The moon hovered above Eldervale like a silver coin, cold and distant, watching the world with quiet judgment. In the far corner of the Academy of Arcanum, where students rarely wandered and teachers pretended did not exist, Lyra Ellowyn stood before a locked wooden door older than the kingdom itself.
She shouldn't be here.She knew it.Everyone always reminded her.
"Quiet girls shouldn't poke ancient things.""Not every curiosity needs answer.""Stay invisible, Lyra. It's safer."
But the whispers—those soft, humming voices that only she could hear—drew her deeper into the abandoned wing of the academy.
Lyra wasn't the type to break rules. She liked books, shadows, and silence. She blended into the world like ink that dried too fast. But tonight, something else moved her… something she couldn't explain.
Her fingertips brushed the sealed door. Runes carved into the wood glowed faintly, reacting to her presence—as if they recognized her.
She swallowed.
"Okay… this is probably stupid," she whispered to herself.
The runes flickered in response.
A soft crackle of magic surged up her arm, not painful, just cold—like dipping her hand into a stream in early winter. Her pulse quickened.
For the last three days, she had felt this door calling her. When she studied, it tugged at her. When she slept, it appeared in dreams. When she walked past this hallway, the air vibrated, whispering her name.
Lyra… Lyra…
Her heart thumped.
"Fine," she breathed. "I'll open you. Just stop shouting in my head."
She raised her palm, channeled the little magic she had—barely enough to light a candle—and the runes burst alive. A sharp, blue glow cracked through the door like lightning frozen in wood.
Then—
BOOM.
The door unlocked itself.
Dust exploded outward, coughing through the hall like the breath of a sleeping giant awakened. Lyra stepped inside.
The chamber beyond was small, circular, and suffocatingly cold. In the center sat a stone pedestal wrapped in ancient chains. And on the pedestal lay a black book.
No… not black.Black shouldn't shine.Black shouldn't pulse like a heartbeat.
The book throbbed with a deep violet glow, as if something inside it breathed.
Lyra felt a shiver run down her spine.
"This… this must be the sealed artifact the senior mages talk about," she whispered. "The Grimoire of Tharos."
The Forbidden Grimoire.
The one sealed one thousand years ago.The one tied to the Demon of the Void, whose name was erased from history.
She should run.Turn back.Pretend she never found this place.
But her legs carried her forward instead.
Her hand trembled as she reached toward the book.
The moment she touched it, the chains rattled violently—then shattered into dust.
A voice—deep, ancient, and hungry—growled inside her mind:
"AT LAST."
Lyra stumbled back. "W-Who's there?!"
The Grimoire opened itself, pages flipping in a storm of violet light until it stopped on a spell written in runes she somehow… strangely… understood.
Spell of Ember Veil.A fire spell.
Simple. Harmless.Low tier.
She whispered it without meaning to.
A burst of flame erupted from her palm, swirling into a ribbon of fire that snaked across the room before fading into sparks.
Lyra gasped.She had never produced magic like that before. Not even close.
Then the book pulsed again—darker this time—like a second heartbeat syncing with her own.
Something… shifted in the shadows behind her.Something crawled into the world.
Lyra spun around——but the room fell silent again.
Only the faint trace of dark mist lingered.
The voice whispered:
"Each spell you cast shall awaken a piece of me… Little sorceress."
Lyra's blood ran cold.
She hugged the book to her chest, breath shaking.She knew she should drop it.She knew she should scream for help.
But instead…
She hid the Grimoire under her cloak and fled the chamber as the door sealed itself behind her, runes dimming as though nothing happened.
Tonight, she had gained power.And released something else.
Something that waited one thousand years to be free.