The Murmurs of the Dust

The ink on the ancient page was still fresh.

Ophelia stared at the name <<Zoriel >> etched in bold, unyielding script, where only moments ago, it had been erased. The book had rewritten itself before her very eyes.

A chill wrapped around her spine like an unseen hand.

This wasn't natural. Books didn't change. Words didn't rearrange themselves as if they were alive.

The observatory was silent, save for the faint crackle of the dying candle beside her. Outside, the wind had died. The stars had stopped flickering. As if the entire world was waiting. Watching.

Ophelia swallowed, her fingers hovering over the name on the parchment. The moment she let them trace the ink,

A whisper.

Soft as silk. Low as a sigh. A sound that curled at the edges of her mind, brushing against her thoughts.

She froze.

The sound was coming from the book.

A gentle exhale. A breath from something unseen.

Ophelia snapped the book shut and shoved it away.

Her own breath came ragged now, her pulse a frantic drumbeat in her chest. The air in the observatory felt thinner, as if something else was here with her.

She shot to her feet, gripping the edge of the desk to steady herself.

The candlelight flickered. The room creaked, the wooden beams settling in the eerie silence. But no one was there.

She needed to leave.

The thought surged through her like an instinct. Like a warning.

Ophelia turned, but before she could take a step, a knock sounded against the heavy wooden door.

She jumped.

For a moment, she stood frozen. The knock came again, more insistent this time.

Her fingers tightened against the desk.

No one came to her observatory at this hour.

Cautiously, she stepped forward and unlatched the door.

The hallway beyond was dimly lit by torches flickering against the stone walls, their golden glow casting shifting shadows along the floor. A figure stood just beyond the threshold, half-hidden by the gloom.

Professor Thorne.

His dark eyes pierced through her the moment the door swung open. The old astronomer's expression was unreadable, his sharp features carved in stone. The deep navy of his robes made him look even taller, more severe, his graying hair barely visible beneath the hood he had drawn over his head.

Ophelia did not speak.

She didn't need to. Thorne's gaze flickered to the book on her desk, the one still trembling ever so slightly from where she had pushed it away.

"You read it," he said.

It wasn't a question.

Ophelia's throat was dry. "How did you know?"

Thorne exhaled, stepping inside without invitation. The door swung shut behind him with a dull thud.

"I warned you," he murmured. "I told you not to look."

His voice was quiet, but something in it sent a shiver through her bones.

Ophelia crossed her arms over her chest, trying to suppress the unease clawing its way up her throat. "The king wants me to forget what I saw," she said. "But you brought me the book."

A flicker of something, regret, maybe, passed across Thorne's face.

"I brought it to you because you deserve the truth," he admitted. "But knowing the truth and surviving it are two very different things."

He stepped past her, his boots making no sound as he approached the desk. His fingers brushed the edge of the book, the way someone might test the sharpness of a blade.

"How much did you read?"

Ophelia hesitated. "Enough to know that the Starborn were not just legends."

Thorne's jaw tightened. "They were not."

Silence stretched between them. The air felt charged, thick with words left unspoken.

Ophelia took a step closer. "Professor," she said carefully, "you know more than you're telling me."

Thorne didn't deny it.

Instead, he sighed, his shoulders sinking slightly.

"There are things in this world," he murmured, "that should have been buried long ago. Names that should have been forgotten. Zoriel's is one of them."

Ophelia's heartbeat stuttered. "Who was he?"

Thorne finally turned to her, his dark eyes filled with something ancient.

"A prince," he said. "A warrior. A curse."

The room felt colder.

"A prince?" Ophelia echoed.

Thorne nodded. "The last heir of Vordane."

She stilled.

Vordane. The fallen kingdom. The land that had been erased from history.

But if Zoriel was its heir…

"Then why has his name been erased?" she asked.

Thorne's gaze darkened. "Because those who remember him do not live long enough to speak it."

The words settled over her like a weight, pressing against her ribs.

"But why?" she whispered.

Thorne hesitated for the first time. His eyes flickered—toward the window, toward the sky. Toward the stars.

"Because he did not die the way they say he did," he finally murmured. "Because something happened in Vordane the night it fell, something so terrible that the kingdom was not merely destroyed, but removed. Wiped from the stars themselves."

The observatory creaked, the air shifting.

Ophelia's hands trembled.

This was more than history. More than forgotten wars and lost kings.

Something was happening now. Something connected to the name that had appeared in the sky, to the whispers she had heard, to the book that had rewritten itself beneath her fingers.

And somewhere out there, Zoriel was waiting.

Thorne exhaled, rubbing a hand over his temple as if fighting off a distant headache.

"You should have never seen his name," he muttered.

Ophelia swallowed hard. "But I did."

Silence.

Then Thorne looked at her, something unreadable flickering behind his gaze.

"Then you must decide," he said softly. "Do you run? Or do you keep looking?"

Ophelia knew the answer before he even asked.

She lifted her chin. "I don't run."

Thorne sighed. "I was afraid you'd say that."

Then, without another word, he turned and strode toward the door.

But before he left, he glanced back one last time.

"If you continue down this path," he warned, "do not trust the stars."

Then he was gone, leaving nothing behind but the scent of dust and ink.

Ophelia stood in the center of the room, her heart pounding, the weight of the book still pressing against her palms.

She had always believed the stars were her guide.

But now, for the first time, she wondered if they had been leading her toward something she was never meant to find.

Outside, the wind howled.

And above, the constellations shifted, forming patterns she could no longer understand.