The door slammed shut behind them with a hollow thud that echoed through the abandoned library's dusty halls. The storm outside roared like something alive, wind clawing at the windows with icy fingers. Inside, the darkness felt heavier than the cold—quiet, ancient, watchful.
Maya shivered. "Why does this place feel like it remembers things?"
Rowan glanced around, eyes sharp. "Old buildings always remember."
"That's not comforting."
"Wasn't trying to be."
She sighed. "You really need to work on your emotional support skills."
"Emotion is dangerous," Rowan said simply.
Maya opened her mouth to reply, but the charm glowed faintly in her hand—soft, almost nervous.
Rowan noticed. "It feels something."
"Feels what?" Maya whispered.
Rowan didn't answer. Instead, he walked deeper into the library, motioning for her to follow.
Maya hesitated. The place smelled like old paper and abandoned time. Books lay scattered on the floor, shelves leaned sideways as if exhausted from carrying stories too long, and cobwebs clung to corners like delicate warnings.
"Why this place?" she asked as she hurried after him.
Rowan scanned the walls, tracing a hand lightly across a carved symbol near the entrance—something she didn't recognize. Something not entirely… normal.
"This building used to house artifacts," Rowan said.
"Like historical ones?"
"Some were more than historical."
Maya blinked. "Okay, define 'more.'"
Rowan paused. His eyes met hers. And for a moment, something unguarded flickered there—knowledge deeper than he should have, experience that didn't fit the life of a man who claimed not to believe in magic.
"Another time," he said softly. "We need shelter first."
Before she could push further, the wind slammed the windows hard enough to rattle the shelves. Maya jumped. Rowan stepped instinctively closer, his presence grounding—solid in a way she hadn't realized mattered until now.
"Stay near me," he murmured.
"I noticed you say that a lot," she whispered back.
"And you ignore it a lot."
She frowned. "…That's fair."
They navigated the dim aisles until they reached a small reading room at the back. A large circular window overlooked the forest behind the town—now nothing but a white blur as the storm consumed it.
The charm pulsed again, stronger, and Rowan stopped abruptly.
"What?" Maya whispered.
"It senses something," Rowan said.
"What something?! Please be specific so I know how scared to be!"
Rowan tilted his head slightly, listening. "A presence."
"In here?!"
"No," he murmured. "Outside."
"That's not better!"
He actually huffed a tiny breath of amusement, but his focus stayed sharp.
"Whoever followed us hasn't given up. They're waiting. Watching. But the storm… it's too strong for them to enter."
"Oh great," Maya muttered. "So we're safe because we're trapped."
"Yes."
"You really aren't making this easier, Rowan!"
He looked back at her—properly—and for a brief second, his expression softened.
"I'm not trying to scare you," he said quietly. "I'm trying to keep you alive."
Maya opened her mouth… then closed it.
Because somehow, that meant something.
More than she expected it to.
⸻
The Charm's Reaction
Maya sat on a dusty armchair, rubbing her hands together. Rowan paced the room restlessly, scanning the windows and shelves like a predator ensuring no hidden dangers lurked.
The charm suddenly warmed, glowing brighter.
"Maya," Rowan said slowly, "what did you feel just now?"
"Nothing. Just… warm."
"Is it reacting to your emotions?" Rowan asked.
Maya blinked. "Maybe? I was thinking about what you said. About… keeping me alive."
Rowan stopped pacing.
The charm pulsed.
Hard.
Maya felt her cheeks heat. "Okay, wow, calm down—don't shine so bright. He'll notice."
"I do notice," Rowan said, crossing the room to her.
"Oh good," she whispered. "Perfect."
He crouched in front of her, resting his arms on his knees. Their faces were close enough that she could see the flecks of winter-grey in his eyes, the slight tension in his jaw, the controlled calm that hid something deeper—something unresolved.
"Why does it react to you?" he asked softly.
"It's in my hand," she said weakly.
"That's not it."
She swallowed. "Then… maybe because I feel something?"
His breath stilled.
The charm flared—just a little—but enough.
Rowan straightened abruptly and stood, turning away. "We can't let it manipulate us."
"Manipulate?" Maya repeated. "It's a charm, not a person."
"It's magic," Rowan said, voice tight. "Magic wants outcomes."
"Good outcomes?" Maya asked hopefully.
Rowan didn't answer.
Which was not comforting.
⸻
A Strange Book
A sudden thump echoed from one of the shelves.
Maya jumped to her feet. "What was that?"
Rowan was already moving toward it. He brushed aside dust and old papers until he found a large leather-bound book that had fallen from the top shelf.
Maya crept closer. "Does it say anything?"
The cover was engraved with faded gold letters:
WINTERBOUND: A Chronicle of Lost Magic
Rowan stiffened. "This shouldn't be here."
"Why?"
"It belongs in…" He stopped. "…a vault."
"A vault?" Maya echoed. "Like a magical vault?"
Rowan exhaled sharply. "I shouldn't have said that."
"Rowan," Maya whispered, "how do you know so much about this? About magic? About vaults? About charms reacting to emotions?"
Rowan didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Didn't breathe for several seconds.
Maya stepped closer. "Did you lie when you said you didn't believe in magic?"
Rowan's jaw clenched.
"No," he said slowly. "I told you I don't do magic. That doesn't mean I don't understand it."
"…What are you really?" Maya whispered.
Rowan didn't answer.
But the charm did.
It glowed a deep, steady gold—more intense than before.
When Maya reached for the book, Rowan grabbed her hand gently—but firmly.
"Don't touch it," he warned.
"Why?"
"It contains spells," Rowan said, "and prophecies."
"Prophecies?" Maya squeaked. "Like… destiny?"
"Like fate," Rowan corrected.
"Rowan—"
He met her eyes.
"It mentions you."
Maya's heart stopped.
"What?"
Rowan opened the book with careful fingers, turning to a page marked by an old silver ribbon. The ink was faded but readable.
The Chosen Bearer of the Golden Charm, blessed and cursed by the threads of fate,
shall awaken the Winterbound magic and break the silence of storms.
She will be sought by light…
and hunted by shadow.
Maya's breath went ice-cold.
"That's… me," she whispered. "It's literally describing my life. Bad luck. A charm. And storms."
Rowan shut the book gently. Too gently. The way someone handles something terrifying.
"There's more," he said.
"Read it," Maya whispered.
Rowan didn't move.
"Rowan… read it."
He exhaled shakily and read aloud:
Beside her stands one marked by loss,
whose heart has forgotten warmth.
Together their magic intertwines—
One born of destiny.
One born of winter's sorrow.
Only as one can they withstand what hunts the charm.
Maya stared at him.
Marked by loss.
Heart forgotten warmth.
Winter's sorrow.
"Rowan," she whispered, "that's you."
The charm pulsed in agreement.
Rowan shut the book quickly, tension radiating off him like heat.
"No," he said. "We are not doing this."
"Doing what?"
"This," he snapped, motioning between them. "Fate. Prophecies. Magic pulling us together. I won't let destiny decide my life again."
His voice cracked.
His eyes—usually cold—flickered with something vulnerable, raw.
Maya stepped closer. "Rowan…"
He moved away. "Don't. I told you—this is dangerous."
"Maybe," Maya whispered, "but you're the one fate put beside me."
"That doesn't mean I accept it."
"But you're here," she insisted. "You followed me. You protected me. You chose to."
Rowan's jaw tightened.
"My choices ended someone's life before," he said quietly. "I won't risk yours."
Maya froze.
She had no idea how to respond to that.
The storm outside roared again, rattling the windows violently enough to shake dust loose from the shelves.
Rowan stood very still.
Maya reached for the charm, which glowed warmly at her touch.
"Rowan," she murmured, "whatever this is… we'll face it together."
"No," he said, voice sharp but trembling. "You shouldn't trust me."
"But I do."
The charm pulsed brighter.
Rowan looked at the glow.
At her.
At the prediction written in the ancient book.
For the first time since she met him, Rowan looked afraid—not of magic or storms or shadowy figures.
Afraid of what she felt.
Afraid of what he might feel.
"Maya," he whispered, voice low, "you don't understand. If fate is right… then something terrible is coming for you."
She swallowed. "For us."
Rowan closed his eyes.
The wind howled.
The charm glowed.
And destiny tightened around them like a thread pulling two souls closer.