Chapter 1

The ancient tome sat open on a marble pedestal in the antechamber to the Great Hall of the Illumination Tower, its weathered pages spread like wings across the white and blue veined stone. Dust motes danced lazily in the still air, oblivious to the tension humming through the room.

Amriel Vardon stood before the tome, unmoving, her breath slow and shallow. Her cobalt eyes traced the curling patterns of symbols inked in an impossibly steady hand—symbols that had mocked scholars and witches alike for five millennia.

Her heartbeat roared in her ears.

Holy shit.

She understood it.

The realization sent a shudder rippling through her, tightening her chest until it felt like her very bones might crack beneath the pressure. This wasn't possible. No one could read this.

No one.

The Tome of Lygeness had remained an enigma since the first stone of this tower had been laid. Five thousand years. Entire lifetimes had been spent attempting to unravel even a single passage, with nothing to show for it but frustration and failure. It had been studied by the finest minds of Khymarh, dissected by the sharpest scholars of the Lyceum, documented by the leading Archivist, and examined by powerful witches.

All of them had tried.

All of them had failed.

And yet, as she stood there, the symbols whispered their meaning into her mind as effortlessly as if she were reading a nursery rhyme.

Amriel's fingers hovered just above the enchanted glass casing, trembling with the need to touch the inked script—to feel its texture, to prove it was real.

The runes pulsed faintly, a heartbeat against the stone.

Her breath hitched.

They knew she was watching.

She took a step back, her balance wavering as dizziness seized her. The room tilted, the dim lantern light warping into halos, shadows stretching unnaturally across the veined marble floor.

A sharp nausea twisted through her gut.

Then, the words spoke—not aloud, but deep within the hollow of her ribs, branding themselves into her thoughts as if they had been waiting for her all along.

When the last of the Starlight Witches falls, the Door to Eternity shall open.

Her lips parted, shaping the words soundlessly. The last of the Starlight Witches? The Door to Eternity?

The syllables settled into her bones like jagged glass.

Her vision blurred. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, willing the tremor in her hands to still. She forced herself to focus, to breathe. But the symbols only sharpened beneath her gaze, their meaning unfurling with the inevitability of a blade being drawn from its sheath.

When silver fire rains from the heavens, and shadows stretch beyond the breaking dawn.When the hymn of forgotten stars is swallowed by silence.When the last of the Starlight Witches falls—The Door to Eternity shall open.

She clenched her teeth, forcing herself to read on.

And from its boundless depths, the patient shall emerge—those who have kept endless vigil.Destinies shall unravel as easily as they weave them anew.

Amriel's stomach twisted, her pulse hammering in her throat.

Beware, for not all who enter shall return.And those who do may never be the same.

A violent shiver tore through her, her arms breaking out in a cold sweat.

The meaning of the text wrapped around her like a noose, tightening with every breath she took.

This wasn't just a prophecy—it was a warning.

Five thousand years unreadable. And now, as easily as breathing, I understand it?

Why me?

She swallowed hard, pushing back the rising tide of unease. She needed answers—needed to find someone who could make sense of this, who could tell her why a book that had remained a mystery for centuries had suddenly decided that she was worthy of its secrets.

Or worse—why it had been waiting for her.

The world had tilted.

Amriel's stomach churned, her breath coming in shallow bursts as she stumbled backward. Her pulse hammered, too loud, too fast, drowning out the faint crackling of enchanted lanterns flickering in their sconces.

Then she collided with something solid.

A sharp gasp escaped her as strong hands gripped her shoulders, firm but careful, keeping her upright.

"Whoa there, Reil," a familiar voice drawled, warm with amusement.

A fresh surge of heat raced up her neck as she turned and found herself looking up into the storm-gray eyes of Nikola Vrasic.

Damn it.

Of all people.

His grin—the same one that had earned him far too many admirers among the Lyceum's apprentices—curved at the corner of his mouth as his hands lingered just a second longer than necessary before releasing her.

"You alright?" he asked, cocking his head slightly. His voice held its usual teasing lilt, but there was an edge of curiosity beneath it. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Or worse."

Then, with that infuriating grin of his, he added, "Don't tell me you fell asleep in the library again and drooled all over the books."

Amriel blinked, still reeling, her thoughts a tangled mess of ancient prophecies, cryptic warnings, and the fact that Nikola was still standing far too close.

Say something normal, she begged herself.

"I—no, I didn't drool," she managed weakly.

Nikola's brow arched, and she instantly regretted her choice of words.

His smirk deepened. "That," he mused, "sounds exactly like something a person who definitely drooled would say."

She folded her arms across her chest. "For your information, Vrasic," she huffed, summoning every ounce of composure she could manage, "I was not napping. I was studying."

"Studying?" he echoed, his gray eyes dancing with mischief. He leaned in slightly, voice dipping into a conspiratorial whisper. "Is that what we're calling daydreaming with your mouth open these days?"

Amriel's breath hitched—barely, but enough that she wanted to kick herself. He was too close. The faint scent of pine and leather clung to him, grounding, familiar—damn it, distracting.

Her mind was still reeling from the weight of the Codex's prophecy, but her body was betraying her, heat creeping up her neck for an entirely different reason.

You're supposed to be smarter than this, Riel.

She opened her mouth to retort—to wipe that smug look off his face—but before she could, salvation arrived in the form of Niamh Liandris.

"Riel!"

Amriel had never been so relieved to hear her best friend's voice.

The elegantly arched doorway framed Niamh as she strode in, golden sunlight spilling behind her, catching in the gleaming red braid slung over her shoulder.

Her sharp pale green eyes flicked between Amriel and Nikola, a knowing smirk curving her lips.

"Morning, Nikola," she greeted smoothly, barely hiding her amusement. "Interrupting something?"

Nikola straightened, stepping back just enough to give Amriel room to breathe.

"Nothing but academic brilliance," he quipped, flashing that damnable grin one last time before turning toward the Grand Hall. "See you inside."

Amriel exhaled sharply, watching him go.

The Tome.

The prophecy.

She should be thinking about that—about the impossible knowledge now embedded in her mind, the warnings of unraveling destinies and the Door to Eternity.

But instead, her pulse was still unsteady, her body still annoyingly aware of the lingering warmth where Nikola's hands had steadied her.

Damn him.

Niamh's smirk deepened as she crossed her arms.

"You're blushing."

Amriel groaned.

She was never going to hear the end of this.

Niamh waited until Nikola's footsteps had fully faded before crossing her arms and tilting her head at Amriel.

"You didn't drool?" she echoed, her voice brimming with disbelief. "That was the best you could come up with? Seriously?"

Amriel groaned, dragging a hand down her face, which still felt too warm. "Don't. Just… don't."

Niamh flashed a mischievous grin, "You're lucky we're late for class," She said.

Amriel shot her a halfhearted glare, but the corners of her mouth twitched despite herself.

"You're insufferable, you know that?"

"Obviously," Niamh grinned, but then something in her expression shifted. The teasing edge softened, replaced by subtle concern as she took a closer look at Amriel.

Her smile faded.

"Hey," she said more gently, "what's wrong? You look like you just walked out of a nightmare."

Amriel opened her mouth to brush it off, but her throat was dry. "I'm fine," she croaked, and even she didn't believe it.

Niamh's sharp gaze flicked toward the Tome, still resting beneath its protective crystal casing. She made a dismissive wave toward it. "Let me guess—you've been staring at that thing too long again." She wrinkled her nose. "I told you, obsessing over creepy old mysteries will rot your brain."

Amriel swallowed hard, but the runes still burned in her mind, their warnings hammering against the inside of her skull. The weight of it pressed on her ribs.

How could I even begin to explain it?

"Riel," Niamh said softly, stepping closer. "You don't have to tell me everything. But you've got that weird panicked look you get when something really bad happens." She bumped her shoulder lightly against Amriel's. "So... spill it."

Amriel wanted to—needed to—but how did you put into words something that shouldn't be possible?

How did she tell her best friend that she had understood a language no living person could read? That the Tome had whispered its ancient warnings to her and her alone?

Her lips parted, but nothing came out.

Niamh studied her for a second, then let out a resigned sigh. "Alright, fine. Think about it and tell me later." She reached for Amriel's wrist, giving it a firm tug. "But we're leaving. We're going to be late. Again."

Amriel nodded stiffly, her feet moving on instinct as they strode down the long stone hallway. The warm glow of the torches flickered along the polished walls, illuminating towering stained glass windows depicting ancient battles and celestial constellations.

She tried to focus on the familiar—the rhythmic clack of their boots against the floor, the distant murmur of scholars in debate, the faint hum of protective wards woven into the tower's foundation. But her mind kept spinning, tangled in the prophecy's warning.

The patient shall emerge… the unraveling of destinies…

Beside her, Niamh filled the silence, blissfully unaware of the storm inside Amriel's head.

"Did you hear about the summoning mishap in the Coven Tower?" Niamh asked, her voice tinged with amusement. "Some poor fool tried to conjure a minor fire spirit, and—surprise!—it set half the lab on fire." She snorted. "The instructors are still debating whether it was sabotage or just pure incompetence."

Amriel hummed absently, gripping the strap of her satchel so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Niamh smirked. "My money's on incompetence. These witches get cocky way too fast—rookie mistake."

Amriel barely registered the words, only nodding when Niamh paused as though waiting for a response.

By the time they turned the final corner, the familiar buzz of the tiered lecture hall washed over them. The circular room smelled of parchment, ink and student fear. Rising rows of desks curved in a half-moon around a stone dais where the instructor stood.

Master Fenris stood at the center of it all, broad-shouldered and severe, his presence filling the space like a storm on the horizon. His steel-gray eyes swept over the room, landing on them instantly.

The murmurs of conversation faded to silence.

"Acolyte Vardon. Acolyte Liandris." His voice boomed, clipped and sharp. "Late. Again."

Amriel forced herself to stand straighter, ignoring the heat rising to her cheeks.

Beside her, Niamh leaned in and whispered, "At least it's not the worst trouble we've been in."

Amriel swallowed hard, but her mind wasn't on the reprimand.

Because the runes were still whispering in her skull.

Fenris, a tall, broad-shouldered man with graying hair and a piercing gaze, arched an eyebrow. His sharp pale green eyes flicked between the two of them. "Take your seats. And try not to make tardiness a habit—again."

"Yes, Master Fenris," they chorused, heads bowed, quickly weaving through the rows of students.

They slid into their usual seats mid-tier, nestled between the ambitious overachievers at the front and the indifferent slackers at the back. Niamh immediately sprawled comfortably across her chair, pulling out her notebook and quill with practiced ease.

Amriel, on the other hand, fumbled with her satchel, her hands still trembling slightly as she retrieved her materials.

Niamh noticed. Of course she did.

"Relax," she whispered, leaning just close enough that only Amriel could hear. "Fenris loves the sound of his own voice too much to hold a grudge. Just nod along and pretend you're enthralled, and he'll forget all about it."

Amriel forced a tight smile, but her mind was still far from the classroom.

The Tome.The words she had read.The warning woven into the very bones of history itself.

What did it mean? And why her?

"Today," Fenris began, his voice deep, measured, and absolute, "we continue our discussion on elemental resonance and its practical applications."

A pause.

"For those of you who think you already know everything," his gaze flickered to a student in the front row who immediately sat straighter, "I assure you—this is far more complex than setting your lab partner on fire."

A ripple of amusement moved through the class.

Amriel barely heard it.

Her quill hovered above the open notebook before her, but the page remained blank.

She should be writing. Taking notes.

Instead, she just stared at the paper, as if it might somehow reflect the chaos inside her head.

The words from the Tome thrummed beneath her skin like a pulse:

The patient shall emerge… the unraveling of destinies…

Her fingers tightened around her quill.

For centuries, scholars, mystics, and entire bloodlines of seers had failed to interpret the Tome's language. Lifetimes had been spent translating a single phrase.

And yet, when she had looked upon it this morning—

She had understood.

Every word.

As if it had been waiting for her.

A chill crawled up her spine.

She had read a prophecy. A warning. And worst of all—

She didn't know if she was meant to stop it… or if she was already a part of it.