Tom did not sleep that night.
The ancient chest remained hidden beneath his cot, its presence heavier than its physical weight. Even closed, even unseen, it felt awake. Like it was listening.
Tom lay on his back, staring at the stone ceiling, replaying the moment the lid had opened. The glow. The air pressure. The way his breath had caught in his throat.
Whatever was inside the chest, it was not meant for everyone.
And that was exactly why he said nothing.
Not to Daniel.
Not to Scarlett.
Especially not to Daniel.
Morning came with the usual bells and routines, and Arcanmere did what it always did best. It pretended nothing was wrong.
The trio walked together through the long eastern corridor after classes, their footsteps echoing softly against the ancient stone. Sunlight spilled through tall windows, dust particles floating lazily like they had no idea the world was quietly cracking underneath them.
Daniel was talking animatedly, waving his hands. “I’m telling you, if Fredric makes us do one more endurance drill, I’m switching positions.”
Scarlett laughed. “You’d hate being a Beater.”
Tom smiled, nodded at the right moments, laughed when expected.
But his mind wasn’t there.
Every laugh felt borrowed. Every step felt delayed, like he was half a second behind the world.
Scarlett noticed first.
“You’re quiet today,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “That’s rare for you.”
Tom shrugged. “Didn’t sleep well.”
Daniel glanced at him. “Join the club.”
They kept walking, letting their conversation drift into lighter topics. Classes. Food. How strange it felt that the moon still hadn’t changed.
They tried not to say her name.
They tried to forget Lira.
Arcanmere didn’t let them.
As they turned into a narrower passage lined with cracked marble pillars, Scarlett slowed.
Her expression changed.
Not fear.
Recognition.
She stepped closer to the wall.
“Scarlett?” Daniel asked. “What is it?”
“I… don’t know,” she murmured.
The stone in front of her was ordinary. Old. Worn. Nothing special.
Until she touched it.
Her fingers brushed the surface.
The air hummed.
Ashy letters appeared beneath her hand, as if burned into existence from within the stone itself. The writing glowed softly, pale silver mixed with dying embers.
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Daniel’s breath caught.
Tom stepped closer.
The sentence formed fully.
Turn back, traveler... you are wandering the wrong way
To find the truth, you must first admit you are lost.
Silence wrapped around them.
Daniel swallowed. “That… wasn’t there before.”
Scarlett pulled her hand back slowly. The letters remained.
“I didn’t cast anything,” she said quietly. “It responded to me.”
Tom frowned. “Or warned us.”
Daniel stared at the message, his heart beating faster. “Lost,” he repeated. “What does that even mean?”
Scarlett’s eyes narrowed. “It means we’re asking the wrong questions.”
The letters faded, dissolving into the stone like smoke pulled backward in time.
Daniel exhaled. “Alright. That’s officially unsettling.”
They turned, instinctively wanting to leave the corridor.
That’s when a voice spoke from behind them.
“Running away already?”
They froze.
A portrait hung on the back wall, one they had passed dozens of times before without noticing. The painted wizard inside leaned casually against the frame, arms crossed, eyes sharp with amusement.
Daniel frowned. “You weren’t there a second ago.”
The wizard smirked. “I was. You simply weren’t looking.”
Scarlett stepped forward. “Who are you?”
The portrait tilted his head. “A reminder.”
Tom stiffened. “Of what?”
“Of the prisoner you all conveniently forgot.”
Daniel’s mind snapped instantly.
“Aarav Blackthorne,” he said.
The name felt heavier spoken aloud.
The portrait’s smile widened. “Ah. So memory still works. Good.”
Scarlett’s voice was cautious. “What about him?”
The wizard’s painted eyes flicked toward the ceiling. “The castle shifts when old names return. When forgotten doors creak open.”
Daniel’s mark burned faintly under his sleeve.
Tom asked, “Why are you telling us this?”
The portrait leaned closer, his voice dropping. “Because the truth you’re looking for isn’t in classrooms… or corridors.”
Scarlett felt a chill crawl up her spine. “Then where?”
The wizard pointed with a painted finger.
“The Archives.”
The frame went still.
The portrait froze, eyes empty, as if nothing had spoken at all.
Daniel let out a slow breath. “We really need to stop wandering.”
“No,” Scarlett said firmly. “We need to stop pretending this is coincidence.”
They didn’t tell anyone.
The Archives lay beneath the west wing, sealed off from casual access, guarded more by silence than locks. The air changed as they descended. Cooler. Older. Like it hadn’t been breathed properly in centuries.
Tom’s chest tightened.
Every step closer felt like betrayal.
The door at the end of the corridor was charred.
Burned.
Not recently. Long ago.
Scarlett ran her fingers over the blackened wood. “Incendio.”
Daniel nodded. “Strong. Deliberate.”
They pushed the door open.
The room beyond was ruin.
Shelves collapsed inward, books reduced to ash piles. The walls were scorched unevenly, as if something had burned from the inside out. The smell lingered faintly, ancient smoke soaked into stone.
Scarlett moved first.
“There,” she said softly.
A book lay on a stone pedestal in the center of the room.
Half-burned.
Daniel approached slowly, heart pounding. He lifted it carefully. The cover crumbled at the edges, but the center remained intact.
They opened it.
The first intact page held a portrait.
A woman.
Her features were unmistakable.
Scarlett froze.
The woman in the image looked like her.
Not identical. Older. Sharper. Stronger. But the eyes… the posture… the presence.
Under the portrait, faint but readable, was a date.
Scarlett’s voice barely worked. “That’s… one hundred and fifty years ago.”
Daniel stared at the image. “That’s not possible.”
Scarlett felt cold spread through her veins. “Why does she look like me?”
Tom said nothing.
They turned the page.
Much of it was burned, but symbols remained. Writing in a language none of them recognized. Curved letters, jagged lines, half erased by fire.
Daniel frowned. “I’ve never seen this script.”
Scarlett leaned closer. “It feels… familiar.”
They turned the page again.
Daniel stopped breathing.
Another portrait.
A man.
Dark hair. Sharp jaw. Eyes that felt too close.
Daniel staggered back a step.
“I know him,” he whispered.
Scarlett grabbed his arm. “Who?”
Daniel swallowed hard. “That’s me.”
The portrait wasn’t exact, but close enough to steal the air from his lungs.
Beneath it, a name was written.
Partially burned.
Only one word was clear.
Loid
The title beneath was gone, erased by fire.
Tom’s voice was low. “Daniel…”
Daniel shook his head. “This is impossible.”
They flipped through more pages.
Names. Faces. Dozens of them. Some burned. Some intact. All unfamiliar.
Until the pages turned on their own.
The air shifted.
Daniel’s mark flared painfully.
A face stared back at him.
He knew it instantly.
Everyone did.
Lord Umbragon.
The room felt smaller.
Scarlett’s breath hitched. “That’s him.”
But the name beneath the portrait wasn’t what they expected.
It read:
Sheronin
The Forgotten King