Winter had laid its mantle over the island of Agnos.

  Every morning, the rooftops of the buildings gleamed with a white sheen beneath the pale light of the twin moons, and the gardens—once full of life—slept beneath motionless snow.

  The wind off the open sea carried a salty bite that cut through even the thickest coats, and the stained-glass windows in the corridors trembled at the slightest draft.

  Since the end of the season’s second month, marked by the end-of-year evaluations, the Academy had slowly emptied.

  Many students had returned to the mainland to see their families, prepare for the year-end festival, and escape—if only for a few days—the severity of the cold.

  The dormitories had remained open for those who could not go home, or who simply did not wish to leave.

  In this almost religious calm, the Great Library kept its slow breath. Snow piled up along the window ledges, muffling sound even more.

  Inside, engraved lamps cast an orange glow that gave the impression of constant warmth, while the aisles smelled of wax and old paper.

  Settled on the first floor, two silhouettes were still seated at a table at this late hour.

  Nahira was leafing through a thick treatise on magical engravings, elbow propped on the table, while Sylaria, quill in hand, slowly traced the lines of an engraving diagram.

  — You see, the engraved line must never be broken in its continuity. It has to flow like a river, Nahira said in a gentle voice.

  Sylaria nodded and resumed her tracing.

  Her line was fine and precise, but her hand was beginning to tremble slightly with fatigue.

  Suddenly, the tip of her quill slipped from the tension built up in her arm, ruining the circle she was drawing.

  — I messed up again, the princess murmured with a sigh.

  Nahira offered a calm smile.

  — It’s fine. You’re improving. You’re getting farther with every drawing.

  Sylaria set the quill down and stretched her stiff fingers.

  A soft silence wrapped around them again.

  Only the wind, making the windows shiver, reminded them that the night was advancing.

  Down below, the lamps on the ground floor spread an amber clarity over the rows of books at the back of the room.

  Sylaria lifted her eyes and looked around.

  — It’s strange, I like this place better in winter. It feels like it’s sleeping with us, she said under her breath.

  — It’s a waking sleep. Libraries never forget. Even when no one reads them, the words keep breathing between the pages, Nahira replied.

  The young princess let a dreamy smile appear.

  She loved these evenings of study, where Nahira’s rigor paired with an almost maternal softness. There was no professor and no obligation—only the pleasure of understanding.

  Their voices were lost for a moment in the quiet of the place.

  Outside, the snow returned, finer still, sliding in light swirls along the windows.

  Time passed.

  Nahira watched the young princess close her notebook, then carefully put away her quill and inkwell in a small case.

  — We could stop here for tonight, she suggested.

  — Yes, I wouldn’t mind, Sylaria replied, stifling a yawn.

  — You’ll do it much better tomorrow. Rest is part of learning.

  She extinguished the table lamps.

  The glow from the ground floor reflected on their faces then, drawing a pale halo around their hair.

  They stood and began to put the manuals away, taking care to return each book to the right shelf.

  At this hour, the air had a particular quality—cooler, denser.

  Sylaria shivered and pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders.

  — It feels like everything fell asleep at the same time, she murmured.

  — That’s what I like here. The world fades a little when everything becomes silent, Nahira replied.

  They walked toward the circular staircase.

  Their footsteps echoed faintly on the stone steps, paced by the rustle of their coats.

  Around them, the library seemed immense, almost endless, while the snow stuck to the windows let a silvery light filter through and mingle with the lamps’ glow.

  They reached the bottom of the stairs.

  Below, the main hall stretched like a nave.

  The darkened aisles formed a peaceful maze where dust drifted in the beams of light.

  Nahira cast one last glance upward.

  The balcony they had come from was bathed in an orange clarity, and beyond it the windows revealed the steady fall of snowflakes.

  She felt the day’s fatigue settle on her shoulders.

  — Let’s go. It’s really late.

  A discreet sound rang out nearby.

  It wasn’t a footstep, nor the rustle of a turning page. It was more like a metallic clicking—thin, regular—like a lock being handled with care.

  Sylaria lifted her head, ears straining.

  — Did you hear that?

  — Yes, Nahira murmured. It came from the direction of Nalinaya’s office.

  They stood still for a moment.

  The entire library seemed to hold its breath.

  Then, very slowly, the office door creaked open.

  A nearly imperceptible groan followed, then a soft click when the handle returned to its place.

  The door remained ajar for a brief instant before closing by itself, as if pushed from within.

  Sylaria placed a hand on Nahira’s arm.

  — Did you see that?

  — Yes. The door just opened on its own—and there’s no one.

  A heavy silence fell between them. Nothing else moved.

  The engraved lamps cast their peaceful light, snow still fell outside, and yet they knew what they had just seen wasn’t an illusion.

  Nahira drew a slow breath.

  — Come. Let’s check, she said simply.

  They moved forward toward the office with soft steps, senses alert. Their evening study was over—but the night had only just begun.

  _________________________

  A few minutes earlier, Nalinaya had risen from her desk. She had carefully closed a brown leather notebook, slipping a worn quill between its pages before setting it atop a stack of documents waiting to be handled.

  Her tired features betrayed the long hours spent writing and sorting the month’s files.

  With a habitual motion, she closed the door and slid the key into the lock. A brief click sounded in the corridor.

  She then went to the professors’ lounge just across the hall, where a few engraved lamps cast an amber glow. The door closed behind her.

  Silence fell at once.

  Not far from there, a shadow held its breath.

  It was Linariel, a first-year elf on a secret mission.

  Each of her steps weighed less than a whisper, and her presence was concealed by a cloak bearing a magical engraving that absorbed light, warped its outline, and blurred her silhouette until she was invisible. The fabric vibrated faintly against her skin, like a living membrane.

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  She had prepared for weeks for this night.

  Waiting for the Divinity Ogme to leave the island—and for Nalinaya to be away from her office long enough, deep into the night.

  Everything had aligned.

  She waited a few more seconds before moving.

  Crouched in the shadow of an alcove, she watched the light filtering beneath the professors’ lounge door.

  As soon as it moved away, she approached Nalinaya’s office with muffled steps.

  The lock was old, but precise—true craftsmanship. She drew from her sleeve a small pick and a tension tool. Her motions were meticulously fluid. She slid the pick into the keyway, tilted her head slightly, and closed her eyes. Every tiny click, every vibration of metal rang in her mind. She could feel the pins, the heart of the mechanism, the minute distortions in the metal. Her fingers moved with precision.

  — Come on, she murmured without a sound.

  A faint click answered.

  The lock gave.

  She put her tools away at once and turned the handle.

  The door opened with a soft breath, and the young elf slipped inside, heart pounding, before closing it behind her and deactivating her invisibility.

  The weight of the silence nearly crushed her.

  Nalinaya’s office stretched before her, ordered with an erudite strictness. Stacks of parchment, trimmed quills, perfectly aligned ink vials, and maps pinned to the walls showing the world’s various nations.

  On a side cabinet, selenite stones diffused a gentle light that stabilized the ambient flow.

  Linariel let her gaze sweep the room.

  She already knew the place from visiting as a student—but never like this.

  Her breath barely fogged, and she could feel the stone’s cold through her boots.

  She searched the main desk’s drawers first, looking for reports or official correspondence.

  Nothing unusual.

  Class lists, research summaries, administrative notes. Then her eyes fell on a notebook set apart—older, bound in brown leather and girded with a silver ribbon.

  A personal item.

  She reached out, hesitated for a second, then took it.

  The leather was warm to the touch, as if it had been kept close to a body. A silver strap wrapped the edge, tied in a simple knot.

  It was an intimate object.

  A diary.

  She opened it to the first page.

  Nalinaya’s handwriting—recognizable at once—ran smoothly, without the usual rigor of administrative registers.

  Simple words, heavy with emotion.

  I miss him.

  His laughter, his light.

  She carried within her a breath no one else possessed.

  Linariel turned the page, fingers trembling.

  Each sentence seemed to beat with a living rhythm.

  He’s the one who found me, who saved me.

  He took care of me without a word and healed me.

  Then he carried me and brought me to Her—to the Divinity Akeso.

  She is the one who gave me back my breath.

  He is the one who gave me back my heart.

  Linariel felt a tightness in her chest.

  She knew Akeso, the Divinity of Life. That was the reason for her mission. To find what the Divinity Ogme and his Guardian were hiding about her disappearance. They had to know something.

  The next pages bore calmer handwriting.

  I lived in Agnos to heal.

  At first, he would come to make sure I ate, that I walked, that I slept.

  I was only a broken stranger, and yet he looked at me as if I still had value.

  I ended up loving him.

  Not a love you demand, but a love you hide so it doesn’t collapse.

  He gave me peace, and I gave him my loyalty.

  She kept turning pages quickly.

  The rest told of her life at Agnos—how she had become a professor, then vice-headmistress, and Guardian of the Divinity Ogme with the help of the Divinity of Life.

  It also described the evolution of her relationship with Tristian, and how, despite all her efforts, something in her kept her from going beyond a certain point.

  At last, she reached a section where the writing changed—where the lines trembled more, as if Nalinaya had written in shock.

  I just learned the news today.

  They had a child.

  A child they hid from me.

  A child Ogme hid from me.

  That’s why he disappears from the island every year since Akeso’s disappearance—because of him.

  Linariel was about to keep reading when a sound made her flinch.

  A distant, familiar voice carried through the door.

  — Yes. The door just opened on its own. Come on, let’s check.

  Panic surged at once.

  Linariel shoved the notebook back onto the desk, but the silver ribbon caught on her sleeve and stuck between two pages.

  She tugged—uselessly.

  The ribbon snapped and fell onto the carpet.

  Footsteps were drawing closer.

  She activated her deflection engraving at once and backed slowly into the corner of the room.

  The air grew denser, colder.

  The handle lowered, and a draft slipped in.

  Linariel felt her legs shake.

  If anyone perceived the room’s ether flow precisely now, she would be discovered.

  She closed her eyes and controlled her breathing.

  The door opened slowly.

  Two silhouettes stepped inside, wrapped in the corridor’s golden light.

  Sylaria, wearing her pale cloak, and Nahira—upright, focused—dagger in hand.

  Linariel held her breath.

  The slightest sound would betray her, and she could feel her heartbeat echoing in the air.

  Nahira took a step inside.

  The muffled sound of her boots on the carpet seemed to swallow the rest of the world.

  Sylaria entered in turn, gently closing the door behind her.

  They knew.

  They had seen it.

  The lock had unlocked on its own, the door had swung slowly, and a cold breath had slid into the corridor before it closed again without a sound.

  No one was visible. And yet, someone was there.

  — He or she is still here, Nahira murmured.

  Sylaria nodded.

  Her gaze swept the room with meticulous care.

  Nothing seemed out of place.

  — We can’t see them, but they can see us, Nahira said quietly.

  She slowly circled the desk, curved dagger in hand, ready to defend herself. Every movement was measured, every breath controlled. She knew that at any moment the intruder could strike from anywhere.

  The room was orderly—meticulous.

  Quills aligned, ink vials perfectly straight, documents carefully stacked.

  Nothing looked disturbed, but the atmosphere betrayed a ripple of trouble.

  The ether flow was no longer perfectly stable, because someone was using a magical object here—one that consumed a great deal of ether.

  Nahira stopped near the main desk and spoke in a clear voice without raising it.

  — We saw you come in. No need to hide.

  Silence answered her.

  No breath, no rustle.

  Only the snow outside tapped softly at the windows in a steady rhythm.

  Sylaria stayed near the door, tense.

  Her fingers clenched the fabric of her cloak. She felt watched, and every shadow, every reflection on the floor seemed suspect.

  Then a faint current of air brushed her cheek.

  She spun around, heart pounding.

  — It just passed behind me, she whispered.

  Nahira turned slowly toward her. Her eyes stayed calm, but everything in her breathed concentration.

  — Don’t move.

  A brush—nearly inaudible—ran through the curtain to the right of the desk.

  Then a stronger breath headed toward the door.

  Nahira understood at once.

  — It’s running.

  The handle moved by itself, with calculated slowness.

  The door opened onto a thin blade of golden light. Then it closed softly, in perfect silence.

  The two young women stood still for a moment.

  Silence fell again, almost heavy.

  — It’s gone, Sylaria breathed.

  Nahira watched the door, pensive.

  — Yes. And it had a great deal of composure and skill to pick a lock of that quality.

  Sylaria nodded.

  — Do you think it was a thief, or an assassin?

  — A thief, I’d say. An assassin wouldn’t have been caught so easily. It might even be a student—but for what purpose.

  She went to the desk and placed her hand on a brown leather notebook set aside.

  A detail caught her at once.

  A silver ribbon lay on the floor, snapped clean, half hidden beneath the desk.

  — That’s what it touched, she murmured.

  She bent to pick up the ribbon.

  The thin metal was still warm, as if it had kept the heat of a hand.

  She turned it between her fingers.

  — It didn’t slip by accident.

  Sylaria stepped closer.

  — That belongs to Vice-Headmistress Nalinaya, doesn’t it?

  — Yes. A personal notebook. Not a work document.

  Nahira set the ribbon on the desk, hesitated, then gently opened the notebook.

  The air around her seemed to vibrate with a soft energy—almost alive.

  She slowly turned pages until she found where the ribbon had torn.

  The words leapt out, written in a nervous hand, almost trembling.

  He is at the Academy now.

  I saw him.

  His hair, raven’s wings, like his father’s, and as bright as his mother’s.

  In his gaze he carries the same gleam as the Divinity of Life.

  The most terrifying part is that he has exactly the same face and the same voice as his father.

  He knows nothing, and I will say nothing.

  But every time I cross his path, I hear and see Tristian again through him.

  Nahira’s breath caught.

  She froze, unable to tear her eyes away from the lines.

  The words rang through her body—heavy and lucid.

  A child.

  A child of the Divinity of Life and her Guardian.

  And that child was here.

  Her fingers trembled.

  “Elwyn…”

  She closed the notebook with a slow motion, heart pounding so hard she feared Sylaria might hear it.

  She drew a deep breath and pushed away the thoughts that threatened to surge too fast.

  Not now.

  She had to think.

  Sylaria watched her in silence, intrigued.

  — Did you find something? she asked gently.

  Nahira lifted her eyes to her, then set the notebook back on the table.

  Her face had become calm again.

  — No. Nothing important. Personal notes, probably.

  Sylaria nodded, a little relieved.

  — So they didn’t take anything?

  — No. But they were looking for something specific. And they almost found it, Nahira replied in a lower voice.

  She made sure the notebook was put back exactly where it had been, then checked the drawers, the stacks of documents, the window.

  Everything seemed intact.

  — We should warn Vice-Headmistress Nalinaya, Sylaria suggested.

  — Warn me about what? a voice asked behind her.