Ink Unseen

The book felt like it was breathing.

Every time I touched it, the old leather pulsed faintly beneath my fingers, as if it recognized the blood running through my veins. Sometimes, it felt less like I was reading it—and more like it was reading me.

I hadn't yet finished reading all of it. The few lines I'd uncovered had already shaken something deep in me. But today, something compelled me to open the pages I had yet to touch.

I sat by the tall window in my chamber, morning light falling across the book's spine. As I turned the pages one by one, I found more of my mother's delicate handwriting—elegant, graceful, and filled with pressure. Like someone writing in haste, perhaps with tears staining the ink.

One page stopped me.

It was blank. No ink, no symbols. But… it felt different.

I reached for a bowl of water and lightly wet my fingers, brushing the page gently. As the dampness touched the parchment, and the light from the rising moon outside grazed it, invisible letters began to emerge—glowing faintly in silver.

"Not all truth is written in ink. Some are buried in blood and time."

I swallowed hard.

This wasn't just a book.

It was a map hidden in plain sight.

A riddle appeared next, in verse:

"Beneath the third moon and candlelight's rest,

In walls that hold silence where water sleeps best,_

Press your palm on the circle of rust,_

And the truest inheritance will awaken with trust."_

I copied it down onto a separate slip of parchment.

"Walls that hold silence where water sleeps…" That didn't sound like the chamber below the mirror. No—this was something else.

My eyes drifted to the outer courtyard visible from my window. In its farthest corner sat an old stone well, choked by vines and long forgotten. Nearby, I remembered seeing twisted roots that looked like they might be hiding something—a door, maybe.

I knew where I needed to go.

**

That night, once the castle had gone quiet, I slipped out of my room.

I moved through the garden like a shadow. Yana was asleep, and I hadn't been followed. The back path through the rose arch had no guards at this hour, and my boots left no sound against the cold ground.

The well stood like a sleeping sentinel. The surrounding vines curled like ancient serpents. I ran my hand along the cold stone and felt it—a pulse.

Then I saw it: a dark red circle etched faintly into the stone, half-hidden beneath roots. Faded like old blood.

I pressed my hand against it.

The ground shifted.

Stone groaned and gave way as a hidden passage creaked open beneath the well. Cool air spilled upward, smelling of earth, metal, and something… older.

I ignited a small glow crystal and stepped down into the hidden path. The air grew still, yet heavy—like the room itself was listening.

At the bottom of the passage, I found a narrow chamber of jagged stone. There were no mirrors. No scrolls. Just a single stone table, and resting on it, a glowing crystal orb—about the size of my heart—gently pulsing with violet light.

As I stepped closer, my body warmed.

My palm was dampened with sweat. My breathing slowed.

Then the voice came.

"Elara…"

I turned sharply. No one was there. But the voice—it wasn't from the room.

It was inside me.

Soft. Feminine. But layered with something deeper. Something ancient.

"Look within—not just within your blood. That is where your true legacy waits."

My hand reached toward the orb. The moment I touched it—

The world around me vanished.

I stood in a forest.

The sky burned orange and red, twilight bleeding through the trees. In front of me stood a woman with long, wildfire-like hair and eyes just like mine.

"Mother?"

She didn't answer. But she smiled.

Behind her, flames danced. A massive wolf knelt behind her, bowing its head in reverence.

"I'm afraid," I said. "I don't know who to trust. Not even Lucan."

She nodded slowly. And finally, she spoke.

"Trust doesn't need to be granted. It must be built. But you, Elara, must first trust your voice. In this world… too many will try to speak in your name."

I gasped as I woke.

I was back in the chamber.

The crystal orb had dimmed—but in my hand, something new had appeared:

A silver ring, engraved with a crescent moon and a blood-red droplet in its center.

It was warm in my palm. Alive.

My mother had left it for me.

And I knew then—

I wouldn't just read her legacy.

I would become it.

I clenched the ring tightly in my hand as I returned to my chamber. My fingers were still trembling.

Something inside me had shifted after that vision—not just because I saw my mother, but because her words still echoed in my ears:

"Trust your voice…"

It sounded so simple. But in a world like this—where magic twisted truth and shadows whispered lies—sometimes your voice could be the hardest one to recognize.

**

Dawn arrived, but I hadn't slept. I sat near the window, flipping through my mother's book, one page at a time.

Some of the hidden writing had started to appear more clearly. Was it because I was more connected to my bloodline now? Or had the crystal awakened something inside me?

One of the newest pages stopped me cold.

"If you have found the ring, then the time has come. One of the three keys has awakened. The other two are scattered: one in the frozen North, one beneath the speaking earth. When all three unite, the Gate of Blood will open."

The Gate… of Blood?

I looked down at the ring in my palm—a crescent moon surrounding a droplet of crimson enamel.

What would open if all three keys were found?

Power?

Or ruin?

Suddenly, the door to my room burst open.

Lucan.

I stood immediately, reflexively hiding the ring in my palm. His eyes scanned the room—and then locked onto my hand.

"Where did you get that?" he asked, his voice tight.

"I found it," I said evenly. "In a place you cannot enter."

He didn't answer. But his steps closed the distance between us, slow and deliberate.

"You know what that is?"

"More than you think," I replied. "It's not just a ring. It's a warning. A legacy. And a door."

Lucan's jaw flexed. "A door that could kill you if opened without preparation."

"And you?" I asked. "Do you want to stop me from opening it?"

"No," he said. "I want you to understand what you're awakening."

We stood in silence, tension pulsing between us.

"You know about the three keys, don't you?" I finally asked.

He exhaled slowly. "I do. But it's not my place to find them. I was meant to wait—for someone worthy to awaken them."

"You don't think I'm worthy?"

"It's not about worth," he said. "It's about survival. Not everyone who inherits power survives its price."

I met his gaze directly.

"I'm not asking to be protected, Lucan. I'm asking to be trusted."

He paused, Just for a heartbeat. Then… he looked away. Not defeated—but yielding.

"You'll need this," he said, reaching into his cloak.

He handed me a small scroll sealed in dark red wax.

"What is it?"

"A map to the North," he replied. "One of the keys… is there. In the ruins of a city frozen by the blood of the Luna who betrayed your mother."

I took it slowly, feeling the weight of it more than the parchment allowed.

"Why give this to me now?"

Lucan's voice softened. "Because after tonight… I know I can't stop you anymore. And maybe… I was never meant to."

After he left, I returned to the window.

The fog had started to rise from the trees. The world beyond still felt strange, still dangerous. But for the first time since I arrived, I didn't feel caged by it.

I felt like I was moving toward something.

Maybe destiny.

Maybe disaster.

Maybe… the truth.

But whatever it was—

I wouldn't run from it.