Chapter Twenty-Five
Elysia
Golden veins run through the polished white stone of the corridor, each one softly glowing as we pass on the way to the library. The air here feels different, still and reverent, as though the walls themselves are holding their breath.
At the end of the hall stands a massive set of arched double doors, taller than any I’ve seen in the castle. They’re smooth, seamless, and etched with glowing glyphs in fluid golden script. Each one pulses faintly, alive with magic.
I stop just short of them, staring at them in confusion. “Who can even open these doors?”
Serenath steps beside me, her expression unreadable.
“The doors open on their own for those the glyphs are made to recognize. Royalty, instructors, the sacred library staff.” She lifts a hand and presses it against the nearest glyph.
It brightens in response. “No one enters unless permitted by the magic itself.”
The doors part without touch as she said they would, gliding open with a low, resonant hum. The sound sinks into my bones, as though the library has acknowledged me.
I step inside and my breath catches.
The space opens like a dream I’m experiencing while awake.
The main chamber stretches both upward and downward, spiraling in slow, perfect circles with endless stairs.
Levels upon levels of white stone balconies curve around the massive interior, each one lined with towering shelves that rise to impossible heights.
Gilded archways link one platform to the next, their gold trim glowing faintly beneath floating spheres of light.
My eyes trace the platforms connecting to different levels, jaw slightly agape as they rotate and change course. “It’s a shame,” I say softly, “that not everyone can see this. All this beauty and knowledge is locked behind those doors.”
Serenath turns toward me with a faint smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Spoken by someone who wouldn’t weaponize the words that are housed here.
Yet I find the most dangerous things in this realm are not blades, my Queen, they are ideas.
Notions yet to come to fruition, or those that did and have proven catastrophic.
I always say that we’re only a step away from collapse if one soul discovers the ideal path to do so. ”
I’m not sure I agree, but as I’m about to voice it, she turns and whispers under her breath.
I couldn’t have heard her correctly, because it sounded a lot like, “Not that that would be a bad idea at this point.”
A breath falls from me and I shake my head, returning my focus to taking in the exquisite library.
Dozens of elven librarians move along the upper platforms, but none of them walk.
Some hover just above the floor, their robes billowing gently as they drift.
Others remain perfectly still, one arm outstretched as books slide from distant shelves into waiting hands.
Scrolls and tomes float in midair, responding to silent gestures.
A collection of six thick volumes lifts into the air and spirals downward in perfect formation before settling into a librarian’s arms.
None of it is loud. None of it chaotic. It’s magic as I always pictured it to be: fluid, serene, and impossibly enchanting.
I can’t stop staring as a soft smile tugs at the corners of my lips.
This is the first time I’ve seen magic like this. It’s not twisted with malice and it’s not a glowing orb used to decide who lives and who breaks.
This is a wonder.
“It’s strange,” I say quietly, turning toward Serenath. “The only elven magic I’ve seen before this was … the High Priestess. The orb. That kind of power … it scared me. But this is beautiful.”
Her eyes soften as her lips thin. “It should scare you. That magic was meant to judge. This,” she sweeps her hand out toward the floating lights and floating texts, “was meant to preserve. There is a mixture of those with telekinesis and those with air magic here. They work together to air out and protect the knowledge here.”
For a breath, I forget the eyes that stirred in the flame.
For a breath, I let myself feel only this wonder and excitement.
It’s exactly the weightless and exhilarating feeling I imagined when I sat atop the hill with Pat and dreamed of this magical world.
We walk across a curved bridge toward a private alcove at the far end. As we pass, I reach out and graze my fingers along the rail. Gold inlays warm beneath my touch and I smile at it, as if the library itself is greeting me.
“This way,” Serenath says gently, pulling my focus back.
She leads us to a curtained archway etched in glyphs, their glow dimmer, almost dusted with time. This part of the library feels different as we enter.
“The knowledge you need,” she says, seeming to read my thoughts, “isn’t public. It’s buried where only a few know to look.”
I nod, forcing myself to take one last glance at the magic dancing through the air behind us before Rhune pulls the curtain shut.
The awe hasn’t left me as we continue forward, but the wonder no longer floats alone within me.
Fear of what occurred with the flame returns as I’m faced with reality again.
What might be waking because of me.
The air here carries a weight to it, like it doesn’t circulate with movement often. Dust motes drift in the beams of filtered light spilling from the ceiling above.
Shelves line the back wall, carved directly into the white stone. Their spines are older here, worn and cracked. Some with bindings ripping at the edges.
Serenath walks to the center of the room and exhales. “Time to get to work. Rhune, if you will.”
Before I can even process her words, Serenath begins pointing to titles in a language I don’t recognize.
Shadows spill from Rhune’s fingertips like ink poured into water.
They slither across the floor and rise with fluid grace, curling up the sides of the shelves until they find what they seek.
Volume after volume slips from its place and lifts into the air, carried by ribbons of darkness that move with silent precision.
They fetch what she asks for without hesitation, and I can’t stop staring. This is the power that concealed him in my dreams. The shadows that moved around him, cloaked him, held me back from seeing too much … They weren’t a coincidence. They weren’t tricks of the mind.
They were his.
Nothing about this feels like the weak powers the High Priestess said he possesses.
I look at Rhune now, watching the shadows swirl at his feet, curling up his arms like loyal serpents. Somehow seeing the power used here makes it easier to reconcile the version of him I know here with the one from my sleeping mind.
She gives a satisfied nod and steps toward the dusty table where he directed all of her selected texts before muttering, “I trust you to shield us all, moving forward. We cannot be heard.”
There’s something in the way she says it, as if she knows he can make that happen. There’s an obvious trust and understanding between the two, devoid of the half-truths it seems others know.
Rhune nods once and closes his eyes, and immediately the space around us shifts. I expect the shadows to shield us, but they disappear completely.
Whatever he is doing now is subtle at first, like a flicker in the air and a faint vibration beneath my feet.
Then the light from the ceiling begins to pull inward.
It collects into a dome overhead, a shimmering veil of reflective light that ripples like the surface of a pond.
It curves downward until it seals around the edge of the alcove, dimming the world beyond.
Like the barrier that the High Priestess controlled.
A chill skates down my spine and I take a half step back.
The dome hums around us, curved in a way that feels too much like a cage with memories. The shimmer of light overhead pulses, steady and unrelenting, and I can feel something unraveling inside me.
It’s too familiar.
The containment. The quiet. The forced stillness.
My chest tightens as the air thins around me. I know it’s magic and know it’s meant to protect us in this instance, but it presses in like the barrier that sealed us in the grove, cutting us off from the world and locking us in with death.
My breathing falters and my vision dims at the edges. Panic rises within my throat, gripping it tightly.
I press a hand to my chest, willing my heart to slow, but it only beats faster, echoing the rhythm I felt back then. The screaming, the searing light of the orb, the way my world shattered when I saw Thalia on the ground.
My legs threaten to give and I fold in on myself as the floor rushes up to greet me, trying to retreat from the memories flooding me.
Then a warm hand cups my cheek, followed by another.
“Elysia,” Rhune says, his voice calming as it reaches the storm within my mind. “Breathe. Just look at me.”
I don’t know when he crossed the space between us. I only know that when I lift my gaze, he’s already there kneeling in front of me, close enough to block out the light and the library and the memories pressing down on me.
“Stay with me,” he says, softer now, thumb brushing beneath my eye, drawing my attention to the wetness gathering against my skin. “You’re safe. You’re with me. Nothing is going to touch you here, Little Dove. Breathe.”
I try to speak, but my throat won’t cooperate. Instead, I follow the command in his voice and begin to breathe again.
In. Out. In again.
My heartbeat slows, if only slightly.
“I know it’s not the same,” I whisper, “but it felt like the selection happening all over again.”
His fingers tighten gently against my face, grounding me. “I should’ve warned you. I didn’t think …”
He trails off, jaw working, guilt flickering behind his eyes.
The shimmer of the barrier reflects in his gaze, catching like a mirror. There’s so much weight in his stillness, so much restraint in the way he doesn’t move, like he’s terrified to be anything but my anchor at this moment.
“I trust you,” I murmur, the truth rising with the steadiness that his presence brings me.
At that, he closes his eyes for the briefest moment, and when they open again, the guilt haunting them has dulled. There is a heaviness in his silence, something fiercely protective.
“I won’t break your trust,” he says at last, voice low and sure, “even if I never get to keep you.”
The words settle in my chest like a vow as his fingers tremble slightly against my cheeks.
Though the barrier still surrounds us, for the first time since stepping into this space, I don’t feel trapped. I feel seen, and if only for this moment, safe.
Rhune doesn’t move his hands from my face, and I don’t ask him to.
The silence between us has settled into something softer. Not peace exactly, but stillness … the kind that follows a storm.
I swallow once, trying to find the right words to voice the question that’s lingered in my mind since the dome began to build around us.
“Do you have the same power as she does?” I ask hesitantly, fearing his answer. “The High Priestess?”
His hands drop slowly from my cheeks, though he remains close. At the mention of the Priestess, his jaw clenches.
“No,” he says, and his voice is rougher now. “Not even close.”
I hesitate. “But the light … the barrier you just formed. It looked like hers. It felt like it.”
Rhune shakes his head and sighs heavily.
“The High Priestess doesn’t wield that kind of power on her own.
She has the ability to craft enchanted objects—rings, cuffs, charms—each one imbued with a specific magical energy.
She drains them when she uses them, making it appear like she has multiple affinities. ”
He looks me straight in the eye. “But once each object is drained, she has no power left.”
That revelation stills the bubbling fear I have of her inside me.
“She’s not …” I pause, voice quieter. “She’s not as powerful as she seems.”
“No,” he confirms. “But she’s smart enough to make you believe she is.”
It’s one of the most reassuring things I’ve heard since ascending to this world.
Now I know the Priestess has limits.
Rhune shifts then, just slightly. “I’m the only one alive who can channel both without using an enchanted object.
Sorryn wields the same light and Zayvin wields the same shadows, but I’m just as strong as them in their respective powers.
Please do not share that, as it’s a closely guarded secret only a handful know. ”
I nod and tuck that important information away.
The thought of Sorryn having that power aligns completely with the trapped sensation he already makes me feel.
His hand brushes mine as he shifts from his knees to his feet and the contact is so fleeting I might have imagined it if not for the tingles it leaves behind.
The sound of a tome slamming against the stone table cuts through the space like a crack of lightning.
We both jump and focus on where the sound came from.
Serenath stands beside the stack of texts, her expression neutral, though the speed of her hand slamming that volume shut says everything.
“I assumed,” she says, voice light but unmistakably pointed, “you came here to flirt with ancient history, not each other.”
My cheeks flare with heat as I look down.
Rhune exhales a quiet breath beside me, something between a scoff and a sigh. “We’re ready.”
He offers me a hand and Serenath raises a brow at me before opening the top tome, her fingers slow and deliberate.
“Good,” she says. “Because the dead don’t like to be kept waiting.”