Chapter Two: The Wards That Remembered
The Academy did not like any unanswered questions.
Elian learned that within a few minutes.
They did not make it far before the the air itself began to change. The corridors grew colder, the stone beneath Elian's boots faintly vibrating with restrained power. He slowed instinctively, recognizing the sensation from all of his studies.
"The wards are searching," he murmured to Mira.
Mira glanced at him. "For me?"
"For us," Elian said. "You tripped something deeper. Not an alarm—more like… recognition."
"That doesn't sound comforting at all."
"It isn't," he admitted.
They turned sharply down a side passage just as a small ripple of light swept through the hallway behind them, pale and soundless. Elian felt it brush along his back like a cold breath.
"They're close," he said.
Mira didn't panic one bit. Instead, she reached out and grabbed his hand.
The contact was brief, instinctive—but the effect was immediate.
The humming inside Elian surged, warm and steady instead of sharp. The lights along the walls dimmed, then steadied, as though confused.
Mira blinked. "Did I do that?"
Elian stared at their joined hands.
"I think," he said slowly, "we did."
They didn't stop running until they reached the eastern archives—an ancient wing half-abandoned after a minor collapse decades ago. Most students avoided it. Elian loved it.
He pressed open a narrow door hidden behind a tapestry depicting the founding of Aetherfall and ushered Mira inside.
The room beyond was circular and low-ceilinged, filled with dust and old magic. Shelves curved along the walls, packed with scrolls bound in bark and leather. A single crystal lamp flickered weakly at the center.
Elian closed the door and leaned against it, chest heaving.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Mira laughed—quietly, breathlessly.
"I've crossed forests, rivers, and even mountains," she said. "But I've never run from an entire building before."
Elian smiled despite himself. "Larkspire has that kind of effect."
Her laughter faded as she took in the room. "What is this place?"
"The Root Archives," Elian said. "Older than the Academy itself and the land surrounding it. Most of these texts are written in languages no one ever teaches anymore."
Mira traced her finger along one shelf, careful and reverent. "They feel alive."
"They are," he said. "In their own kind of way."
The crystal lamp flickered even brighter.
Elian frowned. "That shouldn't be happening."
Mira withdrew her hand. The light dimmed again.
They looked at each other.
"So," Mira said softly, "it's really true. I can change things."
Elian hesitated. "I think… you remind things of how they used to be."
Her expression softened, something vulnerable passing through her gaze. "Back home, they said the world remembers balance. Growth and rest. Light and dark."
"And you?" he asked her.
"I was born during a turning," she said. "A year when nothing followed its usual patterns at all."
Elian felt a chill. He crossed to a central table and brushed off some dust from a thick, leather-bound book.
"I've read about years like that," he said. "They're very rare. And never insignificant."
Before Mira could reply, a sharp knock echoed through the room and the lights flickered for a moment.
"Elian Thornwood," a voice called. Calm. Controlled. Very dangerous. "Open the door."
Elian froze for a moment.
Mira's hand tightened around his sleeve.
"That," Elian whispered, "is Professor Caelum."
The knock came once again.
"You are not in trouble," Caelum said. "Yet. But secrecy will not help you anymore."
Elian gulped and opened the door.
Professor Caelum stood in the corridor, tall and austere, silver hair bound at his neck. His eyes flicked immediately to Mira—and narrowed as he loomed above her.
"The wards recognized you," Caelum said to her. "That alone is… unprecedented."
Mira met his gaze without flinching. "I didn't mean to trespass here."
"No," Caelum agreed. "You meant to arrive here."
Silence stretched.
"Professor," Elian said quick without hesitation. "she didn't force her way in. The wards—"
"Opened," Caelum finished his sentence. "Yes. I know."
His gaze returned to Elian. "Do you know why that troubles me?"
Elian shook his head.
"Because wards do not choose," Caelum said. "They obey."
He stepped aside. "You will both come with me."
Mira looked at Elian.
He nodded once.
Together, they followed.
They were taken not to the council chamber, but to the High Observatory—a circular room beneath the tallest spire, open to the sky. Sigils glowed faintly along the floor, forming a wide ring around a stone dais.
Elian had been there only once before.
Mira stepped into the circle—and the sigils flared to life.
Not red.
Not white.
Green.
The color of growing things.
A murmur rippled through the gathered professors.
Caelum's expression tightened.
"The Verdant Reach," he murmured. "So the tales were true."
"What tales?" Mira asked confused.
"The ones we dismissed," Caelum replied. "About a bond between lands. About balance made into flesh."
Elian's heart pounded trough his chest.
Mira looked overwhelmed now, fear flickering beneath her composure. Elian stepped closer to her without thinking.
The sigils softened.
Caelum noticed.
"So," he said carefully, "it has begun."
"Professor," Elian said, "what is that supposed to mean?"
Caelum carefully studied them both for a long moment.
"It means," he said, "that the sky did not answer by accident."
The wind whirled above them.
Far beyond the spires, clouds began to gather—not silver this time, but heavy with promise.
Mira's fingers brushed Elian's.
And though fear threaded the moment, something stronger moved through it too.
Hope.
Whatever the world had begun, it had not begun it alone.
And neither would they.
There's a lot of work