Suzan pinched her nose dramatically as she and Lily stepped out of the dusty old illusion-library into the real, very much non-magical, capital library.
The sharp scent of parchment and candle wax hit her first—comforting, familiar, almost boring after the vault. The bright chandeliers above glittered against neat rows of books. The librarians were still fussing with their quills, not even aware that just one room further, they'd nearly discovered a hidden vault no one had stepped in for decades.
"See?" Suzan spread her arms wide with a flourish, ignoring that her sleeve was smudged with dust. "Totally fine. Still breathing, still charming, still brilliant."
Lily gave her a look that could have curdled milk. "You were bleeding from the nose. Pale as chalk. Shaking like a cat in a rain barrel."
"I was dramatically pale," Suzan corrected, tapping her cheek. "Very fashionable. Probably mysterious. I looked like a tragic heroine—don't you think?"
"No. You looked like you'd faint and crush me." Lily grabbed her wrist and began dragging her toward the exit, skirts swishing. "We're going to get you checked."
Suzan dug her heels into the library's floor tiles, scandalized. "A checkup? What do you think I am, some sickly noble with fainting spells? I'm not wasting coin to have some old doctor poke me with sticks and tell me to drink soup."
"Exactly soup," Lily shot back. "And maybe herbs. You're going."
The library doors creaked open, and the crisp night air greeted them. Street lanterns glowed along the cobblestones, painting the capital streets in warm pools of light. Outside, the world was calm, ordinary, blissfully unaware of the secrets hiding below.
Suzan tilted her head back, inhaling the cool air like freedom itself. "See, Lily? Stars in the sky, city still standing, look at me—no nosebleed, no fainting. Pale? Pale is my natural charm. I was born with it. Glorious ghost queenly material."
"You nearly collapsed in there." Lily trotted after her, tugging Suzan's sleeve. "You don't bleed like that and just skip away like nothing happened.
"I am fine. Clearly, we don't need—"
"We're going." Lily looped her arm through Suzan's with a force that brooked no argument. "You'll thank me when you're not dying."
Meanwhile, inside the city library hours earlier...
The five cloaked men had followed.
Or at least, they'd tried.
When Suzan had pulled that ridiculous, reckless stunt of opening the glowing book-door, they had moved quickly, slipping in behind her—ready to trail their unknowing pawn into the heart of the forbidden. They moved without hesitation, their boots making no more sound than a passing breeze.
Yet when they stepped through, expecting to find the same hidden passage Suzan had revealed, the world shifted.
What stretched before them was not the vault they had calculated so carefully, but an echo—an endless illusion of shelves and treasures, glittering faintly in dim blue light. Jewels sparkled in piles. Ancient swords leaned against golden chests. Scrolls floated midair as though waiting to be plucked.
And yet—none of it was solid.
The first man, the one leading, extended a gloved hand toward a suspended crown. His fingers passed through it as if through smoke. The crown rippled, wavered, and then steadied again, untouchable.
A silence fell over them, broken only when another spoke. His voice was clipped, professional, and low. "It's false."
"Could it be… protection?" one asked, his voice taut.
"Or misdirection," the leader muttered. Not unexpected," the leader replied. His tone carried no frustration, only assessment. "Proceed. Test the boundaries."
For long minutes they searched methodically, pacing the wide expanse. One ran a hand along the wall—only for his palm to meet nothing. Another tested the ground, pressing with the butt of his blade. The marble beneath was solid, but its reflection in the treasures was slightly warped, as though it were a surface of water.
"It mirrors the real," one observed. "But not entirely."
"Then where is she?" another asked. His voice held no anger, only calculation. "The girl. She entered before us. She opened a door none of us could. And yet—she vanished. Where to? It seems this is not where she went."
For a time, they searched on, restless, methodical. Their cloaks dragged through illusions, their hands brushed against empty artifacts, for long only the sound of their boots echoed across the false hall. Nothing solid. Nothing real. Only a mockery of a vault.
Out in the real vault when Suzan was with the family frame crying near it and the voice kept calling her soothing her the illusion where the five cloaked men were trapped was being effected
And then…
The air shifted.
It was almost imperceptible at first—a faint hum, a ripple like heat haze.
One of them stilled, narrowing his eyes. "Did you feel that?"
The others did.
A thrumming, low and steady, shuddered through the floor. The false treasures quivered like reflections disturbed in water. The illusion wavered.
"What's causing it?" one hissed.
They looked wildly about. But there was no source. No spell to disrupt, no sigil to break.
Only… change.
The vault around them cracked, shivered, and distorted. The false treasures began to shimmer. Jewels flickered like dying fireflies, scrolls bending as though under unseen pressure. The walls themselves seemed to breathe, expanding and contracting with unnatural rhythm.
Something beyond their reach was moving—something responding to a presence they could not see. The others froze, listening. The illusion itself began to warp, like paint dripping from canvas. Statues flickered. Shelves bent and straightened again. The changes were happening slowly like the illusions were trying to hold itself from disappearing.
"The dimension is distorting," said the leader, his tone sharp, focused.
"From where?"
No answer came. They scoured the edges, the columns, every shimmer of light. But the shift deepened—the hall cracking apart like a mirror in water.
The fake vault crumbled.
And slowly—agonizingly—it bled into the real one.
In the true vault…
Suzan had already left. Her laughter and Lily's exasperation were echoing the old library by the time the men crossed the threshold into the genuine chamber.
This vault was no illusion. It was older than the illusion had suggested—vaulted ceilings carved with faded sigils, walls lined with towering stone shelves, air heavy with centuries of dust. Rows upon rows of relics and treasures gleamed faintly under soft magical light. Unlike the false vault, everything here was solid, real, weighty with danger.
The cloaked men did not waste time gawking.
"Search for the girl" the leader's command was a whisper, but firm.
They fanned out swiftly. Boots striking stone, eyes sharp beneath their hoods, they traced the corners of the chamber. But Suzan and Lily were gone. Only silence, dust, and the faint trace of a child's footsteps lingered.
"She was here."
"Recently," one finally murmured, crouching by a disturbed patch of dust. Small footprints trailed faintly across the marble floor.
The cloaked men paused, every one of them tense.
The leader's jaw clenched. "She's gone."
"Do we pursue?"
"No. The relic comes first."
They moved with precision, and purpose now splitting without needing further instruction. Their boots made no sound, their cloaks brushing stone as they passed relics of immense power. Ignoring the temptation of other treasures. Past shelves of grim tomes. Past pedestals cradling blades that radiated menace. Past urns that pulsed faintly with sealing charms. No hands strayed, no eyes lingered. They had come for one purpose only.
Until at last they reached it.
The relic of time.
It sat upon a low stone dais, dull and unassuming. A golden hourglass, small enough to fit in one's palms, its sands unmoving. To the eye, it seemed little more than a trinket.
No pulse. No glow. Nothing to suggest it had stirred at all.
One of the cloaked men tilted his head. "It looks… dead."
"It hides itself," the leader said grimly. He extended a hand, not directly touching the relic but weaving mana around it, cloaking its signature. Mana flowed—not bright, not careless, but tightly controlled, woven into layered seals. The vault stirred faintly as if recognizing a disturbance, but their precision masked it. Careful—so careful—to avoid triggering alarms woven into the vault. "If we force it, the whole city will know. No… we smother it, and we carry it quiet."
As he spoke, the relic lifted smoothly into the air, wrapped in their magic, its glow veiled completely.
The men exhaled as one. The tension in the chamber thinned.
"Proceed with caution," the leader ordered. "Erase all signs, leave traces. Make them think it was the girl. Nothing else."
And so, they moved through the vault with meticulous care. Where Suzan's footprints remained faintly in dust, they deepened them, smudging edges to emphasize her passage. Here and there, they brushed fabric against corners, leaving faint threads. They mimicked her presence with uncanny accuracy. A story crafted, step by step, of a reckless intruder who had slipped into places she should not have.
"No evidence of ours remains," one confirmed after a circuit.
But even as they worked, no spell is perfect. No caution absolute. In masking their trail, their own mana lingered—faint, but present. Invisible to ordinary eyes, but not to those trained to sense.
When they were done, the leader straightened, cloak sweeping. "We're finished. Now—out."
They turned to the exit.
Outside, The night air was cooler as Suzan stepped out of the real massive city library with Lily, arms stretched high as if she hadn't a care in the world. For a moment she stopped on the stone steps, inhaling as if she'd been underwater too long. The familiar smells of roasting chestnuts and street smoke swept over her, grounding her in the ordinary rhythm of the capital. The lamps along the street were already lit, throwing amber halos over damp tiles, and the sky above had darkened into a deep violet, stars peeking one by one.
"Ahhh," she sighed. "Fresh air finally freedom, no collapsing ceilings, no strange glowing books. I could kiss the cobblestones."
"Don't you dare." Lily tightened her grip. "You're still seeing the healer."
"I am perfectly fine," she declared, her voice sharp and triumphant. "Fresh air, two working legs, a heartbeat—what more could you possibly want, Lily?" Suzan insisted she didn't want to go cause there was no need.
Lily wasn't buying it. She hooked her arm around Suzan's and began dragging her firmly down the steps. "You're coming with me. No arguments."
Suzan groaned. "Lily, it's going to be a waste of time! We'll sit there, some tired healer will glance at me, and then charge you a silver coin to say 'she's fine, now go home.'"
"That's still better than me waking up tomorrow and finding you collapsed on your floor," Lily shot back. "If your nose starts bleeding again—"
"It won't," Suzan cut in. "Besides, do you see any blood now?" She tilted her chin up proudly, as if daring the heavens to conjure another nosebleed on the spot. Nothing happened.
Lily's eyes narrowed. "That doesn't prove anything."
"It proves I'm right." Suzan grinned. "Which, to be fair, is most of the time."
As Suzan took her one step outside to the street ground exiting the library, inside with the cloaked men.
The traps woke.
The vault had tolerated one girl with royal blood. It had not tolerated them. Traps that had lain dormant for Suzan surged to life.
The floor shuddered. Runes flared alive in blazing blue. Chains of light whipped from the walls, slamming against the cloaked men's barriers. Arrows of pure mana hissed from the ceiling.
The men froze.
"Now," the leader ordered.
They sprinted.
From the ceiling, chains of spectral light snapped downward, whistling through the air. Spears of hardened mana jutted from the ground, forcing sharp turns. A wall of flame roared to life, cutting off the straight path.
They didn't panic. They moved with trained precision, weaving through the onslaught, every step measured. But the vault was relentless.
A spectral blade swept through one of them before he could fully evade. His body collapsed, cloak crumpling without a sound.
"Go, go!" The leader's bark echoed as the survivors sprinted, dodging as blades of light fell from above.
They pressed forward, using mana to shield and parry. Another fell when the ground beneath his feet split into a pit of writhing shadows, swallowing him whole.
The last three forced their way through, one trailing blood, until yet another trap—razor-thin threads strung across the air—sliced through the path. The third man went down, lifeless.
Only two remained. Bloodied, battered, bloodied, shield flickering but alive. Their breathing was heavy but controlled, eyes sharp even in pain.
Every step closer to the door was bought with a counterspell, a strike, a wound.
The leader shoved the survivor ahead, grim. "Don't stop!"
Together, they burst through the threshold at last—half-burned, coughing, clothes in tatters. Behind them, the vault's fury dimmed, doors sealing with a sound like a final heartbeat.
Three lost. Two alive. But the relic was theirs.
The other nodded once. "The relic is secure."
Then, without another word, they vanished into the night.
Meanwhile back in the city, Suzan and Lily walked through the calmer side streets now, the laughter of taverns behind them. Suzan swung her arms lazily, as if to prove how perfectly fine she was, while Lily kept a firm grip on her sleeve so she don't run off.
"Honestly, you're impossible," Lily muttered. "You nearly gave me a heart attack back there. You could at least pretend to care about your health."
"I do care," Suzan said brightly. "I care enough to know I'm perfectly fine." She gave Lily a cheeky grin. "You just like dragging me places because it makes you feel taller."
Lily rolled her eyes, tugging harder on Suzan's arm. "Keep talking. We're still going."
Suzan rolled her eyes, leaning against her friend dramatically. "Fine. But if he prescribes soup, I'm demanding pie instead."
The two slipped into their usual back-and-forth rhythm, their steps echoing across the cobblestone streets as they made their way toward the quieter alleys that would eventually lead to the healer's ward. The city was alive around them, lantern light flickering against the walls, laughter spilling from taverns, the clatter of hooves in the distance.
Suzan tried to focus on all that, tried to drown herself in Lily's muttering and the comfort of the ordinary. But somewhere deep inside, in a part of her chest she didn't want to acknowledge, she could still feel the faint echo of that whisper. Elisa.
She shoved the thought away. She wasn't Elisa for now. She was Suzan—the unstoppable, uncatchable chaos of the capital.
And so they both disappeared into the healer's ward, unaware that far in the city the, far behind the walls the echoes of three dead men and a stolen relic lingered in silence.