Uncovering Secrets

Lira didn't wait for me to decide.

She reached into her cloak and pulled out a sliver of obsidian shaped like a fang—sharp, polished, and strung on a thin cord. With a flick of her wrist, she pressed it to the stones beneath my window. The stone pulsed once—then shimmered, revealing a seam in the wall I'd never noticed before.

A hidden passage.

"Come," she said, stepping into the dark. "And bring the journal. It listens better underground."

A chill ran down my spine as I followed her, tucking the journal close. The passage closed behind us with a soft click, sealing away the faint candlelight of my chamber. We walked in silence, only the soft scuff of our boots echoing down the narrow tunnel. The air smelled of old earth and something faintly metallic—magic, or memory. Maybe both.

Eventually, the tunnel widened, opening into a vast chamber lit with pale blue fire that floated in glass spheres above our heads. Ancient markings coiled across the stone floor—symbols I didn't recognise, but that made my skin prickle when I stepped over them.

Lira stopped at the centre.

"This place was built by the first Blood-Binders," she said. "They believed power wasn't just inherited—it was chosen. Tested. Shaped."

I looked around. "What is this place?"

"A sanctum. One of the last hidden beneath the castle. Even the king doesn't know it's here."

She turned to me then, and for the first time, there was no trace of that cool detachment in her eyes.

"This is where you'll learn what your blood can do—if it obeys you, or if it devours you."

The journal warmed in my hand, vibrating faintly. When I opened it, words had already begun forming.

"First, give it something to remember you by."

I looked up at her, unsure. "What does that mean?"

Lira's face was unreadable. "A memory. A truth. A sacrifice. The journal responds best when you bleed into it—not always with blood."

My pulse quickened.

"What did you give it when it spoke to you?" I asked.

A long silence.

"I gave it my sister," she whispered. "And I never got her back."

The flames in the chamber flickered.

I stepped toward the circle, heart pounding. And slowly, I let the journal fall open in my hands—then I began to speak, offering it the first truth I had ever been afraid to say aloud.

As I did, the ink swirled and lifted off the page, forming not just words—but images. Faint illusions of a past I hadn't fully remembered. A voice, a scream, a fire. The face of someone I had tried to forget.

Lira watched, eyes dark with something I couldn't name.

And just before the vision faded, a single new line burned across the page. They etched themselves into the journal like fire carving through skin:

"The gate is opening."

Before I could speak, the air around us shifted—dense, heavy, humming with pressure like a storm building beneath the earth.

Lira moved quickly. She snatched the journal from my hands and dropped it in the center of the runic circle. "Stand back," she snapped. "It's not supposed to react this fast."

Blue flames dimmed. The glass spheres above us flickered. One shattered with a sharp crack, spraying sparks over the stone.

I stumbled back, heart thudding as the circle began to glow. The runes ignited in a slow ripple, one by one, like pieces of a puzzle unlocking. The journal floated into the air, its pages flipping wildly on their own—past blank ones, past spells and old memories, until it landed on one page that hadn't been written yet.

And still, it began to burn with my name written in an ink I hadn't used.

"Lira," I said hoarsely. "What's happening?"

Her expression was grim. "You've opened something dormant. This isn't just power—you've called a memory that doesn't belong to you."

The chamber pulsed again—like something had heard her.

A gust of cold air surged from the runes, curling around my body, pressing against my chest. And then—I heard it.

A voice, layered and strange, like it was speaking through a thousand reflections of itself:

"You wear a name that was sealed. And yet you speak. You awaken. We remember."

I gasped, dropping to my knees as pain stabbed behind my eyes. Images surged in—a figure cloaked in bone and shadow… a gate carved from a dead tree, bleeding light… a name spoken in a forgotten tongue that made the walls bleed.

"Stop it—stop it!" I cried.

But the power wasn't listening anymore.

It was showing me.

Showing me the gate.

And somewhere, beyond the veil, something stirred in response.

Suddenly, Lira was beside me again, pressing a rune-carved dagger into my palm. "Focus!" she barked. "Ground it! Use blood if you have to—but don't let it take over!"

My hand trembled. The edge of the blade bit into my skin, a single drop falling onto the stone.

The moment it touched the runes, the screaming stopped.

Silence fell.

The journal dropped to the floor, its cover scorched.

Lira was breathing hard, watching me like I was a fuse still lit.

"You're not just a vessel," she said, voice low. "You're the key."

I looked at the blood on my hand.

And for the first time… I wasn't sure if the power was mine.

Or if I was its.

The chamber was deathly still.

The journal lay where it had fallen, its cover blackened, the edges of its pages smoking gently. But it was silent now. Whatever had stirred inside it… had receded. For now.

Lira didn't speak. She knelt by the runes, tracing her fingers over the faint scorch marks, frowning. "It shouldn't have answered like that. Not so soon."

I wiped the blood from my hand, watching her warily. "You said it listens better underground. Was this your plan?"

She looked up sharply. "I planned to teach you to control your magic. Not to trigger a memory locked behind an ancient seal." Her voice lowered. "Something else is interfering."

The words made my stomach twist.

"What do you mean?"

But she didn't answer. She was already moving toward the far wall of the sanctum—toward a shadow I hadn't noticed before. A section of stone that wasn't glowing like the rest. She pressed her palm against it. "Open," she whispered.

A soft click echoed. Then the wall slid open, revealing a narrow staircase spiralling downward into complete darkness.

She didn't look at me as she said, "Follow me. There's something you need to see."

The deeper we descended, the colder the air grew. And then I heard it: the sound of dripping water, rhythmic… like a clock counting down. It smelled of dust, salt, and something faintly metallic.

We emerged into a smaller room, low ceiling, stone shelves carved into the walls. Every shelf was packed with scrolls, cracked tomes, jars filled with dried herbs… and bones.

Dozens of bones.

Lira lit a lantern. "This is the Archive," she said quietly. "Where forbidden records were hidden after the last Gate War."

My skin crawled. "There was a war?"

She gave a tight nod. "One no one survived. Officially, it never happened."

Her hand moved over a row of sealed scrolls. Then she pulled one out and unrolled it. The parchment was stiff with age, but the ink was still visible—red as fresh blood.

She turned the scroll toward me.

At the top was a symbol—a familiar one.

A coiled serpent around a rising sun.

"The mark from your journal," I said, stunned.

"No," she replied. "The mark of the first vessel. The one who opened the gate."

My throat went dry. "Who was she?"

Lira hesitated.

Then said, "Your grandmother."

I froze.

No one had spoken of her—not even in whispers. She had disappeared before I was born. My family said she'd died in exile. But now…

"You knew her," I said.

Lira's eyes darkened. "I followed her. Until she vanished in the mountains, looking for the second gate."

Silence stretched.

Then she added, "Before she left, she sealed something away in blood. Something that's waking now—through you."

I looked at the scroll again.

And at the bottom, scrawled in the same crimson ink, was a name.

Mine.

But it was written in a language I didn't recognize—and below it, a warning:

"Do not trust the one who teaches you."