Page 20

Relics of Ruin

I stepped into the grand embrace of Blackbloom Library, a sanctuary that rose around me with all the solemn majesty of an ancient Gothic cathedral. Its vaulted ceilings stretched above in arching elegance, echoing the quiet mystery of centuries long past.

Stained glass windows, like scattered jewels, cast fractured hues of ruby, sapphire, and emerald over the endless stretch of towering shelves.

In the soft, colored light, dust motes swirled and danced—ephemeral whispers of history freed from the pages of forgotten tomes. The air was thick with the scent of aged parchment and wax, an incense of intellect that pervaded every shadowed corner.

As I lost myself among the labyrinthine aisles, my gaze drifted over the faded inscriptions of leather-bound volumes, each one a siren’s call of ancient secrets and long-forgotten lore.

I was drawn to a display case that cradled relics of a bygone era. The amulets and scripts enclosed there seemed to hum with the energy of their unknown stories. My fingers traced over the cool, smooth surface of my Raven’s Echo amulet.

A soft murmur from Lydia drew my attention; she had discovered a curious inscription among the scattered catalogues and scrolls on an old wooden reading desk.

“This inscription… it’s tied to your family legacy,” Lydia murmured, her voice a steady anchor in the vast hush of the library. She traced the faded script with reverent fingers. “There’s an entire section here—on the Shadow War.”

With only two hours until curfew, every moment spent in this hallowed space felt immeasurably precious.

Laden with the urgency of discovery, Lydia and I delved into the cryptic script with furrowed brows and eager hands, compelled by the pursuit of knowledge—and the thrill of finding my family's name scrawled across these ancient parchments.

The few students scattered in quiet corners seemed wholly absorbed in their own academic worlds, adding to the library’s timeless and contemplative ambiance, unaware of our movements through the aisles.

“Let’s grab everything we can and move to the fireplace,” I whispered, motioning for Leander to follow.

We settled around the oval desk at the heart of the library, its surface dappled with soft firelight. Tomes and brittle scrolls sprawled across the table in organized chaos, casting long, warped shadows on the floor.

“This one mentions the Raven’s Echo ,” Lydia called, her voice hushed but electric with excitement. She hovered over a cracked parchment, her fingers trailing the faded Latin text like it might burn. “Wait—this line... Elvana, it reads more like a warning.”

I leaned closer, heart thudding. “There has to be more.”

My eyes swept over the scattered volumes, desperate to fit the pieces together before the answers slipped back into dust and shadow.

Leander leaned in, his brows arching as he tapped the edge of an aged scroll. “Look at this—right here.”

Faint lines and worn ink formed a delicate illustration, half-lost to time. “These amulets… they look just like yours, Elvana. There’s seven of them—arranged in a circle. Some kind of ritual, maybe?”

The firelight flickered over the parchment, making the symbols dance like they were waiting to be reawakened.

The soft crackling of the fire filled the momentary silence as I examined the illustration.

The resemblance was uncanny—each pendant depicted with the same intricate metalwork that adorned my own.

My fingers instinctively closed around Raven’s Echo, and I felt a subtle warmth pulse through the metal in response.

“Seven amulets,” I whispered, fingers brushing the faded script beneath the illustration. The ink bled slightly from age, but the meaning was unmistakable. “It says the Vale family was charged with creating seven—each meant to protect something called the Umbra Gate .”

I looked up, pulse quickening. “That must be the gate to the shadow realm.”

Lydia pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, her brow furrowed as she flipped through the brittle pages of another volume. Her voice was steady, but quieter now—more reverent than afraid.

“This chronicle says the Shadow War wasn’t fought over territory or bloodlines.” She glanced at me, her amber eyes sharp with meaning. “It was about containment —a desperate effort to stop the two realms from colliding.”

Her voice dropped to a near whisper. “The Umbra Gate wasn’t just a door. It was a threshold —between our world… and them.”

My heart raced at the mention of these beings—entities banished millennia ago, now whispered to hunger for power and vengeance...

A visceral chill crawled down my spine at Lydia’s words.

I recalled the faded illustrations tucked between the brittle pages—elongated, sinuous forms cloaked in shadows, with eyes like burning coals that seemed to stare through time itself.

They were depicted as creatures both ethereal and malevolent, their presence a testament to a rage that had simmered in exile, waiting for a chance to reclaim what had been taken from them.

The chronicle revealed that the seven amulets—each distinct in design and purpose—were far more than ornamental relics.

Some functioned as keys, forged with intricate sigils and ancient spells, their sole purpose to seal the Umbra Gate and keep the darkness from slipping through.

Others pulsed with raw, enchanted power, meant to bolster the royal army should the creatures of shadow breach the veil once more.

Together, the amulets formed a safeguard—each one a vital piece of a greater design, crafted to hold back the tide of chaos threatening to rise from the other side of the gate.

Leander leaned in, his voice low as his fingers skimmed the edge of the parchment. The page crackled softly beneath his touch, its ink faded but still legible.

“Listen to this,” he murmured. “It says the Vale sisters—Imogen and Elsbeth—cursed the amulets they created. Not out of malice… but as a safeguard. The power in them wasn’t meant for just anyone.”

I leaned closer, the firelight catching the edges of the old script as Leander read on.

“Two of the seven were forged as keys,” he continued.

“Not metaphorical ones—actual locks, sealed with spells designed to hold the Umbra Gate shut. The others… they weren’t just symbolic, either.

Five amulets, each enchanted with a different kind of power.

Meant to be used only if the worst ever breached through. ”

My fingers brushed instinctively against the pendant at my chest. It felt heavier in that moment—too warm. Too still.

So we weren’t just talking about relics anymore.

We were talking about weapons. Safeguards. Traps.

With trembling fingers, I accepted the ancient tome from Leander.

The binding gave a soft crack as I eased it open, placing it gently on the table between us.

Firelight flickered across the pages, casting shadows that made the ink seem to shift—illustrations coming alive with something that felt not entirely bound to paper.

My eyes swept over the script—Latin, yes, but something older too, woven between the lines. Its letters curled with a strange elegance, like they weren’t meant to be read so much as felt.

“The Seven Amulets of the Vale,” I read aloud, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Forged in the crucible of necessity, bound by blood and starlight, to guard against the shadow realm’s endless hunger.”

The first illustration shimmered faintly—a black pendant rendered in painstaking detail, its surface devouring light.

“The Sable Sigil,” I continued. “Carved from obsidian pulled from the border of the shadow realm. Its runes glow crimson when near the Umbra Gate.”

I traced the page, my fingertips hovering just above the ink. A phantom chill slipped through me.

“It’s the primary key. It only responds to pure intent. Anyone with darkness in their heart who tries to wield it…” I paused, throat tightening, “...burns.”

Lydia leaned closer, her breath brushing my shoulder as her gaze locked on the next image. “The Celestial Compass ,” she murmured, her usual reserve giving way to wonder.

I nodded, studying the delicately etched dial, stars carved into its rim. “The second key. It’s only meant to function during a full moon, when the veil thins. It channels celestial energy to reinforce the seal.”

Her fingers slid down to the paragraph beneath it. I followed the line.

“The needle points to the strongest source of shadow magic,” I said. “It’s not just a key—it’s a warning. A guide.”

As I turned the page, a golden amulet caught the light—its illustration so vivid it seemed to gleam from the parchment itself.

“The Solstice Charm ,” I read softly. “Infused with midsummer sunlight, it releases bursts of pure radiance—strong enough to vaporize shadow entities.”

My voice faltered as I reached the line below, the warning etched in firmer strokes.

“But its power is tied to the sun,” I continued. “At night, its brilliance fades. The bearer is left defenseless—just a faint glow, no protection.”

Leander shifted beside me, the sound of old wood creaking under his weight. I turned the page.

A new illustration emerged—stark, ominous. A circlet of darkened metal, crowned with a pulsing black diamond.

“The Nether Crown ,” I read, my voice barely above a whisper. A chill crawled down my spine.

“It grants dominion over lesser shadow spirits,” I said, eyes fixed on the twisting tendrils drawn curling from its base. “Commands them to fight shadow with shadow.”

Lydia leaned closer as I read the next line, her breath catching.

“But each summoning comes at a cost,” I continued. “The crown feeds on the wearer’s life. It manifests as black tendrils beneath the skin—visible corruption. A physical price for wielding that kind of power.”

Silence stretched for a moment, the firelight flickering against the pages.

“This is... extraordinary,” Lydia murmured, pushing her glasses up as she studied the next image—a dark, oval crystal.