The library had become my second home. Volumes and parchments that once barely caught my eye were now my only hope of finding a way to bring Aldara back—without Elladan's help.
At first, I thought the research would be simple. How wrong I was. The books lay in chaotic disarray: hundreds of shelves, thousands of volumes stacked as if the library itself enjoyed testing me. Yet among the dust and disorder I found stories—many about Elladan, his life braided into the empire's history, a past he never spoke of.
After seasons lost in the stacks, I finally unearthed something promising: an ancient legend of a long-ago war in which Elladan led villagers through a secret passage known only to his vanished people, saving countless lives. Those who passed through, the tale said, were never seen again.
The story named the thing I had suspected all along: a singular rift that opens once every ten thousand years for only a breath of time, permitting passage that is otherwise impossible. The very rift Elladan had used to bring me to Aldain.
So the plan was simple in its cruelty—I only needed to find that rift and wait for it to open. Then I could send the coordinates through the enchanted chest and let Aldara decide whether to accept the perilous invitation.
After a long, taut wait, the moment of Aldara's return should have come. My guards were meant to receive her and bring her to the castle. Elladan, unaware of the plan, had left a few hours earlier, which eased some of my fear.
I tried not to think too much, but the minutes stretched into an uneasy delay. The estate, usually measured in routines and predictable arrivals, suddenly felt fragile.
"Excuse me, milady," a maid interrupted my reverie. "A letter arrived for you. The messenger insisted it was of interest to the lord of the castle." She held out the scrap of paper, and I motioned for her to leave it on the dressing table.
I took the letter, fingers cold with doubt. No one ever sent me messages by hand unless they bore Elladan's seal or the imperial mark. A bad premonition tightened in my chest.
The note read:
We have your beloved. Surrender to us at the mountain peak before sundown, or we will send her head as a token of our displeasure.
The demand called for Elladan's presence, but I would never allow him to risk himself for Aldara. This was my fault—my recklessness in acting without consulting him had put her in danger. Would I let him throw himself at the mercy of our enemies to save the girl I had sent into peril? Never.
He will never know.