…?" Finnick began, but Amara cut him off with a raised hand.
"Wait." She stepped forward cautiously, her eyes scanning the room. "It could be a trap."
Caelum hesitated, but something about the book called to him, much like the shard had in the tower. The hum grew louder as he approached, a resonance that seemed to vibrate in his very bones.
"It's not a trap," he said, his voice steady. "It's a message."
Amara frowned. "A message from who?"
Caelum didn't answer. He reached out and touched the book, his fingers brushing against the cool leather. The moment he did, the hum stopped, replaced by a sharp, crystalline clarity.
The book opened on its own, its pages flipping rapidly before settling on a single passage. The words glowed faintly, written in a script Caelum didn't recognize but somehow understood.
"To walk the path of the Veil is to carry its burden. To wield its light is to face its shadow. Beware the cost, for even the brightest flame casts the darkest shadow."
Finnick peered over his shoulder. "What does that mean?"
"It means," Amara said grimly, "that this isn't just about saving Cindrelle. The Veil doesn't give its power freely. It demands something in return."
Caelum felt a chill run down his spine. He closed the book, the glow fading as the chamber fell silent once more.
"We need to keep moving," he said, tucking the book under his arm. "There's more to this than we realize. The shards, the Veil… they're just pieces of something bigger. And if we're going to stop whatever's coming, we need to understand what we're dealing with."
Amara nodded, though her expression remained tense. "Agreed. But we need to be careful. Whatever this 'cost' is, it's not going to be small."
Finnick sighed, slipping his knife back into its sheath. "Fantastic. More riddles and doom. Just what I signed up for."
Despite his sarcasm, he followed without complaint as they left the chamber and returned to their camp.
That night, as the others slept, Caelum sat by the fire, the book resting in his lap. He stared at its cover, his mind racing.
The Veil was testing him, pushing him further than he thought possible. And the more he uncovered, the more he realized how high the stakes truly were.
But no matter the cost, he couldn't turn back now.
The shards were out there, waiting to be found. And with each one, the truth of the Veil would come closer to light.
Even if that truth meant sacrificing everything.