The Lost Path

The silence between them was thick, the weight of unspoken things pressing into the dimly lit archive.

Seraphina tightened her grip on the book.

*"You shouldn't have found that."*

Alistair's voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the tension in it.

Her pulse quickened. "Why?"

He stepped further into the room, his silver eyes unreadable. "Because knowledge of that path does not come without a cost."

She did not look away. "And yet, you know of it."

A flicker of something crossed his face—something like regret.

"I have spent years trying to bury this knowledge," he murmured. "To keep others from chasing the same fate as my brother."

Seraphina's breath was steady, but her fingers trembled slightly against the worn leather cover.

"This book mentions him," she said. "Mentions the sword."

Alistair exhaled slowly. "I know."

She studied him. "You've read it."

A muscle in his jaw twitched. "I have."

"Then you know where he went."

His gaze darkened. "Knowing and following are not the same thing, Seraphina."

Her name on his lips sent an unfamiliar warmth through her.

But she ignored it.

Instead, she stepped closer. "You told me no one returns from the Vale. But if Ronan *chose* to go there, then he must have believed there was something worth finding."

Alistair didn't reply.

She took another step.

"If there's even the smallest chance that he—"

"He is *gone*."

His voice was sharper now, edged with something she couldn't quite place.

Pain?

Fear?

She hesitated.

Alistair ran a hand through his hair, turning away. "Ronan was not the first to seek the Black Vale. And he will not be the last. But every story ends the same way."

Seraphina swallowed. "You don't know that."

Alistair let out a quiet, bitter laugh. "No?"

He turned back to her then, his gaze heavy.

"Then tell me, Seraphina—are you willing to risk becoming another name in a forgotten book?"

She held his gaze.

And slowly, she opened the manuscript.

"I think," she said, "that we're past the point of turning back."

---

The air in the archive was thick with dust and the scent of old parchment.

Seraphina turned the fragile pages carefully, scanning the faded ink beneath her fingertips.

The manuscript detailed ancient paths—trails long since lost to time, routes that led beyond the known lands. But it was the final passages that stole her breath.

*"The bearer of the Nightbane blade must walk the path alone. The Vale does not open for those who seek it, but for those it has already claimed."*

Seraphina frowned. "The Vale *claimed* him?"

Alistair's voice was quiet. "It means the decision was never his to make."

She looked up. "You don't believe that."

Something in his jaw tightened. "It doesn't matter what I believe."

She studied him for a long moment.

Then she turned back to the text.

The ink had faded in places, but she traced the words carefully.

*"And those who return are never the same."*

Seraphina exhaled, her fingers curling around the book's edge.

She could feel Alistair watching her, waiting.

She met his gaze. "I need to know more."

He let out a slow breath. "Of course you do."

Seraphina's brow furrowed. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

Alistair stepped closer, his expression unreadable. "It is not curiosity that concerns me, Seraphina."

Her heart stilled. "Then what does?"

He studied her for a long moment.

Then, quietly—

"The way the sword called to you."

She froze.

A memory stirred—

The whisper of steel against stone. The cold hum in her bones.

Alistair continued, his voice barely above a murmur. "You felt it, didn't you?"

Seraphina swallowed. "I don't know what I felt."

Alistair's expression darkened. "That's the problem."

The candlelight flickered between them, stretching their shadows across the walls.

Seraphina looked away. "I should—"

"Seraphina."

Her name was barely more than a breath.

She stilled.

When she looked up, Alistair's silver eyes were closer, searching hers.

For what, she didn't know.

But the air between them shifted, drawn taut like a bowstring.

She inhaled. "I need to read more."

Alistair studied her a moment longer. Then, with a quiet sigh, he stepped back.

"Then let's begin."

---

The hours slipped by in silence.

Seraphina combed through the manuscript, while Alistair searched the surrounding shelves for anything that might help.

The more she read, the more questions she had.

*"A path lost to time."*

*"A door that does not open for the living."*

*"Only the bearer may return."*

But it was the final passage that sent a chill through her.

*"And when the blade calls again, the path shall open once more."*

Seraphina stared at the words.

The blade.

Had it not *already* called to her?

She set the book down slowly. "Alistair."

He glanced up.

She turned the manuscript toward him, pointing at the passage.

His gaze darkened. "I know."

She hesitated. "What does it mean?"

Alistair exhaled. "It means that if the sword calls to you again…"

He didn't finish.

But he didn't need to.

Seraphina's fingers curled against the table.

"It means the path is opening," she murmured.

Alistair's silence was answer enough.

She inhaled sharply, steadying herself.

Then—

A gust of wind rattled the windows.

The candlelight flickered.

And in the distant halls of Ravenglade Keep—

A whisper of *something* unseen stirred in the dark.

Seraphina's breath caught.

Alistair's silver eyes met hers.

Neither of them spoke.

But they didn't need to.

They had both felt it.

The shift.

The call.

The path was opening.

And this time—

There would be no turning back.

---