The library was quieter than usual.
Not the silence of study or focus—but something deeper. A hush that wrapped itself around the walls like old ivy. As though the room remembered more than it should.
Kai sat in the farthest corner, near the window that overlooked the courtyard. Light filtered through the glass in golden streams, warming the pages of the open book in front of him. He wasn't reading it.
His eyes kept drifting to the note Lucien had given him.
We're not the only ones awake.
The words wouldn't leave his head. He knew Lyra didn't trust him—couldn't trust him—but something about the way Lucien had said it…
No arrogance. No performance.
Just truth.
And fear.
"Kai."
He looked up. Lyra stood there, arms crossed, her face unreadable.
"You missed lunch."
Kai blinked. "Did I?"
"Your stomach probably noticed."
He offered a half-smile. "Too busy being haunted."
Lyra slid into the seat across from him, glancing around to make sure no one else was nearby. She leaned in.
"Something's wrong with the Veil."
That got his full attention.
"What do you mean?"
"I can feel it," she said, eyes narrowing. "Ever since last night, it's… thinner. Like something is pressing against it from the other side."
Kai exhaled slowly. "Wraiths."
She nodded. "Or worse."
At the same time, across the school, Lucien stood before an old, forgotten door in the sub-basement of the science wing.
He ran his fingers along the chipped frame.
It should be sealed, he thought.
But it wasn't.
The door groaned as he pushed it open.
Beyond it lay a room no longer on any blueprint, shrouded in dust and time. A half-collapsed ritual chamber. The remains of a ward circle, once golden, now blackened like ash.
Lucien stepped inside.
The air felt wrong. Heavy. As though breathing it meant remembering things you never lived.
In the center of the floor, a sigil pulsed faintly—circular, jagged, carved with a symbol that did not belong to this world.
Lucien knelt beside it.
"It's waking up," he whispered.
From the far shadows of the room, something stirred.
A whisper slithered across the walls.
"You always come first, little king."
Lucien didn't move.
"I'm not your king."
The whisper laughed. Not loud. But cold.
"You're the beginning. You'll always be the beginning."
Lucien stood. "Not this time."
"Then why did you come alone?"
Lucien turned and left, slamming the door behind him.
But the laughter followed.
Back in the library, Kai flipped to the middle of the book he wasn't reading and stared at the title of the chapter:
"The Mirror Spell: Memory Transference Through Rebirth."
He traced the rune sketched at the top of the page. It felt familiar—like something he'd once etched into cold stone with a bleeding hand.
"Lyra," he said quietly. "What if… what if we could remember everything?"
She blinked. "We remember enough."
"No. We have flashes. Dreams. Feelings. But pieces are still missing. There's still too much we don't know. About Lucien. About the fall. About what came after."
Lyra hesitated. "You're thinking of triggering a full recall."
Kai nodded. "If we both do it… we might finally understand why the seal broke. Why Lucien turned."
Lyra bit her lip. "It's dangerous."
"I know."
"We could lose what we have now. Ourselves. This life."
"I'd rather lose a part of myself," Kai said softly, "than keep walking blind."
Silence stretched between them.
Then Lyra closed the book gently.
"Meet me tonight. The old clock tower. Midnight."
Kai looked at her, startled. "You know the rite?"
She smirked faintly. "I wrote it. In our second life. Back when I thought I could cheat fate by becoming a scribe."
The clock tower hadn't been used in years.
It loomed above the school grounds, more ornamental than functional. Students whispered it was haunted. Most avoided it entirely.
That made it the perfect place.
Kai arrived first. He paced the cold stone floor, heart racing. A part of him wanted to turn back, to let the past stay buried. But something deeper—older—urged him forward.
A flicker of memory.
Blood on marble.
A hand in his.
A promise: We'll find each other again.
Then Lyra arrived, her long coat sweeping behind her like a cloak. She carried a candle, a box of chalk, and a folded page torn from a grimoire older than time.
"I brought safeguards," she said, setting the materials down. "No memory can be restored without consent. If one of us panics, the spell breaks."
Kai nodded. "Got it."
Together, they drew the circle. It wasn't the ornate, flowing glyphs of Caer Theron—just simplified versions, adapted for mortal chalk and concrete. But the shape still held power.
Ancient power.
They sat opposite each other.
Lyra lit the candle.
She began to chant.
The air grew dense. Thick with pressure. The flame flickered blue.
Kai's mind reeled—images surging to the surface like waves crashing through stone.
A castle of crystal.
A boy kneeling at a throne.
A girl with a silver blade.
Lucien, smiling sadly.
"I'm sorry."
His breath hitched.
He saw himself standing at the Veil.
Sword in hand.
Elenya's blood on his sleeve.
Lucien shouting.
"No—Kaelen, don't—!"
Then everything burned white.
When Kai opened his eyes, he was lying on the tower floor.
His heart pounded. Sweat clung to his skin.
Lyra lay nearby, also stirring.
"Kai?" she whispered, voice hoarse.
He crawled toward her. "I'm here."
She opened her eyes slowly—and for a moment, they glowed silver.
"I remember," she breathed.
Kai swallowed. "Me too."
They sat in silence as the candle burned lower.
Not speaking. Just knowing.
He remembered the moment he was born into fire.
He remembered Lucien's final scream.
And most of all—
He remembered the thing that had spoken through Lucien in the end.
It had no name.
Just a hunger.
And a promise:
"You can rewrite this story. You just have to let go of the truth."
As they stood to leave, Lyra touched Kai's arm.
"There's something else," she said quietly.
"What?"
"Lucien didn't break the seal alone."
Kai froze. "What are you saying?"
She met his eyes, sorrow and fear tangled together.
"I helped him."