Liriel's POV
Liriel— no—I moved through the winding halls of the Sealed Archive, every breath reminding me of where I was, of the life I now lived which I didn't yet own. The walls were etched with ancient runes and shallow scorch marks, the scars of battles fought in silence. My fingers brushed along a sigil that glowed faintly, pulsing like a dying heartbeat.
I didn't remember learning these symbols. But my hands—Liriel's hands—did.
The mind I came with trembled, confused. The body I now wore moved like a second nature.
I passed the vault where the Warding Flame burned dimly. Faint blue flickers rose from the central brazier, barely illuminating the cracked floor beneath it. A cold gust blew through, and the flame dipped dangerously low.
"Liriel!"
Thalen's voice again, closer this time.
I turned and found him at the top of the stone steps, half-armored, his dark braid unraveling at the ends, eyes tired but determined.
"You're not etching the new runes," he said, striding toward me. "You looked… lost."
I blinked. "I… I had a vision. I don't remember it. It was just for a moment."
Of course I couldn't tell him I wasn't from here. I would look crazy.
He frowned. "Again? That's the third time this week. Are you sure the bastard vyrmox didn't touch you in the last breach?"
I shook my head, drawing back slightly. "I don't think so. But something is shifting. I feel…" I paused. "differenr."
Thalen was a close ally from what I had read but I didn't know how well I could trust him yet.
He held my gaze for a second too long. "You've always been strange, Liriel," he said. "But we don't have time for strange today. The sigil gates are breaking. If the wards fall, the Dreadlands will bleed straight into Cindergate."
A jolt passed through me. I remembered—vaguely—the book saying something about "the dusk gates," a term made by the cindergates people. I tried to remember what exactly it was but the details had been hidden, left to interpretation. My reader's mind scrambled to fill the gaps.
"Where's the High Priestess?" I asked, following him down the corridor.
"In the Hall of Silent Tongues, arguing with the Flamebearers," Thalen muttered. "She's too focused thinking that she can saveVelmaria. She doesn't see that the corruption's already here."
My heart pounded faster. If I was going to survive in this world, I'd need to do more than remember it. I'd need to rewrite it from within.
We entered the Sigil Hall. Dozens of young scribes and mages sat in close circles around the Warding Flame, etching rune lines into stone tiles, chanting low in ancient tongues. The air buzzed with restrained power.
Naela stood at the center, her crimson robes trailing behind her like fire itself. Her golden jewelries shimmered in the dim light, and her voice, though calm, carried the weight of centuries.
"I warned you all," she said, not turning. "The Veil is thinning. The seal on Ardyn Veyne's mind is failing."
That name. That name snapped through my mind like a whip. Ardyn. The reason I'd kept reading that book in the first place. The cursed child of the Divines.
The blightborn. Last of his people.
Ardyn was born into a forgotten royal family who once ruled dreadlands before it became a land filled with creatures of the night after their fall.
Ardyn was cursed with immortality by the gods to fulfill a prophecy— one I didn't get to fully read before coming here— and had to watch everyone he loved die. Each time he got wonded to the point of death, he would reawake with fragmented memories.
The man who destroyed kingdoms by dreaming them into dust.
He had celestial magic.
In this world—Elyndor— there was a magical ranking system:
Celestial: it was rare an mainly used by the church of divine order. Drawn from starlight or divine
resonance.
Elemental: Common among Fae. Tied to emotions.
Void/Blight Magic: Tainted Essence. Forbidden. Used by enemies.
Runecraft: Enchantment-based. Common in Cindergate— what I currently had.
But every always comes with a piece. Every spell leeches something—age, memory, strength, or emotion.
Some are born as Essentiers (rare beings who can channel pure Essence). Ardyn and I fell under this category.
We could use magic without a cost.
He didn't know that yet. Nor did anyone else except me.
"He's still locked beneath the Vale," someone argued.
"No," Naela whispered. "He moves."
Gasps and murmurs.
Thalen stepped forward. "We need to find him first. If the Church does, they'll kill him before we know the truth."
My head was spinning. I clutched the runestone in my hand tighter. It glowed faintly. Warmer than before. Like it recognized me.
Naela turned then and stared straight at me.
"You dreamt again, didn't you, child?" she asked softly, coming to stand next to me.
I froze. "How did you—?"
"Because your soul smells of ink and something not of this realm," the priestess said, walking toward me. "Because you came back… different."
I couldn't breathe.
"You are no longer just Liriel," Naela said in a voice only I could hear. "You are a tether between what was written and what was erased. Don't let anyone find out."
She knew.