Chapter 13

The Spire of Illumination loomed over the Academy grounds like a watchful sentinel, its grey stone twisting eleven stories into the pale morning sky. The first light of day stained the horizon in soft hues of rose and gold, casting long shadows across the courtyard as Amriel crossed the cobbled path toward the library at the tower's base.

She exhaled softly, already knowing exactly where she would find Mara.

The Academy ensured the lower levels of the Spire were accessible to all students, and Mara—true to form—practically lived there. If she wasn't in the Archivist's Hall, she was tucked away in some forgotten corner of the library, buried beneath a fortress of books.

The air shifted as Amriel stepped inside. Gone was the crisp coolness of morning; in its place, the warm, hushed atmosphere of the grand library enveloped her. A space untouched by the urgency of the outside world.

The scent of parchment, ink, and aged leather filled her lungs as she wove between towering shelves, their dark wooden frames stretching high toward vaulted ceilings. The only sounds were the faint creak of the floor beneath her steps and the occasional whisper of a turning page. Sunlight spilled through the stained-glass windows, casting shifting mosaics of color onto the stone.

Her fingers skimmed the spines of books as she passed—rows upon rows of knowledge pressed between covers, entire lives recorded in ink. It was a world Mara had long since made her own.

Amriel spotted Mara easily. She was exactly where Amriel knew she would be—curled into the window alcove on the upper floor, a thick tome resting open in her lap.

Amriel slid onto the bench beside her, glancing at the sea of scattered parchment. "Prepping for finals?"

Mara didn't even look up as she turned a page. "Finished." She tapped the book's spine with an ink-smudged finger. "This one's my reward."

Amriel raised a brow, feigning deep concern. "Mara, reading for fun? I'm concerned. Should I alert someone?"

Mara shot her a dry look, then lifted her chin with mock regality. "I contain multitudes, Riel."

She ran her fingers along the book's worn cover, her expression softening. "It's a fictional retelling of the War of the Blood Prince. Told from the perspective of his general—who also happens to fall in love with the prince's sister."

Amriel tilted her head. "Sounds interesting," she said, her slightly dry tone suggesting otherwise.

Mara caught it immediately and smirked. "It's largely a tactician's perspective. The romance is, I suspect, the most fictional part of it."

"Shame, really," Amriel quipped, smirking. "Would've made for a much better story."

Mara laughed, a soft sound that broke through the hushed sanctity of the library. "I think it's wonderful."

Amriel huffed a quiet chuckle, but something about the moment struck her deeper than she expected. Mara—bathed in morning light, utterly at home in her world of ink and history—made it look easy. Knowing exactly who she was. What she wanted.

Amriel wasn't sure she could say the same.

Mara turned her golden-brown eyes on her, sharp and perceptive. "So," she said, voice light but probing, "what brings you here this early? Just come to grace me with your sparkling wit, or is there something else?"

Amriel hesitated. The truth almost came out right then. The tome. The language. The impossible knowledge unraveling in her mind like a thread she wasn't sure she should pull.

Instead, she stuck to the plan. "I found a book in my mother's old collection." She kept her voice casual. "Pretty interesting so far."

Mara's interest sharpened immediately. Amriel's mother, Nythia, had been known for many things at the Academy—scholar, historian, healer. Whatever had caught her attention would undoubtedly intrigue Mara.

"What's it called?" Mara asked, leaning slightly forward.

Amriel exhaled slowly. "Not sure," she admitted. "The cover's too worn to read."

Mara didn't look surprised. If anyone had an ancient, half-decayed book, it would have been Nythia. "Then, what's it about?"

Amriel hesitated. "Pretty sure it's a fantasy."

That earned a slight arch of Mara's brow.

"A fantasy?" she mused. "Strange. I always thought your mother leaned toward philosophy or history. If she needed an escape, I imagined she'd turn to fiction, but fantasy? That seems… uncharacteristic."

Mara's gaze flickered with curiosity, but she shrugged. "Then again, your mother was ever the enigma."

Amriel barely resisted the urge to scoff. Seems I was born to live among enigmas.

She could feel the weight of the tome's presence inside the Academy halls. The words she shouldn't have been able to read. The secrets lurking between its pages.

And the questions she wasn't sure she wanted answers to.

"Well, so far it has to do with Starlight Witches, who seem to be a key to a Door of Eternity," Amriel shrugged, maining a casual expression though she wanted Mara keenly for her reaction. Any ficker of recognition at the mention of either of those things.

Nothing.

Mara's face remained impassive, as if unimpressed. "Indeed, that does sound like fantasy to me. Not my taste, really."

"So, you've never heard of Starlight Witches?" Amriel prodded a little further.

Mara shook her head, and let her eyes fall back to the pages of the book on her lap, "No, can't say I have. They aren't from any stories I've ever heard of."

Amriel hoped her chuckle didn't sound as hollow as she thought it did, "Phew, me either. Was hoping I hadn't missed that part in history class."

"Nope," Mara said, not looking up, "You didn't miss that, at least."

The Academy's stone corridors hummed with the steady murmur of students moving toward their morning lectures. Sunlight slanted through arched windows, casting golden patches along the floor, while the scent of parchment, ink, and polished wood lingered in the air—a familiar mix of academia and long, sleepless nights.

Mara walked beside Amriel, adjusting the strap of her satchel as she studied her with a sidelong glance. "You're unusually quiet this morning," she observed, her voice measured, as always.

Amriel shrugged. "Just mentally preparing for Master Galwin's riveting lecture."

Mara smiled softly. "Ah, yes. Trade Disputes of the Western Territories. Truly, an epic tale for the ages."

Amriel chuckled softly. "It's really all about the dramatic pauses. Really keeps you on the edge of your seat."

Mara rolled her eyes but allowed a small, knowing smile. "I sometimes wonder if he pauses because he wants us to think deeply… or if he just forgets what he's saying."

Amriel barked a quiet laugh, tension she hadn't realized she was holding slipping away.

As they turned the corner, the crowd thickened, voices rising in a low symphony of pre-lecture chatter. The carved archway leading into the grand lecture hall loomed ahead, its intricate depictions of historical battles and treaties doing little to make the subject matter inside any more exciting.

Just beyond the entrance, a familiar figure leaned against the wall, effortlessly composed. Kaleth.

His long red hair gleamed under the flickering sunlight, falling in artful waves around a handsome face. He wasn't trying to command attention, but he never had to try. His smile—casual, confident—was currently aimed at Emaline Keeary, who, despite her poised demeanor, looked vaguely unimpressed by whatever he was saying.

Niamh, however, had no such patience for polite conversation. She spotted them instantly and shoved off the wall with an exaggerated groan. "Riel! Mara!"

Kaleth arched a brow at the outburst but made no move to shift from his relaxed stance. Emaline, her sleek black braid draped over one shoulder, barely noticed as her attention remained focused on whatever charming thing was slipping past his lips.

By the time Amriel and Mara reached them, Kaleth straightened with a slow, easy grace. He flashed a grin—one of those effortlessly charming ones he seemed to carry in his arsenal. "Well, look who finally decided to show."

Niamh shot back, looping an arm through Amriel's. "They wouldn't miss a chance to bask in Professor Galwin's legendary storytelling."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Amriel deadpanned.

Emaline snorted. "You mean 'nap with academic justification,' right?"

"Exactly," Niamh agreed with zero shame. "God knows, it's the only place I can get some sleep these days."

Kaleth chuckled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "If anyone gets caught sleeping, just blame me. Professors love me."

"You mean they tolerate you," Mara corrected, dry as parchment.

Kaleth pressed a hand to his chest as if wounded. "Semantics." He winked, and Amriel swore she heard Mara exhale through her nose in a barely-restrained sigh.

The heavy doors groaned open, and the crowd surged forward.

Niamh sighed dramatically, gripping Amriel's arm like she was marching toward battle. "Time to face our doom, comrades."

"Spoken like a true warrior," Amriel teased.

Mara, ever practical, merely shook her head and strode forward.

As they settled into their seats, Amriel allowed herself a moment to breathe. The warmth of camaraderie, the easy laughter—it was moments like these that made even the dullest lectures tolerable. But beneath the surface, her thoughts coiled tightly around the words she wasn't ready to say out loud.

The Starlight Witches.

The Door to Eternity.

The questions she couldn't afford to ignore forever.