The west wing of the Royal Library was suffused in a silence so profound it felt stifling. Sorian stepped over the locked threshold, not daring to stir even a speck of dust.
He had stolen the key from the Queen's steward three years ago.
Here, in this forgotten corridor lined with books bound in human skin and thread, history no longer served the kingdom—it haunted it.
Sorian's gaze scanned the spines of tomes older than the crown itself.
Wesryn. Vex. Shadow Legacy. Blood of the Abyss.
His fingers paused on a red leather volume, unmarked yet emanating an ancient aura, like a breath choked by the grasp of time. He drew it out.
Every page within was inscribed in a language he did not recognize, yet the symbols pulsed faintly—somehow responding to his presence.
He flipped to the last page. There, scrawled in what appeared to be dried blood, was a name:
CERON. LAST OF THE WESRYN. KING OF SMOKE. TRAITOR OF LOVE.
The name stabbed at his heart like a dagger. Not Sorian. Ceron.
The man from his dreams.
Him—yet not him.
He clenched his fist over the page, feeling 滚烫的 liquid beneath his palm. Power—ancient and ravenous—roiled under his skin. His blood felt thickened. A foreign memory whispered behind his eyes.
A battlefield.
A scream.
A sword piercing through—and a kiss…
His body…
In the midst of…
The exile was named Evaran—once the royal master of forbidden arts. Now, he was a ghost within bones, dwelling in the ruins.
"You should not have come," Evaran rasped as Aria entered. His voice grated like a blade scraping stone. "The Queen watches over all."
"She cannot watch what she herself buried," Aria replied.
He regarded her. "What do you seek?"
She produced a silver ring inscribed with Wesryn glyphs—taken from the archives. "I want to know what the Queen tried to destroy. What dwells within the Prince. And what I remember in my dreams."
Evaran's eyes narrowed. He took the ring, turning it between trembling fingers.
"This belonged to the first heir of the Wesryn. If it responds to you… then his soul remembers you."
Aria said nothing. Her hands curled at her sides.
"There is a bond between you," Evaran continued. "Not political, nor even of blood. Something deeper. A cycle—bound by betrayal, nourished by resurrection."
Aria whispered, "How do we end this?"
Evaran lifted his head, his sunken eyes hollow. "You do not. Either you break it… or it breaks you."
Inner Sanctum — Royal Palace, the Same Night
Queen Lavaria knelt before a basin of black water, her fingers slicing the surface until blood trickled. Around her stood five robed, blindfolded figures: the Circle.
"Summon them," she commanded.
"These names are forbidden," the eldest murmured.
"Summon them," she repeated.
And so they did.
The water shivered. Then darkened. Then roiled.
From its depths rose whispers—ancient and dreadful. Names unspoken for centuries.
Red Hand. Hollow Blade. Firstborn of the Raven.
The last name seared into Lavaria's mind like fire:
CERON.
Her eyes flew open. "Hunt him. Kill him before he remembers it all."
Back in the Library Vault
Sorian clutched the red book to his chest and fled the library. The walls felt closer, as if they knew what he had read.
That night, he did not sleep.
He sat at the foot of his bed, the book in his hand, a knife resting on his knee.
Waiting for a past that no longer asked permission to return.
Waiting for the Queen to act.
Waiting for Aria—for whatever came next, she could not survive it alone.
And deep in his blood, the ancient name stirred again:
CERON.
With it came a promise long buried—
If you fall again, it will be by my hand.
Even in death, I will love you still.
End of Chapter 8