Elena looked at the letter and sighed as she let it slip out of her hand and join the pile on her desk, and she rubbed her eyes, trying to get rid of the headache pounding in her head. Then she let out a suffocating groan, and Lily perked up from her knitting.
"What is it this time?"
Elena glared at the letters, as if wanting them to burst into flame, yet they refused to fulfill her wish. "It's just these pathetic men," she cursed, "still trying to court me even though I publicly showed up with someone."
Lily chuckled. "They know that it was an act for you to get out of the marriage," she teased.
Elena grumbled under her breath.
"Just wish they would ignore me," she said as she crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. "Why are they even being so foolish? They are trying to court me?" she complained.
Lily smiled. "You know, they send those types of letters to all heirs or young members of the Seven," she said, giving a slight shrug.
"Is that true?" Elena asked, glancing at the pile of letters.
Lily shook her head. "If you attended more tea parties, you would know this," she teased.
Elena shot her a glare, "You know that I don't have a good reputation for when I attend tea parties."
Lily nodded, "Yes, last time you attended one, you made the daughter of Count Jalian cry."
Elena clicked her tongue in a "tsk," as she rolled her eyes, "That girl had it coming anyway, asking me about my sex life? Who brings up such a thing?"
Lily put down her knitting as she gave a small chuckle, "It's not uncommon to discuss such things at a tea party. But I do agree that was a foolish question," Elena straightened with a bit of pride. "After all, you're known as somewhat of a brute, only going to the training grounds and rarely attending any event." She said with a smile.
Elena faltered, as her face twisted in anger, the room warmed, and she grabbed the closest thing to her, which was a fountain pen, and threw it at Lily. Lily dodged the pen with ease, as the sharp point of the pen lodged itself in the stone wall behind her, and it let out a sharp crack.
Elena gasped, covering her mouth with her hands as Lily turned around, her green eyes growing wide.
"Uh, Elena?" Lily whispered.
Elena looked towards Lily, her own amber eyes wide as well, as she let out a meek, "Yes?"
"You're a brute."
Elena slumped, crestfallen. She couldn't deny it; the evidence was there in front of them. A fountain pen sticking out of a stone wall.
Lily walked over to it and tugged on the fountain pen. Lily stumbled slightly, expecting the pen to be stuck, when it slipped out easily.
"You okay, Lily?" Elena said, her voice wavering in embarrassment.
Lily quickly turned around and saw Elena's eyes filled with worry, and Lily gave an amused scoff.
"I'm fine," she said as she put down the fountain pen and walked over to Elena to pull her into a close hug.
Elena's rigid body crumbled as she leaned into Lily, still sitting in the chair at her desk. Lily looked down at her with an amused smirk and started to stroke Elena's red hair.
"Thank you," Elena mumbled quietly.
They stayed there in silence for a while, Lily stroking Elena's hair, as Elena closed her eyes.
"You've had a lot on your mind," Lily whispered, and Elena nodded.
"Yes, it just…" her voice rising in agitation, before it fell, "…I've been worrying about Fern, and Father is keeping too close of an eye on me. Whenever I leave my room, the other servants just follow me, and I can't send a messenger to the Undercity to inform Jake or ask the guild."
Elena groaned, leaning more into Lily as she continued to stroke her hair.
"You asked Henry to bring you to an auction, didn't you?"
Elena nodded, "Yes, but even he doesn't know when the next special auction will be. He only knows when they are gonna start because they send him a letter the day before it starts."
Lily hummed in thought, trying to think of ways to help her friend.
"I wish Jake were here," Elena complained, her chest tightening slightly at the idea of him being here. "This is his expertise, and he lives in the Undercity. He can probably figure out if she's alive or not within minutes."
She let out a sigh, and for a moment, silence stretched.
"Was Fern close?" Lily asked softly.
Elena shook her head, "No," she said in the same softness, "we bumped into each other a few times, and had good chats. She was a nice woman, but I know for a fact she wouldn't let Bolin out of her sight, not even for a moment. It was a gift from her father after all."
Elena finally pulled away from Lily as she looked back at the pile of letters, then she stood up and walked to the wall of books."Throw those in a fire like usual," her voice cold.
Lily bowed, picked up the letters, and exited Elena's room.
Elena only glanced at her as she started to search through the old tomes. She has almost read through all of them — except the cursed biology book — her eyes scanned through all the titles, looking for one she hasn't read for a while or new ones.
Finally, she found one that she hadn't recognized. She grabbed the book, and its silver and white leather wasn't old but new. She flipped it over in her hands, feeling the weight of it, and it seemed heavier than what the pages suggested. She looked at the title and said it aloud in the silent room.
"Forgiven Widow, by…" she narrowed her eyes, trying to read the name of the author. The letters weren't faded, but were clearly there, etched into the spine with silver thread. And yet… her mind slid off them, like something in her refused to let them exist, as she tried to pierce the haze. Then a sharp pain lanced through her skull, and she yelped as she held the book away, and at the same time, the pain stopped.
Elena calmed her breathing, still staring at the book. "Magic…?" she murmured.
No, this wasn't like her father's magic. Or Jake's.
They were mages who controlled the elements. That was simple enough. She didn't. Heralds never did. They borrowed power by using artifacts, or magic circles, requiring sacrificial objects of magic. Or ink carved into skin, allowing the magic in their blood flow through the circles.
And this didn't feel like archaic magic either. Not like the Arch's and their careful, deliberate spell work. Nor the priests, with their whispered prayers and borrowed divinity.
This felt…older.
Like something that didn't need permission to exist.
"Sorcery?" She said softly, as though her voice could shatter glass, as her grip on the book tightened slightly.
Sorceresses.
The word settled heavily in her mind. Rare and dangerous magic users. The ones who could use all magic, the ones who didn't choose a path of magic, but owned them. The leaders of the Valkorian War used sorcery to end the war and sealed the creatures of The First Age in darkness.
Elena could only think of one sorceress who lives in this Age.
She couldn't remember the name of her, but she knew she was a part of the Strix house.
"So she writes," she murmured, unease threading her voice as she stared at the white and silver book. Her hand glided over the hard leather of the book, as she glanced up at the shelf she took it from. She hesitantly held it up to put it away, but the title…
"Forgiven Widow…" she repeated the name softly as though her voice could shatter glass. She frowned. "Maybe just a page or two?" she asked herself as she continued to stare at the title and the fact that it was possibly written by a sorceress.
The moment stretched, as a faint whisper arose, one that couldn't be heard.
She sighed as she pulled the book close to her chest and walked over to her bed, then laid down and opened the book.
And she started to read.
~~~~~
Jake stared at the mask.
It would cover his entire face, purple metal acting as skin, hollow-eyed, its mouth trapped in a snarl, showing its broken fangs. This was not the death that took one in peace. But the one that would hunt you down, toy with you, until you gave up, and then it took you.
The mask was in the shape of a traitor's face. The traitors of the Valkorian War. Former Elves that betrayed humanity when they needed it the most.
Jarian.
The word sat wrong in his chest, as his jaw tightened. His fingers flexed at his sides, then stilled, as if even a small movement might set something in motion he couldn't take back.
Tonight, he would wear it.
Tonight, he would become it.
A traitor to Elena.
Death to Henry.
His gaze dragged over the mask's features again, tracing the sharp lines, the empty sockets, the hollow cheeks. It didn't look like something a man wore. It looked like something a man disappeared into.
Like something that didn't come back.
The room around him was bare, stripped to necessity: a bed, a desk, a handful of books. Order and control. Proof that he was still himself.
His eyes flicked to the journals stacked neatly at the corner of the desk: his thoughts, his reports, his handwriting, his existence before they would fade away tonight.
Evidence of Henry Falmil and Malanor's activity, which he had collected in half a week. He had thought of turning Henry Falmil into the guards of Altor, guards that policed the city. But having a member of House Falmil arrested… that would spread too quickly in the public and the courts.
His hand twitched forward for a moment before stopping.
He thought about Elena and his choice tonight. This choice was the only way to protect her name, even if it meant destroying everything else between them.
But if Henry Falmil was to live, how much danger would she be put into? How much suffering would she be put through? What if this time, he couldn't stop a planned marriage? What if she couldn't escape?
That thought struck him deep, too deep. His chest tightened more at just the thought.
'She'll find a way,' he told himself. 'She always does.'
He shook his head. He knew he was stalling… stalling for something he was too scared to admit, as his hand finally reached out and placed a hand on the mask.
This wasn't about what he would become.
This wasn't about planned marriages.
It was about what needed to be ended.
They had their fun, but the responsibility is too great now. Too heavy for both of their shoulders. They were heirs, people who would take the lead of their families and lead them into an unknown future.
His grip tightened on the mask as he lifted it, and he turned it around. He looked down at it, his own gaze hollow. He didn't move for a moment. His mind and body frozen. Not with thought, not with hesitation, but something else. Something else stirred deeper inside him.
He felt… hungry.
Jake shook his head as he dismissed the feeling, and finally, he put the mask on. His worries, his thoughts, his world vanished. The only thing left was the mask. A Jarian. Death.
He looked around the room briefly, then he walked into a shadow and vanished into it. The familiar sense of mana flowing through his blood burned as he flowed through the shadows. Stopping briefly and appearing in dark alleyways to conserve his mana pool.
At one turn, he emerged just as a group of beast-kin and dwarves rounded the corner. They froze. One of the dwarves' third gem-like eyes actually opened in surprise or terror as they screamed and ran. Panic rippled outward as others turned toward the noise, but Jake was already gone, melting back into the shadows before anyone else could find him.
He continued through the shadows, passing by civilians, adventurers, crooks, and more, unbeknownst to them. Except one, a man dressed for the desert, who had white glasses with tiny slits in them. The man's head followed the direction Jake was going too. This also caught Jake's attention.
'Rare one… actually able to see me? Maybe another shadow mage, or an Arch? Jake ignored the man, and the feeling was mutual. The element of shadows was rare to be born with.
Those were the only two things that Jake had run into on this mission. He was close to one of the lifts to the surface. He did the same thing before. Hiding behind a larger figure and staying in their shadow, and leaving once the lift had stopped.
Once more, he was on the surface.
Once more, he was in Altor.
Altor opened around him, not carved but raised from stone. Stone that was shaped into clean lines and deliberate symmetry, buildings standing tall instead of burrowing inward. Where the Undercity pressed down, this place stretched outward, open to the indigo night sky above.
The streets were wide and even. Laid with fitted stone that showed no cracks, no desperate patchwork. Laterns burned steadily along the roads, their light warm and controlled, casting soft gold across polished surfaces instead of fighting against the dark, almost like individual fading sunsets.
Even at night, Altor was alive. People moved with purpose, not survival. Fine coats instead of worn leathers. Measured steps instead of weaving through crowds. Conversations kept low, yet cheerful. As dwarves, beast-kin, and humans walked the streets. However, they were sparse due to the late night.
Doors lined every building, solid wood set neatly into carved frames, polished to a shine. Balconies hung overhead with carved railings. Some even had deliberately twisted steel, as if decorations instead of need.
Guards stood at intervals along the streets, not hidden, not whispering, but visible. Watching. Their presence wasn't denied or disguised; it was accepted.
Jake stepped forward, his boots making no sound against the smooth stone. As the indigo night stretched above him, cold, gleaming stars shimmered above. Afina was mostly full while Yukal was half full.
He tilted his head up and stared at Afina.
The blue moon hung low, its light spilling across the stone in a cold, steady glow. Along with Yukal's glow, it painted the alley in an indigo light, softened the hard edges of the world, and caught along the sharp ridges of his mask. For a moment, he just breathed—slow, controlled—but the air felt thinner, cleaner. It was unusual to him, always was.
Afina wasn't just a moon. It was a god. Yukal too—watching, silent, distant. Always there.
His fingers curled slightly at his sides. "Afina… Yukal…" he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath, rough against the stillness. "You've watched over us for over ten years now…" The words felt heavier the longer they stayed in his mouth. "Keeping our secret. Letting it…" His throat tightened, and the next word came slower, quieter, "…live."
His chest hitched. For a moment, the mask felt too tight. Like it was pressing inward, sealing something in.
"Does this have to be the end of us?"
The question lingered in the air, swallowed by the silence above him. No answer came. Of course, none came, as Jake stilled as if waiting, hoping for one. But still nothing. Then the world narrowed. The light faded as he stepped back—then sank into the shadows, letting them close over him like cold water. The shadows welcomed him; they always did. His body moved on its own, being guided by the shadows and slipping through the darkness. Following the path he had taken a hundred times before. Routes carved into muscle memory. Into instinct.
Toward her.
Then realization struck too late. His movement faltered, just a fraction of a second.
No.
Not tonight.
He didn't want to see her.
Didn't want to see her eyes when she realized what he had done. What he was about to do. Didn't want to see that moment where everything between them broke.
But his body didn't listen.
It carried him forward anyway, and he found himself under a tree.
The same tree.
Its branches stretched wide above him, leaves whispering softly in the night breeze. Moonlight filtered through them in shifting patterns, scattering across the ground—across the place where they would hold each other. The place where she would become queasy after teleporting. The place where she would look at him like he was still—
Jake shut his eyes. His breath came in slow, measured pulls, but it wasn't enough as the memories pressed in anyway. Her room—warm, lit by the soft gold light of candles. The faint scent of parchment and something sweeter, something that lingered in the air long after she moved. Caramel. He thought for a moment as flashes of her amber, delightful eyes, her voice, low and amused.
His jaw tightened as his tail lashed, and he forced it all down. Locked it away. Buried it deep, where it couldn't reach him. Where it couldn't stop him. Where they would be…
Safe.
He exhaled slowly, letting the cold replace it, as he turned his focus outward. Past the tree. Past the walls. To the forest beyond. He pictured it instead—the hum of magic woven through every crack and brick of the wall. A barrier meant to keep things like him out. It didn't.
The shadows shifted, consumed him once more, and he was gone. Reappearing beneath the canopy.
He froze.
The Halas manor was right in front of him, her balcony right there. The one he would go to to start their adventures. Their fun. He growled lightly as he turned away and ran. Ran away to one of the other manors that lay scattered among the forest of the Falmil compound. Shadows and indigo light passed over him as he ran, and finally, he found the one.
The one where Henry Falmil lived. Home of Bormir Falmil, the youngest of the three Elders of House Falmil. The Gala Manor was an imitation of the Halas Manor. Its roof glowing bright blue instead of old faded red. Its steps had slight wear but were still sharp, and its vines clung to the columns instead of being buried deep inside of them.
The Gala Manor was built at the beginning of this Age, the Third Age.
Jake let out a small breath as he stuck to the shadows. Scouting the Manor and getting to know the guard rotation. Which he found out was an exact match to the Halas one, and once the coast was clear, he found some lock picks in his heavy jacket, and with ease broke through a window without causing the silent alarms to flare.
He moved across the wooden floor, his steps silent, as he searched room after room. His ears heightened the small shifts of sound that the guards outside and the late-night caregivers made. Finally, he found a bedroom with a lone figure sleeping silently in the bed.
Jake grasped the door handle, and it turned.