Page 67

The Silence Between Worlds

T he gown was gone.

So were the shimmering lights and waltzing illusions of the Winter Solstice Ball.

In their place: shadow, resolve, and the quiet rustle of fabric as I dressed by candlelight.

The chill of early morning pressed through the windowpane, setting the glass aglow with frost. I pulled a soft, charcoal-gray sweater over my head, the knit thick enough to hold back the bite of the wind.

A tight pair of black leggings followed, sleek and flexible—perfect for moving swiftly if things went wrong. I laced up my worn black boots, the ones I’d enchanted for long treks through the forest paths behind the Academy.

No more silks. No more heels. Just practicality and silence.

At the edge of my bed, my satchel waited. Inside, I tucked my weathered notebook, the pages nearly full now with sketches, symbols, translations—every fragment of Cordelia’s trail I could gather.

Next, I slid in the faded tome from Cordelia’s collection, its leather cracked, its spine softened with age. The margins were crowded with handwritten notes in looping script, some hers, some mine. It felt like carrying her with me.

I fastened the satchel and stood for a moment in the stillness of my room.

My gaze shifted to the silver chain around my neck—the amulet resting just above my sternum. The smoky quartz at its center was cool to the touch as I lifted it in my fingers, letting it rest against my lips.

“Please,” I whispered, my voice barely audible in the quiet. “Whatever’s waiting—keep me strong. Keep us safe.”

For a heartbeat, there was nothing.

Then, the gemstone warmed faintly in my palm.

The Raven’s Echo stirred—soft and smooth, like ink bleeding through silk.

“The path will not be kind,” it murmured in a voice both ancient and oddly gentle, “but I will not let you walk it blind.”

I stilled, fingers tightening around the pendant.

“I will guide you through the danger, little flame,” it continued. “So long as you dare to step forward.”

A shiver laced down my spine, but not from fear.

Not this time. I tucked the pendant beneath my sweater and moved toward the door, each step firm, steady, sure.

The frost-kissed silence of the Academy awaited beyond the threshold, and within it, something older still—waited to be found.

The Sapphire House door closed behind me with the softest click, swallowed instantly by the hush of the hour.

The Academy grounds stretched before me—still, silver-drenched, cloaked in the kind of silence that made the world feel hollowed out and sacred. The air was crisp, laced with frost that shimmered faintly on every surface.

Moonlight glistened on the cobblestones like scattered salt, and my breath rose in soft, white clouds as I descended the steps of Sapphire House.

Samael stood at the bottom, waiting.

He hadn’t spoken, hadn’t needed to. The look he gave me—eyes dark and steady under the tousled fall of his hair—was enough.

He held himself with that usual, effortless stillness, the kind that suggested he’d been carved from something older than the rest of us, but when I reached him, his hand brushed mine, fingers grazing just enough to say you’re not alone.

A moment later, twin silhouettes appeared across the courtyard, arm in arm. Bethany’s copper hair glowed even in moonlight, loose from the elegant updo she’d worn hours earlier.

Her boots made soft clicks on the stone, the hem of her dark cloak fluttering behind her. Leander was at her side, his robe slung over one shoulder and his freckled face unusually serious. His gaze scanned the shadows as they approached, his hand resting casually at his sides.

“I brought pastries,” Bethany whispered, as though it was an act of rebellion. “Just in case this turns into a very long night.”

“You brought sugar,” Leander muttered, “not a miracle.”

Bethany shrugged. “You’ve clearly never had the walnut tarts from the Mistholm bakery.”

Before I could respond, Lydia appeared from the doorway behind me, slipping through the ivy-framed entrance of Sapphire House like a wraith in motion.

Her pale blonde hair was pulled back into a low twist, her satchel clutched tightly to her chest. Her eyes, amber and sharp even in shadow, met mine.

“We all made it,” she said simply, and without needing to speak it aloud, we moved.

Together.

Five shadows gliding through frostbitten grass and moonlit stone, hearts thudding in a rhythm older than fear.

We crossed the courtyard like secrets, ducking behind statues and arches as enchanted suits of armor paced in their slow, eternal rounds.

Their footfalls were distant, steady—mechanical echoes that warned of their approach and offered windows between patrols.

We didn’t run.

We didn’t speak.

We just moved.

By the time we reached the far side of the courtyard, the Divination Tower loomed above us—its spiraling form shrouded in a gentle haze of winter mist. The stars above seemed to pulse dimly behind the veil of clouds, as though holding their breath.

We slipped into the main wing of the Academy, the towering oak doors groaning faintly on their hinges despite our efforts to keep them quiet. The sound made us all freeze, hearts hammering. But no alarms came, no footsteps echoed in response.

Inside, the grand entrance hall lay steeped in shadow, illuminated only by the fractured glow of moonlight filtering through stained glass high above. The colored fragments spilled across the black-and-white marble floor like shards of broken magic.

Bethany pressed close to my shoulder, her voice barely audible. “We need to time this exactly right. The guards pass through the western corridor every three minutes. If they see us—”

“They won’t,” Lydia whispered, “not if we move quickly and carefully.”

We moved as one, quietly climbing the grand staircase that curved upward like a ribbon of marble and silence. Our footsteps echoed more loudly than I liked, but we had no choice but to press forward. Every creak of the stone beneath our feet felt like a shout in the dark.

Halfway up, Leander froze, holding out an arm to stop us. From the hall above, the heavy clank of armored feet approached—rhythmic, mechanical. One of the enchanted soldiers. Its glowing eyes cast pale beams ahead, sweeping side to side like a lantern searching through fog.

“Down,” Samael muttered, grabbing my arm and pulling me into the recess of a shadowed alcove behind a decorative tapestry. The others followed suit, slipping into the gloom just as the guard appeared at the top of the stairs.

We didn’t breathe

.We didn’t blink.

The suit of armor passed within ten feet of us, each step pounding like a war drum in my ears. It paused briefly at the landing, head turning in a slow, jerking arc as though listening to a sound only it could hear. I felt the Raven’s Echo pulse against my skin.

Then, with a sharp pivot, it turned and continued down the hall.

Bethany exhaled shakily. “I nearly peed myself.”

“With your track record? I was bracing for a full theatrical collapse,” Leander murmured.

We kept moving.

At the landing, we veered right, plunging into the upper corridors—those long, winding passageways few students ever explored at night.

The walls were lined with dark wood paneling and ancient portraits, their eyes seeming to follow us with expressions frozen somewhere between curiosity and warning.

We ducked beneath windows, darted behind columns. At one point, we had to flatten ourselves against the wall as another patrol passed just down the hall, its shadows spilling long and sharp across the floor. The tension in my chest never faded, held tight like the pull of a bowstring.

The deeper we moved, the colder it became—an unnatural chill, like the walls themselves were holding their breath.

Then I felt it.

Before I saw it, I felt it.

The corridor.

It brushed against the edge of my awareness like a ripple in calm water, like the whisper of wings in the dark.

The long hallway stretched before us, lit only by the occasional flicker of a blue flame torch. The stones were old, ancient even, damp in places and cracked with veins of old enchantment. The silence was total now, heavy with a weight I couldn’t name.

Every step we took was deliberate. Careful.

When we turned the final bend, I stopped dead in my tracks.

So did the others.

There it was.

At the far end of the hall—just past the carved archway that had once seemed so mundane—was something off. The air shimmered faintly, distorting the stone around it like heat rising from a fire. It bent the light strangely, like a mirage, a hidden memory stirring back to life.

Without a word, we formed a circle, shoulder to shoulder, back-to-back—five figures breathing in quiet unity. The faint hum of enchantment pulsed in the air, responding to our focus. Together, we raised our hands and began to draw the rune.

The silencing ward.

One by one, glowing golden symbols materialized midair beneath our fingers, then linked—delicate as gossamer, precise as needlework. The runes hovered for a moment before expanding outward, melting into one another until the ward enveloped us like a bubble of muted stillness.

Inside it, the world went hushed.

No footsteps.

No breath.

No heartbeat.

Only magic.

Then, without a word, we assembled in a line.

Hands reached out until we were all joined together—Samael’s hands were warm in mine.

I led the group, my own hand squeezing his reassuringly as I stepped forward.

We moved as one unit, silent and determined, toward the space in the wall where the hidden corridor shimmered into existence.

The corridor was clearer now. No longer a shimmer. No longer hidden.

A fissure of dark space had opened in the stone wall, wide enough to pass through, narrow enough to vanish at a whisper. The edges glowed faintly with ancient energy, like moonlight refracted through obsidian.

With a steadying breath, I stepped forward.

I pulled Samael with me. He, in turn, drew the others, our chain unbroken.

The moment we crossed the threshold, cold swept through us—not the chill of night, but something older. Something untouched by time. The walls inside the corridor were smooth black stone, veined with silver runes that pulsed softly beneath the surface like veins beneath skin.

It smelled of earth and memory.

Samael squeezed my hand gently, then whispered, “Light the way.”

I nodded, raising my free hand. “Lucenara.” The spell bloomed to life at my fingertips, casting a soft blue-white light that stretched down the corridor, illuminating only a few feet ahead.

The hallway narrowed the farther we moved, closing in around us like it meant to keep us. It extended far longer than it should have—an impossible stretch of shadow and silence that tested our nerves. The light from my spell flickered faintly, as though resisting the depth of the darkness.

Then—at last—we reached it.

A stairwell.

Its mouth yawned wide before us, and the steps vanished downward into pitch black. No banisters. No carvings. Just stone, worn smooth by time and secrets.

Still holding hands, we descended.

One step.

Then another.

Each one felt like falling.

The silencing ward dulled our senses, but even so, I felt the air shift. Felt the weight grow heavier with every level we passed. It smelled damper here, more ancient. Magic clung to the walls like mist.

Finally, we reached the bottom.

The stairwell ended in a narrow alcove; the ceiling low enough that Samael and Leander ducked instinctively. The space was small—just wide enough for the five of us to stand shoulder to shoulder.

Two enchanted candelabras flanked the far wall, their flames cool and silvery, illuminating what hung between them.

A painting.

Massive, elegant, framed in tarnished gold; but it wasn’t what the frame held that stole my breath—it was what moved within it.

The painting depicted a towering stone entryway, its arch flanked by walls so high they vanished into the clouds of a twilight sky.

The stone was weathered and cracked, streaked with moss and clawed by tangled vines that had long since claimed the ruins as their own.

Beyond the arch, an array of crumbling structures sprawled outward—roofless halls, shattered columns, and sunken courtyards half-swallowed by nature.

It was a place both ancient and forgotten, where silence lived, and time had surrendered.

At the heart of it all, that arched entry stood open—inviting.

Its shadows were impossibly deep. And though the paint was still, something shifted beneath the surface.

A ripple.

As if someone had dragged their fingers through a pool of still water.

The brushstrokes trembled.

Alive.

Waiting.

I stepped closer, heart thundering.

Samael didn’t stop me, none of them did.

We knew.

This wasn’t just a painting; it was the doorway.