The library was vast enough to swallow her whole.
Its ceiling stretched into shadow, latticed with iron beams like a ribcage. Rows of shelves leaned like ancient soldiers, filled with books whose spines bore strange curling marks. Candles floated above them, their flames steady, unmoving, as if the air here did not dare to stir.
Aria shivered.
The guards left her at the threshold. Only Lirien remained, seated at the far end of a long marble table. His pale eyes tracked her every step as she hesitated, then forced herself to walk forward. The silence was so thick she could hear her own heartbeat.
"Sit," he said.
His voice was quiet, but it carried like an order carved into stone. Aria slid into the chair. The wood was heavy, the carved back pressing uncomfortably against her shoulders.
On the table before her lay a book. Its leather was cracked and mottled with stains, corners worn thin. But when she pulled it closer and lifted the cover, her chest tightened.
English.
Her fingers traced the uneven letters as though they might vanish.
She looked up at him, startled. "This—this is my language."
Lirien's expression didn't change. "Read."
The single word left no room for refusal. Her throat tightened, but she lowered her eyes again and began.
Day 1.
The forest hunts me. By night it growls, by day it waits. Every step I take is shadowed. My fire smolders low, for flame only draws them nearer. The roots here twist above ground like veins torn from a body. They shift when the wind sighs, and sometimes, I swear, when there is no wind at all.
Aria's voice faltered. She glanced at Lirien, but his face was carved marble. She swallowed and continued.
I thought I would die there, beneath the dripping canopy, lungs clawing for air. But then I saw them. Tall figures, pale in the moonlight, eyes gleaming as though lit from within. Their ears curved sharp, their hair fell long, and though their spears could have ended me, they did not.
They watched me, silent, the way one studies a strange beast. One pressed his palm against my chest. His voice was low, and though I could not understand the words, the sound was like water over stone—gentle, ancient. He placed something in my hand: a fruit, glowing faintly, like it had swallowed starlight.
Aria felt her mouth go dry.
I hesitated. Poison, I thought. But his gaze left me no choice. I ate. The taste was bitter, iron on my tongue, but it burned through me, scalding and strange. The world sharpened. The forest no longer muttered—it whispered, though I could not yet understand its tongue.
They call themselves Amoths, I think. Or perhaps that is only the word they repeated when pointing to their chests. Their language is woven like roots—dense, knotted, impossible to untangle. Yet something in their patience tells me I will learn, if I live long enough.
They led me to their hearth. Their fire did not burn with wood, but with roots, glowing red as if the earth itself bled light. They gave me water, bitter fruit, a place to rest. They spared me. And I cannot answer why.
Aria's voice trembled on the last word.
For a moment she just sat there, staring at the page. The air felt heavier now, the silence between her and Lirien almost unbearable.
Finally, she looked up. "Who wrote this?"
"Read," he said again, the same command, colder this time.
Her fingers curled into fists. "But—this person, he's human, isn't he? Like me."
Lirien's eyes narrowed, his face a mask of stillness. "Your task is to speak the words. Not to ask questions."
The finality in his tone made her throat tighten. But the diary burned in her hands, alive with secrets. She wanted—needed—to read more, to know what happened next.
Slowly, she turned the page. Her lips parted to continue, but Lirien's hand shot out, pressing the cover shut with a sharp snap.
"That is enough."
Aria flinched at the sound.
"You will continue tomorrow," he said, rising smoothly from his chair. "When I decide."
Two guards stepped forward, their armor chiming faintly. Aria was pulled to her feet and guided toward the door. She craned her neck back, staring at the closed book, her pulse racing.
She didn't understand this place, or these people. She didn't understand why they needed her. But she knew one thing—whoever had written those words was the only voice she could cling to in this strange, terrifying world.
And she was desperate to hear the rest of his story.