The library was quieter than usual that morning. A pale light filtered through the arched windows, and thin dust danced in the air like fragments of forgotten dreams. Aria sat alone at the long oak table, her eyes shifting between four worn-out tomes, each spread open before her like ancient relics waiting to be deciphered.
The Vein of Power.
The Vein of Harmony.
The Vein of Chaoe.
The Vein of Hope.
Each one bore a faded crest on its cover — a rune she had seen nowhere else in the castle.
Her fingers brushed over the ink that had long since lost its color. The books smelled of ash and parchment, of time and secrets. But one thing was clear: there were supposed to be five.
She searched through the shelves, lifting torn manuscripts, peeking into the gaps behind leaning stacks — but no fifth book appeared.
"Four veins here… and yet the fifth is missing," she murmured.
The very air seemed to still for a second.
She sat again, pulling The Vein of Harmony toward her. The text was fragmented, the words archaic. What little she could make out spoke of an eternal bond between the five — a thread of fate connecting them through soul, element, and purpose.
But every mention of the fifth — the Shadow — had been ripped away.
A chill ran down her arms. Not from cold, but from the silence that followed.
As she flipped the final brittle page of The Vein of Harmony, a quiet creak echoed from behind the shelves. Footsteps — slow, deliberate.
Aria turned.
An old woman entered through the far doorway, stooped and frail, her body wrapped in dark layers that brushed the marble floor. A thin hood shadowed her face.
The woman moved toward the far corner of the library and sat without a word. Her fingers trembled as she arranged an empty cup and a rolled parchment on the small table beside her.
Aria blinked, unsure if the librarian had returned — but no, the presence felt different. Heavy. Almost ancient.
She returned to her books, pretending to read — but her eyes kept flicking toward the hooded figure.
Minutes passed in strained silence before the woman finally spoke.
Her voice was thin but steady, as though carved from wind and age.
"You read names that no longer belong to this age."
Aria froze.
The tone wasn't curious. It was knowing.
"Excuse me?"
"The Veins," the old woman said softly. "Few even dare to whisper that name. Yet here you are, drowning yourself in their ghosts."
Aria closed the open tome. "You… know about them?"
The woman didn't reply immediately. She turned her head slightly, revealing a glimpse of her face — pale, lined with time, but her eyes burned like embers behind the shadow of the hood.
"Tell me, child of another world," she murmured, "why do you seek the Aetherbounds?"
Aria's heart stopped.
"How do you—" she began, then paused. The woman's lips curved faintly, almost as if she'd been expecting the question.
"There is a certain glow to one touched by fate. I've seen it once before."
Aria's breath quickened. "If you know something—please tell me. Everyone here says they're myths, but I saw it. I read about them. And now one of their books is missing."
The woman chuckled, low and brittle. "Missing? No, my dear. Not missing. Hidden."
Aria frowned. "Hidden? By whom?"
"By themselves. The Vein of Shadow walks where light cannot see. You won't find that book here — or anywhere in a library built by mortal hands."
She reached for her parchment, her fingers tracing invisible symbols over it.
"If you wish to understand their truth," the woman continued, "you must first understand their bond. The world of Elyndra was never protected by kings or armies. It was woven by the five veins — threads of Aether itself — into balance. When one thread frayed… the rest began to bleed."
Aria's pulse quickened. "Then they were real?"
"As real as the air that burns in your lungs," she said, her tone suddenly hard. "But they are scattered now — lost across ages. Some sealed by their own choice. Some by betrayal. Some… merely waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
The old woman's eyes lifted toward her.
"For you."
The words fell like a stone into still water.
Aria swallowed. "Me? I—I don't even know why I'm here. The king says I'm to defend this world, but how can I when I don't even—"
"Because you are not meant to fight as they do," the woman interrupted. "You are meant to unite. To awaken what was lost."
Aria leaned forward. "Then tell me how."
The woman smiled faintly. "There are no instructions for finding gods that no longer wish to be found."
She reached into her robes and pulled out a blank sheet of paper, yellowed and creased. Then, with one trembling finger, she traced a circle over it and whispered something under her breath — a chant older than language itself.
The air shimmered. The parchment began to burn at the edges, but instead of turning to ash, glowing lines spread across its surface — rivers of gold snaking into shape.
A map.
But not an ordinary one — it pulsed faintly, alive, the veins of Aether glowing like embers beneath the paper.
Aria's eyes widened. "Is this—"
"The path they left behind," the woman said. "Only a true seeker can open its first gate. And it seems, you already have."
A small region on the map began to glow brighter, the parchment trembling as if alive. A single flame-shaped mark ignited in the southeast corner — the glow flickering like a heartbeat.
"The first vein stirs," the old woman whispered. "Suvarn — the Vein of Flame. The sentinel who bore the weight of eternity. If you wish to save this world, you must find him."
Aria's voice trembled. "Where? What if it's—"
But the map had already begun to fade, its glow dimming.
The woman's eyes closed, and her body seemed to sink lower into the hood. "The Aether does not show what it does not wish to. The map will guide itself when you are ready. Remember—light will only follow when shadow watches."
And with that, the old woman stood.
Her movements were slow, yet every step echoed like a tolling bell. When Aria blinked, the woman was gone — the chair empty, her parchment still glowing faintly upon the table.
Only the faintest scent of sage and smoke lingered in the air.
Aria's gaze fell again upon the map. The flame-shaped mark flickered once more before finally settling.
"Suvarn…" she whispered. "So you were real after all."
The glow dimmed, but didn't vanish completely. The parchment pulsed softly, as if acknowledging her words — as if answering.
Aria pressed a trembling hand against the table. "Then I'll find you," she murmured. "Even if everyone says you're just a myth."
For the first time since she had arrived in this world, her voice carried no fear — only resolve.
Outside, the wind howled softly across the marble corridors of Elyndra's palace. The first light of dusk painted the walls in hues of fire. Somewhere beyond those walls, an ancient force stirred — something vast, buried, and waiting to awaken.
And as Aria stared down at the glowing mark on the map, a faint whisper brushed past her ear — a voice that didn't belong to anyone in the room.
"The Veins awake… and so shall you."
She froze. Her heart pounded. But when she looked up, she was alone once more.
The four books lay before her, their pages fluttering slightly from the draft that wasn't there.
Only one thing was certain now: the myth was no longer a story.
It was calling.