Page 12

ANCIENT HISTORY

I skimmed the book's pages, flipping through them haphazardly until one handwritten word caught my attention. Oneiroi . It was scrawled in elegant gold lettering above a beautiful illustration of three Ancients. Delicate strokes of black brushed over the yellowed parchment, gold-foil accents illuminating the ink.

The Oneiroi were the Ancients of Dreams: three celestial siblings who penetrated and manipulated the minds of every living being. They could influence a person’s psyche while conscious; however, their divine ember was most potent when their target was sleeping—whether naturally or in an induced trance. Thank you, Dormancy . I sighed as my focus lingered on the image.

The male in the center was breathtaking, all chiseled muscles and robust angles. His frosty gaze was direct, staring down his aquiline nose at whoever viewed the drawing. His flaxen hair floated in a halo around a golden diadem atop his head. One powerful arm lifted above him; a shining globe in gold leaf floated above his hand. Stars burst from the glowing orb, levitating above and around the three figures. Morpheus: Supreme Ancient of Dreams was written in crisp script under the male.

On his left was an equally attractive male, his form powerfully trim and lean. While Morpheus was golden light and stars, this male was made of shadows and the promise of misery. A slinking swirl of smog spilled from one palm, devouring the edges of the drawing under their feet and shrouding half of his face. A desiccated skull rested in his other hand. One dark eye was visible, piercing and narrowed as a smug look stretched across his gaunt countenance. Phobetor: Ancient of Nightmares .

The stunning woman on Morpheus’ right was his sister. Phantasos: The Ancient of Illusions . Her face was obscured—a soft blur of gold and mist creating a subtle veil over her. Nevertheless, her lips smirked, her eyes twinkling with mirth as if she were withholding a secret. She wore a flowing gown, sparkling gold sprinkled over it, melding with the stars that Morpheus’ orb released. A plump raven sat in her cradled palms, staring adoringly at her.

I eagerly moved on to the text, soaking in whatever information I could gather.

It is understood that the immortal Oneiroi maintain the balance between realms and minds. For what is the mind if not the inner world of all living creatures? Their divine embers are esteemed, even among other Ancients. Over time, there have been a few attempts to usurp the triplets; all have failed.

Morpheus reigns over Surrelia, welcoming the departed souls of mortals and immortals alike. Once the physical body perishes, a mortal’s astral form may take refuge in Surrelia for all time unless banished to the Nether Void.

Furthermore, Morpheus drifts through dreams, shaping them to his whims and providing support, comfort, or pleasure when he feels charitable.

Phobetor presides over the aforementioned Nether Void. A dark and dismal fate it is for those who reside in his domain. He conjures up the darkest of visions within one’s mind, tormenting the soul and punishing who he pleases.

Phantasos is thought to wander through various planes, a trail of either bewilderment or surreal clarity in her wake. It is believed she prefers to dwell deep within wild landscapes, letting nature’s ember permeate her essence. Her guidance, although peculiarly sage, is cloaked in cryptic riddles.

I studied well into the afternoon, my eyes tired from the strain of reading the worn ink in the dimming light. It was clear Magister Barden had taught us the basics, but there was so much more to know.

“Seryn, there you are.” Kaden’s voice barged into my awareness, his call echoing down the length of the library. He plopped down next to me, bumping the table and making my tower of books lurch precariously. I steadied them with my hand, an embarrassed heat blushing my cheeks.

“Hush, this is a library, for Surrelia’s sake!” Mr. Burlam shouted from the other end of the room. Kaden held up his hands in surrender, and Mr. Burlam scowled, turning his attention back to his desk.

“How was your day? Feeling any better, you little honey wine bandit?” I giggled.

“Feeling just fine, Ser. Just fine,” he purred, rubbing his belly. “An average day in the life of a mighty squire.”

“Ah, what a delight you are, Kade.” My eyes rolled so far back that he probably could only see their whites.

“Honestly, though, I’m looking forward to it. I think we’ll be training a lot with the guards. I wouldn’t mind brushing up on my swordsmanship.”

“It is fortunate Gavrel taught you early on.”

“Perhaps you’ll partake?” His voice was hopeful.

A small smile crept across my mouth. “Perhaps.” I had never thought much of learning how to use a weapon. Over the turns, the Larkin brothers had taught me the basics of swordplay, but I didn’t keep up with practicing.

I shifted, facing Kaden and pushing my book toward him. “Look at this. So much information about the Ancients and our realms.”

“I bet Magister Barden would have wet himself with excitement.” Glee shined in his eyes. I swallowed a laugh to avoid Mr. Burlam’s attention again.

“All right, give it here,” he ordered, pulling the book closer and flipping through the pages. A strand of black hair flopped over his brow. I longed to brush it back and run my fingers through his unruly strands. Instead, I watched him intently.

“Ah, here’s a little history lesson. Listen to this then,” he said, looking at me. He caught me staring, and a grin cut across his face. He read on, his voice imitating Magister Barden’s. “When the Ancients first gifted ember to humans, the rise of untamed Druiks overwhelmed Midst Fall. There were no known orders to govern the use and misuse of such powerful, wild energies. The emperor was ineffective in controlling the scourge, and consequently, the empire crumbled.”

I shifted closer to him, reading silently along.

“The Ancients were uninterested in managing the Druiks. However, they eventually agreed upon establishing a ruling body of Elders—supreme wielders, to prevent the extinction of the Ancients’ acolytes. For without worshippers, the Ancients’ immortality and power would dwindle. From each region of the mortal plane, the Ancients chose the most powerful Druik—selected for their extraordinary ability and capacity to endure ultimate levels of divine ember.”

“All right, all right.” I waved my hand at him dismissively, centering the book between us. He laughed at my impatience, nudging his shoulder against mine. I smiled as we read the rest of the passage to ourselves.

Henceforth, these original Elders possessed divine bloodlines, and future descendants, or Scions, hailed from their lineage. Only one Scion from each ancestral house will exist at a time.

The founding family names are:

Oleander of Evergryn

Lotus of Haadra

Nightshade of Perilous Bogs

Aerides of Pneumali

Celosia of Pyria

To maintain balance, the Ancients decreed that each region must be represented consistently by an ascended Elder. When all five delegates are assembled, they take an oath sealed in blood. This bond grants them additional enhanced ember. If this celestial covenant is broken, their abilities diminish progressively until their gift is no more.

An Elder can often sense the new Scion’s power. Once recognized, the Scion and Elder undergo Ascension—the ritual in which the Scion metamorphoses into the new Elder.

The retired Elder has two paths: either live out their days in Midst Fall, their ember weakened and ultimately fading, or join the Ancients in astral form immediately, their physical body rejoining the earth, their gift returned to the aether.

“Well, where do I sign up?” Kaden joked.

I blew out the breath I hadn’t realized was stuck in my chest, staring at the yellowed paper.

“It’s a heavy price. I suppose after leading for so long with enhanced powers, it would be hard to cope with such a loss. Either way, they lose their ember.” Pity moved my head from side to side.

“It is, but if it is a person’s calling,” he said, his tone sincere. “Then the choice to lead—for the good of the realm—outweighs the cost.” He shrugged one shoulder, falling silent.

“Wow, Kaden. I don’t think I’ve ever seen your philosophical side.”

“One of my many hidden talents.” He winked, rising from the table. “Want to head to dinner—sans the libations?”

I snickered, rising and gathering the books. “Sure. Help me put these away?”

He nodded, allowing me to fill his sturdy arms with the stack. We walked through the aisles, returning the tomes. Their leather-bound neighbors welcomed them with a rustling sigh. I took the final book, the one that had mysteriously fallen earlier, and stretched on my tiptoes to put it back in place.

I groaned in frustration, failing to reach the shelf.

“Let me help.” Kaden stretched his muscled arm over my right shoulder. He gently took the leather volume from my fingers, lifting it and pushing it home.

The warmth of his chest seeped into my shoulders as he lingered behind me. His warm breath grazed over my temple, some loose strands of hair tickling my skin. He breathed in deeply, his exhale coming out with a sigh.

The library was tranquil. Kaden could doubtless hear the drum of my heart as it accelerated.

“Thank you,” I whispered, still staring at the leather spines before me as if I had forgotten how to move my own.

From the side of my vision, Kaden’s biceps contracted, and then his fingertips touched the back of my hand, which was frozen in mid-air. He gently skimmed them over my wrist. My arm. My shoulder. Goosebumps tracked his touch. My fingers gripped the edge of the shelf, steadying myself as my knees quivered.

His heart thumped against my spine, bringing it back to life. My arm fluttered back to my side as I tilted my head to the left. A faint, shaky chuckle escaped him.

“Anytime.” He brushed his palm over my shoulder, gently gathering my hair and placing it over my left shoulder. His palm returned to the curve between my bared neck and shoulder. The wide expanse of his hand branded me motionless, as if he was memorizing the feel of our skin touching in the buzzing silence.

I turned into his touch, achingly slow. Our breaths mingled, hitching in time with each other in little gasps. His hand lingered, slipping along my skin as I faced him. His palm now rested on my collarbone, fingers cupping the other side of my neck under a curtain of dark-red curls. My back pressed into the shelved books, acting as my vertebrae and offering me stability in a tilted world. I closed my eyes as his thumb circled leisurely over the hollow of my throat.

My eyes fluttered open, dragging upward to meet Kaden’s smoldering gaze. His clover-colored aura simmering around him, melding with his radiating heat. My chest was heaving, trying to break free from the bodice of my kirtle.

He stepped closer, placing his other hand on my waist, squeezing gently. As he leaned down, the air caught in my throat. My hands flew forward, gripping the front of his tunic. I wasn’t sure if I was urging him toward me or holding him still. He paused, his full lips hovering a breath away from mine. If I licked my lips, my tongue would run over his, tasting him.

“It would seem …” he murmured, his words flitting over my mouth, “all our stories are put away.”

“I … I hadn’t noticed,” I breathed.

“I notice everything , Seryn.”

“Kaden,” I whimpered.

All at once, both of his hands shifted, his fingers burrowing into the curtain of my hair and cupping the back of my neck and head. His lips crushed into mine, and he groaned. The taste of salt and mint danced in my mouth.

My hands clenched the fabric of his tunic, pulling his weight against me. The shelves dug into my back, but I barely felt their bite.

I lifted onto my toes, pushing our lips together more firmly. I was dazed. I was ravenous. I needed …

“Library’s closed!” Mr. Burlam’s voice boomed down the aisle, startling us as we jumped apart, our breathing erratic. Kaden’s eyes bore into the side of my face, and my gaze whipped toward the cranky librarian. My face burned brighter than the sun.

“Uh, yes. Yes, of course, Mr. Burlam. We’re leaving now. Thank you!” I stammered.

I rushed down the aisle, away from Kaden, as he called my name. I flew past Mr. Burlam, ducking my head and dashing past the endless rows of novels.

Hurrying through the doors, I sped through the winding halls, not looking behind me to see if anyone had followed. At the sight of my bedroom door, I moaned. My leather slippers slapped against the stones, echoing along the corridor.

I shoved my door open and tumbled into the safety of my room, slamming the door shut and smacking my palm against the blue gem in the wall. Derya wouldn’t mind bringing me something to eat in my room tonight.

As I counted my breaths, calming the frenzied pace of my heart, the fog cleared from my thoughts.

Bollocks.

I had left my spine in the library among the others, after all.