The scent of ink and aging parchment filled the air like a slow, familiar fog, wrapping around Lor as he wandered the aisles of the town's library with quiet purpose.
His hazel eyes darted over the spines of heavy tomes, fingers trailing along dusty edges, the midnight-dark oak shelves looming tall around him, carved with intricate runes that whispered of centuries past.
The stack under his arm was heavy—Witchfire and Forbidden Flame, The Lost Sisterhood: A History of Banished Magicks, The Lustroot Lineage: Witchblood Through the Veins—titles about witches, their bloodlines, forbidden rituals, ancient betrayals.
He wasn't entirely sure what he was looking for.
Truth? Reassurance? Warnings? His mind churned with questions about Kiara, her glowing eyes, her witch blood, and the bond that tethered them.
He turned toward one of the side alcoves, candlelit and quiet, the flickering light casting long shadows across the stone floor—and paused.
