Chapter 16 Kidan
KIDAN
Kidan’s eyeballs felt boiled with the stretching, endless hour in the Grand Solomon Library.
She had taken Professor Andreyas’s words to heart and had already finished reading one of the assigned texts.
Slen and Yusef were collecting philosophical texts about mastering a house, waiting on translated copies and even selecting some fiction books.
The mystery around house ownership made Kidan’s skin tight.
She would only feel at ease once she knew exactly how to do it—no more vague interpretations.
From the Adane Historical Archives, Kidan had withdrawn a large portion of Mahlet Adane’s research and personal journals.
Thankfully, not all parts were written in Amharic, but they weren’t organized either.
No dates. No way to know what the random lion sketches meant. Or the number twenty-one.
Kidan had an obsession with symbols, shapes specifically. Her mother shared the same tendency, but with numbers. One number sketched in the margins, repeated over and over again like she couldn’t get it out of her head.
She traced the number, dancing along the curve of the two, then the straight line of the one.
Was it a code? Or did Mahlet use it to catalogue her emotions like Kidan?
Every detail she discovered about her mother made their lost connection regain some of its threads.
As if Kidan could bring her back to life if she learned more.
When Kidan wasn’t driving herself mad with that, she hunted for any more myths about how the artifacts and binds worked, but they were all vastly different. Some claimed bringing the artifacts under fire released a demon, others said the binds would never break.
Kidan checked out another book, adding it to her pile, and yawned. It was past two in the morning, and Yusef was snoring softly, his head on the edge of the desk. Slen stretched and went to the bathroom.
Moving to another aisle, Kidan looked for Transgressing Psychology—Slen’s request. Securing the thick text, she returned.
She paused, noticing a small deckle-edged book on her pile—one she hadn’t retrieved from the stacks.
No title on the cover or spine. On the first weathered page, in cursive, Aseracti was written.
The subtitle read: Submission and control—master the house, master all.
Kidan looked around, even went down the aisles, wondering who had put it there. A trolley wheeled by, pushed by an assistant, and a few tired students yawned under lion-shaped lamps. New Dranacti students most likely—June’s classmates. Kidan stirred her thoughts away before they bit at her.
A private note was scribbled inside. Use this to master your house quickly. Don’t tell anyone.
A chill skittered down her spine. It could have been from Samson, or her dead aunt Silia again?
She did say she had a trusted member in Uxlay.
Whoever it was wanted to help her from the shadows.
Why? When Slen returned and asked her what she found, Kidan said nothing.
If Aseracti could truly help one master a house, she needed to be the first person to do it.
Even if Kidan didn’t like it, an unspoken air of competition lingered among the three.
This wasn’t Dranacti. They didn’t need one another to master the house.
And the first one to do so would dictate the tone of their friendship.
And that had to be Kidan. Slen’s gaze remained for a beat longer, but she didn’t push the matter.
Kidan took the opportunity to return to the book, careful to keep its contents private.
Lesson one: Dranacti teaches that the house echoes the soul, the mind, and the body. Master those, and master the house. It is a foolish, intangible notion. And wastes years of your life. You do not communicate with a house. You break it in.
A draft played at the back of Kidan’s neck, though the heaters were on.
There was always a warm glow to the library, a safe haven from the chill usually stored in old, castle-like buildings.
She quickly lost herself in the morbid titles, flipping the pages quickly.
Three Pillars of Need. House Locking. On the Hierarchy of Vampires, Houses, and Humans.
Resurption. Something about the topics sounded wrong yet incredibly powerful, like leashing a dragon with a muzzle to take to the skies.
Aseracti was… a philosophy. Just like Dranacti but darker, if that was even possible.
When their phones buzzed, Kidan jumped, shutting the book with a snap.
Calm down, she told herself.
Slen raised a brow. Yusef stirred from his sleep. He rubbed his eyes, squinting at his phone.
“Shit,” he said, straightening up.
Kidan reached for her phone. An alert from the Mot Zebeya office.