Books were power.
In my old life, I could find the answer to any question by tapping on a piece of glass. In this life, answers were locked away in dusty rooms guarded by grumpy old men. The villagers of Verdwood were practical people—farmers, hunters, smiths. They taught their children how to skin a deer, how to plant winter wheat, and how to spot a goblin track in the mud. They didn't teach them how the world actually worked.
Miren had taught me to read—mostly so I could read the labels on her poison jars—but her knowledge was like a grandmother's recipe. A pinch of this, a song for that. It worked, but it didn't explain why.
I wanted the why.
I wanted the Village Archive.
The Archive was a grand name for a dusty stone building attached to the Elder's Hall. It was strictly off-limits to children, which made it the most interesting building in the village.
I crouched in the hydrangeas outside the Archive's back window. It was midday. The sun was high and hot, baking the smell of pine needles out of the forest floor. Most of the village was at the river, trying to stay cool.
Good time, I thought. Everyone is lazy when it's hot.
I checked the window. It was latched, but the wood was swollen from the summer damp. I pulled a thin piece of metal from my pocket—a flattened nail I had taken from Toren's workshop.
I slid the metal between the frame and the window. I felt the latch. I pushed up, gentle but firm.
Click.
The latch popped. Infinite Skill at work. I had watched the locksmith fix our front door once four years ago, and my hands just remembered how the metal felt.
I pushed the window up. It groaned, but a heavy cart rolling by on the street covered the sound.
I slipped inside, landing silently on the cool stone floor.
The smell hit me instantly—old paper, leather, and dry ink. To me, it smelled better than fresh bread. It smelled like secrets.
I stood up and brushed the dirt off my knees. The room was dim, lit only by narrow windows high up near the ceiling. Dust floated in the beams of light. The walls were lined with shelves, packed with scrolls and heavy books.
My heart raced. The Silver Seam was thick here. The magic in the books leaked out, filling the room with a low hum that made the hair on my arms stand up.
I walked to the nearest shelf. Farming Reports: Year 5150.
Boring.
I moved to the next. Tax Laws.
Double boring.
I looked at the high shelves. That's where they would keep the good stuff. The magic stuff. I dragged a heavy wooden stool over to the bookcase and climbed up.
My fingers touched the spine of a book titled The Flow of Magic.
Yes.
I pulled it down. It was heavy, covered in rough leather. I sat on the top of the stool, balancing the book on my knees, and opened it.
Drawings. Beautiful, complicated drawings of magic circles. Lines crossing, shapes interlocking, notes written in a sharp, slanted hand.
I traced a line with my finger. It was a wind spell. I could see how it worked just by looking at the shape. The circle held the power; the triangle pointed where it should go. If you made the point sharper, the wind would cut. If you made it wide, it would push.
"You're holding it upside down."
I nearly fell off the stool.
I snapped the book shut and spun around, my heart hammering against my ribs. I hadn't heard anyone. I hadn't seen anyone. My vampire senses—the sharp hearing, the awareness—had failed me.
Sitting in the corner, hidden behind a stack of scrolls, was a girl.
She looked about my age, maybe a little older. She was pale, with hair the color of moonlight—white-blonde and very fine. But it was her ears that gave her away. They came to sharp, delicate points.
An Elf.
I knew there was an Elf child in the village—Lysara, a ward of the Elders. I had never seen her. The other kids said she was a ghost, or that she ate bugs.
She was staring at me with eyes that were too big for her face, a bright violet-blue. She didn't look angry that I had broken in. She looked... curious.
"I wasn't holding it upside down," I said, holding the book tight. "I was looking at the bottom part."
Lysara blinked. She stood up. She was wearing a simple grey dress that looked too big for her. She walked over to me, her feet making no sound on the stone.
"You can read?" she asked. Her voice was soft, like a flute.
"I can read the shapes," I said. "The lines make sense."
She stared at me for a long moment. Then, without a word, she turned and walked back to her table. She picked up a piece of black slate and a stick of white chalk.
"Show me," she said.
I hesitated. Toren's warning rang in my head. Hide it. Don't let them see.
But the look in her eyes wasn't mean. It was hungry. It was the same hunger I felt every time I looked at a machine or a spell. She wasn't testing me to get me in trouble; she was testing me because she was stuck.
I hopped off the stool and walked over.
On the slate, she had drawn a complicated shape. It was a Light spell. The goal was to make a ball of light that stayed put.
Her drawing was good, but it was wrong. The circle wasn't quite round, and the line where the magic came in was too sharp. It looked like a jagged corner.
"It keeps breaking," Lysara said, sounding frustrated. "I feed it magic, it flashes, and then it dies. The Elder says I'm not focusing enough."
"It's not focus," I said, looking at the chalk lines. The Silver Seam around the slate was shaking. The magic wanted to flow, but the drawing was choking it. "It's the corner."
"The corner?"
"Here." I pointed to the sharp line. "It's too sharp. The magic hits the wall and splashes back. It gets stuck. When it gets stuck, it gets hot. When it gets hot, it breaks."
Lysara frowned. She looked at the drawing, then at me.
"Magic flows like water," I said, forgetting I was supposed to be six. "If you put a wall in a river, the water goes everywhere. If you put a bend, the water turns."
I reached for the chalk. She pulled it back, then stopped. She handed it to me.
I wiped out the sharp corner with my thumb. I redrew the line, curving it so it flowed into the circle smoothly. No sharp turns. Just a gentle slide.
"Try it now," I said, stepping back.
Lysara looked at the change. She took a deep breath. She placed her hand over the slate.
I watched the Silver Seam.
She pulled magic from the room—not with a hunger like mine, but with a gentle pull. The silver threads flowed into her hand and down into the chalk lines.
Usually, when she did this, the threads would knot up and snap. This time, they flowed. They hit the curve I had drawn and slid right into the circle.
The drawing lit up.
A ball of pure, white light floated over the slate. It was steady. It was cool. It cast no shadows, lighting up the dusty corner of the archive.
Lysara gasped. Her face changed. Her eyes went wide, reflecting the light. She smiled—a small, shy thing, but real.
"It works," she whispered. "It... it's holding."
"It flows," I said. "No walls."
She looked at me, the light floating between us. "Who are you?"
"Ren," I said. "Ren Amaki."
"I am Lysara," she said. "How do you know how magic flows?"
"I build things with blocks," I lied. "If you stack them wrong, they fall. Magic is the same."
She narrowed her eyes. She didn't believe me, not really. But she didn't say anything. She looked back at the light, making it dim and brighten.
Then, something happened.
I was watching the spell, happy that it worked. I felt a tug in my chest. The Hollow.
It felt the magic. It woke up.
Hungry.
The shadows in the corners of the room didn't just get darker; they moved.
I didn't notice it at first. I was too busy looking at the light. But the darkness under the table stretched out, creeping across the floor toward my feet like spilled ink. The shadows behind the bookshelves leaned forward, drawn to the empty hole inside me.
Lysara saw it.
Her eyes snapped from the light to the floor. She saw the shadows curling around my ankles, twitching like they were alive.
She looked up at me. Her violet eyes locked onto mine. She saw the hunger there. She saw the Void.
My heart stopped. She sees.
I braced myself. I expected her to scream. I expected her to run for the Elders. He's a monster. He eats the dark.
Lysara looked at the shadows, then back at the light spell. She didn't scream. She didn't run.
She reached out and wiped the chalk off the slate. The light went out.
"The curve," she said quietly, her voice steady. "You changed the sharp line to a curve. That's why it worked."
The shadows pulled back, sliding into the corners as the magic stopped flowing.
I stared at her. She was ignoring it. She had seen the impossible—my curse—and she was choosing to talk about the drawing.
"Yes," I choked out. "The curve."
"It was smart," she said. She cleaned the slate, erasing the proof. "Most people just try to push harder. You made the path easier."
She looked at me then. She wasn't going to tell. She was an outsider too—the Elf in a human village. She knew what it was like to be different.
"Thank you," I whispered.
"Ren! Are you in there?"
The shout came from outside the window. It was loud and ruined the quiet.
Kaela.
I groaned. "Oh no."
"Friend of yours?" Lysara asked, one eyebrow raised.
"More like a storm," I muttered.
The window rattled. A red head popped up over the sill. Kaela Fireborn pulled herself up, grinning like a crazy person. She had a wooden sword stuck in her belt and mud on her face.
"I knew it!" she yelled, spotting me. "Miren said you were 'napping,' but I saw you sneak out. You're stealing books again!"
She jumped over the sill, landing with a heavy thud that kicked up dust. She didn't care about being quiet.
"Kaela," I hissed. "Quiet! We're not supposed to be here."
"So?" She stood up, dusting off her hands. Then she saw Lysara.
Kaela froze. She looked at the Elf girl, then at me, then back at Lysara. Most kids in the village stayed away from Lysara. They thought she was weird.
Kaela walked right up to her.
"Hi," Kaela said. "I'm Kaela. Are you the Elf?"
Lysara stiffened. She hugged the slate to her chest. "I am Lysara."
"Cool ears," Kaela said. She reached out to touch one, then stopped. "Ren is boring. He likes reading. Do you like reading?"
Lysara blinked. "I... yes. I live here."
"Too bad," Kaela said. "Well, we're going to the river. Ren needs to test a boat he built. You wanna come?"
I hadn't built a boat. I had built a piece of bark that floated, but calling it a boat was a stretch.
"I do not swim," Lysara said stiffly.
"Neither does Ren," Kaela laughed, punching me lightly on the arm. "He sinks like a rock. But he makes good plans. Come on. It'll be fun. Better than sitting in the dark."
Kaela grabbed my arm. Then, without waiting, she grabbed Lysara's arm.
"Let's go before Old Man Harek finds us and makes us clean the floor."
Lysara looked at Kaela's hand on her arm. She looked shocked. Nobody touched her. She was fragile.
Then she looked at me. I shrugged.
"She won't listen," I warned. "She's a Fireborn. They're stubborn."
A small smile touched Lysara's lips. "I have read about Fireborns. Lots of energy. No patience."
"Exactly," I said.
"Hey!" Kaela protested, dragging us both toward the window. "I have patience. I didn't punch Jaron today even though he looked at me funny."
We scrambled out the window, one by one. Kaela first, dropping into the bushes. Me second. Lysara last, moving smooth and quiet.
As we hit the ground and started running toward the trees, I looked at them.
Kaela, the muscle, leading the way with a sword and a grin. Lysara, the brain, clutching her slate and blinking in the sunlight. And me, the builder, the one with the shadows in his blood.
The Trio.
It felt right. Like pieces of a puzzle clicking together.
"Hurry up, slowpokes!" Kaela yelled, running ahead.
I ran. My enhanced legs made it easy. Lysara kept up easily, her elf speed showing.
For the first time since I woke up in this world, I didn't feel like I was hiding. I felt like I was starting.
"Race you to the water!" I shouted.
And as we ran through the woods, leaving the dusty Archive behind, I knew one thing for sure.
I was going to teach Lysara so much math. And Kaela was probably going to break a lot of things. And together, we were going to be trouble.