Chapter 18 #2
“Just Clara, Luna, a few professors, and a ghost in the west wing, probably,” Ryan replied with a smirk.
“But I think we’re good.” A smile twitched on my lips as I rolled my eyes.
The librarian, a sharp-eyed woman named Madame Elrix, was dozing behind her desk with a cup of cold tea and a half-eaten scone.
Perfect.
We made our way toward the back shelves, past the textbook aisles, the dusty war accounts, the enchanted histories that hummed faintly as we passed. The restricted section was warded, but the bookracks near it often held books people forgot to lock up properly. That was our target.
“I swear this place rearranges itself when no one’s looking,” Ryan muttered, ducking beneath a crooked archway. “Like it has a sense of humor and a vendetta against organization.”
“Maybe it just doesn’t like you,” I replied, scanning the spines. I trailed my fingers along the bindings, looking for anomalies: cracks, odd labels, anything that hummed under my touch. It wasn’t magic I was using. Not really. Only instinct. Or maybe something older than that.
“Hey,” Ryan called, crouched halfway into a narrow crevice between two old shelves.
“I think I found something. And by ‘think,’ I mean definitely.” I turned toward him, stepping over a fallen stack of atlases.
He was holding a black scroll case, thin, capped in tarnished brass, half-covered in dust and cobwebs.
“It was shoved behind a volume on defensive summoning circles and a very questionable romance novel involving a lich.”
“Of course it was,” I muttered, kneeling beside him.
He passed it to me. The metal was cold in my hands, as if it hadn’t been touched in decades.
I unlatched the case and slowly unfurled the parchment inside.
The edges were yellowed and fragile, but the ink was still dark, almost too dark, like it had been burned into the page instead of written.
The top portion was in a language I didn’t recognize.
Symbols and sigils that twisted slightly when I tried to focus too long.
But near the bottom, someone had scrawled a partial translation in a messy, modern script.
“When light forgets its name, and night no longer listens to the moon, the mountain will bleed shadow, and gods will fall like ash into the sea.” My heart stuttered.
“Okay,” Ryan said after a long beat. “That’s not ominous at all.”
I stared at the words, my mouth dry. “I’ve heard something like this before. Not all of it but a line. Maybe two. My father used to recite ancient doctrines sometimes when he thought I wasn’t listening. I never knew what they meant. Thought it was just old poetic war talk.”
“Your dad being the famous general who helped turn half of Celestian Mountain’s rune systems into battle strategy?” Ryan asked, brow raised.
I nodded slowly. “He was obsessed with it. Said Celestian Mountain was the wellspring of our civilization, that every rune carved into it meant something. He used to study the old systems for battle strategy, but sometimes, when he talked about them, he’d pause.
Like he was choosing his words too carefully.
” I glanced back at the scroll, my stomach tightening.
“And now that same mountain is tied to a prophecy warning about bleeding shadows and falling gods.”
Ryan took a half-step back. “I don’t know, Ryn. That’s not a coincidence. That’s the start of something.” I peered back at the scroll, my pulse pounding in my ears.
“It says light will forget its name,” I murmured. “What does that even mean?”
“I don’t know,” Ryan replied, voice quieter now.
“But I don’t think we’re supposed to have this.
Which means we definitely need to keep it.
” A flicker of unease crept up my spine as I gently rolled the parchment back up.
I slid it into my satchel, my fingers lingering at the flap.
“Do we tell anyone?” he asked. I thought of Quinnell.
Of Wicken. Of how fast they shut down even the idea of black magic.
“No,” I said. “Not yet.”
Ryan exhaled, then nodded. “Okay. But for the record, if some ancient shadow thing starts crawling out of that mountain, I reserve the right to say, ‘I told you so’ before we die.” I cracked a smile, but it faded just as quickly.
Because whatever this was… it wasn’t old history.
It was a warning. And we might already be too late.
I found myself walking toward Aiden’s dorm, hoping I wasn’t about to interrupt him…
mid-thrust with Jasmine. But the hall was quiet, and no questionable noises came through the door.
Before I could second-guess myself, I knocked.
There was a shuffle, the sound of fabric moving, and then the door creaked open to reveal a very shirtless Aiden, black sweats slung low on his hips, hair tousled from sleep, shadows flickering lazily across his bare chest.
“Hey,” I said quietly, shifting from one foot to the other.
His brows pulled together, eyes heavy with exhaustion. “Hey,” he replied, voice rough and deep.
“I didn’t mean to wake you…I just, I need to talk to you.
” He hesitated, then stepped aside, opening the door wider.
I slipped inside. His room was bigger than the first-year dorms, with a full bed beside the stained-glass window, dark curtains drawn shut.
A black stone fireplace sat against the far wall, its embers barely glowing.
Everything was tidy, orderly, very Aiden.
And the shadows… they moved as if they had a mind of their own, dancing across the walls, responding to his mood. “Nice room,” I muttered, glancing around, trying not to focus too hard on his toned torso or the way his arms flexed as he crossed them.
“What do you want, Ruin?” he asked, voice clipped.
I started to pace. “Have you found anything about Erebus or Ivy?”
His eyes tracked my movements. “Still digging. Erebus was on the cadet roster; he was here the first day. That’s all I’ve got so far.”
I sighed, pausing mid-stride. “Are we sure that wasn’t tampered with?
” I questioned, thinking about what Firebeard told me in the greenhouse, how rosters could be edited.
Aiden shook his head, either dismissing the idea or avoiding it.
I chewed my bottom lip, debating whether to go further.
But so far, Aiden was the only one who even seemed to care that something was off.
“I found something else, something the professors are denying. But I don’t think it’s a myth. ”
He tilted his head, watching me carefully. “What is it?”
I hesitated, before reaching into my satchel.
“I found something today. With Ryan.” His eyes narrowed slightly.
I pulled out the black scroll case, the metal cool against my palm.
“This was buried in the back of the library. Behind summoning manuals. And a very disturbing undead romance.” Aiden arched his brow, but his expression remained unreadable.
I gently unrolled the scroll and read aloud:
“When light forgets its name,and night no longer listens to the moon,the mountain will bleed shadow,and gods will fall like ash into the sea.”
When I looked up, his face was blank, but I saw it.
The flicker. Recognition. “I think the Celetian Mountain is pulling black magic,” I said, voice steady.
“And I think the professors know. The High King knows. They’re all just covering it up.
” He didn’t speak. “I found this, Aiden. And my father used to say something like it years ago, when I was young. I thought it was a mere myth, but now…” I let the scroll roll slightly closed in my hands. “Now I think it’s a warning.”
“You need to drop it, Rynlee.” His voice sharpened like a blade.
My eyes widened. “What? Why?”
“Because it’s not true,” he replied, stepping closer. “The mountain pulls from the runes. From light. Not darkness. You need to stop chasing shadows. This scroll means nothing.”
“I’m not chasing shadows,” I snapped. “I think something’s happening, and you know it. Hell, I think all of you know it! You, the professors. You’re hiding something.”
“Oh, is that what you think?” His mouth twisted into a dry, bitter smile. “Alright, Ruin. Tell me. What exactly are we all hiding?”
“Fine,” I barked, stepping forward. “I believe the Celetian Mountain is pulling black magic. I suspect the High King knows, and that he’s forcing everyone to keep it quiet.
Because if the truth got out, that we are the ones using black magic, not the Blood Assassins, then the war wouldn’t make sense anymore.
And everyone would realize we’re not the heroes of this story. We’re the villains.”
The room fell into silence. Then Aiden laughed. Cold and humorless. “Gods, you were always into conspiracy theories.”
“This isn’t a theory—”
“Yes, it is,” he cut me off, stepping closer until my back hit the door. “It’s paranoia, Rynlee. The school isn’t hiding anything. You need to stop obsessing and start focusing on your training.” He crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze sharp.
“It’s not just paranoia,” I reply, refusing to retreat. “I saw it. Felt it. Something’s wrong. This document proves that.” He reached up and cupped my jaw, his grip firm.
“Let. It. Go.” I stared up at him, breath catching in my throat. Something flickered behind his eyes, fear? Guilt? Anger? Then he moved. Fast. Before I could react, he ripped the scroll from my hands and turned toward the fire. With one smooth, ruthless motion, he tossed it in.
“No!” I lunged forward, but it was too late. The flames caught instantly, devouring the parchment like it had been waiting to burn. Ancient ink blackened, curled, and dissolved into ash. I stared, stunned. “What is wrong with you?” I whispered.
His voice was ice. “You think this scroll is proof? That it makes you right? All it does is make you a target.”
“You didn’t have to destroy it.”