Akilliz woke to gray morning light and the lingering metallic taste in his mouth.

  He'd dreamed of the circle again. Or maybe he hadn't dreamed at all. Maybe he'd been standing over it, drawing, perfecting. The not-knowing was worse than the nightmares. He checked under his bed, even though he'd scrubbed the stone clean. The lines were still visible. Faint, but there. The symbols etched as though carved by a master hand.

  Maybe he should ask Sylvara about it. But what would she say? What questions would that raise? Maybe she would tell the council, or worse, Thalindra. No time for that now.

  Akilliz dressed slowly, pulling on his robes and gloves. His left arm was cold and heavy in a way that wasn't comfortable. The gray skin had cemented itself up to his shoulder. He hoped that maybe he would care less about that soon—it had helped him out, after all. He guessed there was about a week until the Festival, but he also knew that time had been hard to keep track of lately. He grabbed his bag and headed for an early breakfast.

  The dining hall was half-empty at this early hour. Most students were still in pre-breakfast classes, since elves didn't sleep as much as humans. It was another reason for them to look down upon him. He had a human schedule.

  Akilliz scanned the tables and found Kael sitting alone near the window, picking at a plate of fruit. Lirien's seat beside him was empty. How unusual, he thought. Akilliz approached slowly and Kael looked up, then his expression went cold.

  "Can I sit?"

  "Free kingdom." Kael didn't look at him.

  Akilliz sat down with raised eyebrows anyway. He set his bag down and tried to figure out what to say, but instead let the awkward silence consume him.

  "You know, she didn't even come to breakfast," Kael said quietly. "She's been crying. All night, from what I heard." His eyes stared cold green daggers into Akilliz's chest.

  Something should've twisted inside his heart at that. Guilt. Shame. Horror at what he'd done. Nothing came.

  "Kael, I was crashing," Akilliz said. "From a speed potion. That's why I was... like that. Yesterday."

  He lied. A crafty one, but still plausible. He had crashed, but he also knew the loss of his arm seemed to affect his mind as well. It was hard to tell... but he couldn't decide if he was becoming paranoid, numb, or just plain crazy.

  Kael's head snapped up. "You were taking acceleration potions? Zolam's beard, Akilliz. Those aren't meant for—" He stopped. Lowered his voice as a passing student glanced their way. "Those things have demon essence in them. They're actually quite dangerous."

  "I made it myself. The recipe didn't require any demon essence."

  Kael stared at him. "You can't make an acceleration potion without demon essence. It's the primary catalyst. Without it, you'd just have bitter herb water."

  Akilliz's mind raced back. The recipe he'd copied from Sylvara's office. His hurried handwriting in candlelight. The word he couldn't quite read. lemon essence, he'd thought. But what if it should have been demon essence? The vial of dark liquid in Sylvara's workshop. The one that looked like blood.

  He'd used lemon essence. He was sure of it. Three drops of lemon essence. But the potion had worked anyway. The high, the crash, the effects were all real. His mother's gift. It had to be. The blessing that let her transmute ingredients, create variations that shouldn't work. The lemon essence must have become what the potion needed because his gift had made it so.

  "How much does a potion need?" His voice came out strange and distant, clinical.

  "Three drops. Maybe four for a strong dose. Why?"

  Three drops. He'd used exactly three. Kael was useful this morning, but how did he know about the demon essence? Seemed strange for a weak apprenticed wizard to know about alchemy.

  "Akilliz?" Kael leaned forward. "Are you alright? You look—"

  "I'm fine." The lie came easily now. "I just... I made it without demon essence. Must've gotten the transcription wrong."

  "Where does demon essence even come from?" Akilliz asked, trying to sound casual.

  "Demons, of course. Zolam has a source. He gives some to Sylvara in exchange for the potions. She gives him five potions at a time, which should last weeks. But he goes through them faster than he should." Kael frowned. "And she keeps asking him for more essence. Reckon she's trying to get ahead of his demands."

  "How much more?"

  "Last request I saw was for three bottles. But one bottle of demon essence should make well over a dozen potions." Kael shrugged. "Probably just stocking up."

  Akilliz's stomach turned. He forced himself to keep his expression neutral. "That's strange."

  "Yeah." Kael studied him. "Look, don't get me distracted and think we're okay." He paused, eyebrows furrowed. "I don't know what's going on with you, but you seem distant. Like you've lost your personality, your smile. If it's those potions, cut it out."

  "I know... I know. I won't take them again."

  He deflected. It wasn't the potions. He didn't need to lie, just divert. Inside his head he was thinking about demon essence. The crash had been miserable, but the high, the clarity, the energy, the ability to function without the numbness dragging him down... if he could just perfect it. Elven methods with his gift…Thalindra had mentioned that. His gift could produce something greater. If he just—

  "Good." Kael pushed his plate away. "Now. Why are you here? Because if you want me to tell you where Lirien is so you can make things worse—"

  "I need your help." He responded flatly.

  Kael's eyebrows rose. "With what?"

  Akilliz glanced around. The nearest students were three tables away, out of earshot. He leaned in anyway. "I'm getting the key from Sylvara today. For the archives."

  "Right. You mentioned that before."

  Kael had to help. He could be useful. He would enable the whole plan, to escape with—

  "I need to get my mother's journal. The one we found pages from. And I also need the Dragon's Breath book."

  Kael went very flat. "And you want the satchel to smuggle it all out."

  "Yes. Thalindra asked me to bring her the key herself, to study it." Akilliz paused. "It's forged, Kael. Sylvara's key. It's a forgery."

  Kael's face went pale. "Oh gods. And you told the High Judiciar and she gave you a mission?"

  Now he had him.

  "Exactly. So if you help me, you're helping her too. Why would Sylvara need a forged key to the archives? It's strong—the key she gave me opens a powerful lock like it's nothing."

  "Aurelia be praised. Akilliz, this is insane. That's a high honor. I didn't know that's what you were dealing with. No wonder you look like a ghoul. Think—what if Sylvara finds out you reported her?"

  "I know. That's why she can't. But when I leave the archives, I'll be searched by a guard. They'll only let me take the Dragon's Breath book. So that's why I need to hide my mother's journal in the satchel."

  "Right," Kael said. "It's about the only way out, like the plan we had before." He paused, considering. "Well, you're in luck. Today's another Rest Day. He'll be sleeping yet again while I look through the entire Grand Library for a book that's sleeping. Kill me now—I'm starting to crack."

  Akilliz smiled. "Perfect timing then. It'll be fine. Once it's over with, everyone should be happy."

  "Just keep in mind, you'll be stealing from a sleeping archmage."

  "Hey now, it was your idea! We just borrow it. We'll return it."

  Kael crossed his arms, brows furrowed. "I don't know... do you remember what happened the last time Zolam sneezed? During the Mistwood attack? He turned three dark elves to stone. They're probably still statues somewhere in the forest. If we wake him—"

  "We won't wake him. That's why I need your help. You're the only one who can help me get it."

  Kael stared at him for a long moment. "Well, what if I say no? After how you've been lately, this seems like something I don't want to be in the middle of."

  No way. Was he really backing out now? Akilliz started sweating. Kael had to help him. He couldn't back out now. This was his only way to see the rest of his mother's journal. To find the truth.

  "Then... I guess I'm caught with a stolen book and expelled. Maybe arrested."

  This had to work. And it wasn't a lie.

  The words hit like a slap. But Akilliz couldn't feel the sting. Just observed it, distant and cold. He had to be patient. Call his bluff.

  "Please," Akilliz said quietly. "I know I don't deserve your help. I know I hurt Lirien. I know I'm asking too much. But I need this."

  Kael's jaw worked. Finally, he sighed. "Break her heart again, and I'll make it my life's purpose to get you back. You understand?"

  "I understand."

  "Do you know what she's risking?" Kael's voice was low, intense. "She wants to go on a date with you. In public. Do you even know what that really means for her?"

  Akilliz shook his head.

  "It means everything. She'll be shunned by her friends. Her family will be ashamed. Every elf in this city will know she chose a mortal. A human. And they'll judge her for it." Kael leaned closer. "She's pretty, Akilliz. She's smart. She's kind. Elf men would kill for a chance with her. And she hasn't given any of them even a passing smile since you two started talking. They all know. And when she goes on that date with you, they'll ALL know she chose you over them."

  The words should've made him feel honored. Humbled. Grateful beyond measure. He felt nothing. But he knew the right response. Knew what a person who still had feelings would say.

  "I'll try to be worth it," he said.

  Kael searched his face. Whatever he saw there made him frown. "You don't sound like yourself."

  "I'm tired. The potion crash—"

  "Right." Kael didn't sound convinced. "Fine. I'll help. But we'll need Lirien."

  "Why?"

  "Because Zolam's tower is in the alchemical wing. Multiple floors. Objects everywhere. If something goes wrong, we need her healing skills. And..." He hesitated. "And she needs to know we're doing this. She deserves to decide if she's in or out."

  "She won't want to help me."

  "Probably not. But I'll talk to her." Kael stood, grabbing his plate. "Meet us outside the alchemical tower. After seventh bell."

  "Alright."

  "And Akilliz?"

  "Yeah?"

  "You better apologize to her. Actually apologize. Not whatever half-hearted thing you're planning."

  Akilliz nodded.

  Kael walked away, leaving him alone at the table. He should've felt anxious. Worried about the heist. Worried about Lirien hating him. Worried about Sylvara discovering the betrayal. He felt nothing. Just the cold weight of his left arm and the knowledge that he was walking a knife's edge between too many secrets. And beneath that was a small voice, getting quieter every day, asking if he even wanted to make it across.

  Sylvara's morning lesson was on more neutralizing agents, how to identify and counteract common poisons. He took notes diligently as she demonstrated with a vial of nightshade extract and powdered unicorn horn. Akilliz went through the motions. Mixing when told to mix. Observing when told to observe. His hands moved mechanically while his mind drifted.

  The food at breakfast had tasted like ash. He'd forced himself to eat anyway, maintaining appearances. But every bite was effort. Every swallow an act of will. He wondered if normal people had to try this hard just to exist.

  "Akilliz."

  He looked up. Sylvara stood beside his workstation, studying his mixture. How long had he been standing there, just stuck staring at the vial in his hand?

  "Stay a moment before running off, will you?" she asked quietly.

  His heart should've jumped. Should've raced with anxiety.

  Sylvara moved to her desk, unlocked a drawer with a small silver key. "You delivered my package to Voryn yesterday?"

  "Yes, Sylvara."

  "Good." She produced a larger key from the drawer. Older. The one with a strange rune that felt hot in his pocket. "Then this is yours for the day."

  Akilliz took it carefully. The metal was warm against his palm. Heavier than it looked. The markings seemed to shift when he wasn't looking directly at them, an illusion perhaps. Or maybe not.

  "Dragon's Breath certainly is ambitious," Sylvara said, watching him. "The archives have some vague texts on cultivation and brewing. Section on Rare Pyrosian Flora. Third shelf from the back, eastern wall on the third floor down."

  "Thank you—"

  "You understand this is fifth-year material? Possibly sixth?" She studied him with those sharp eyes. "The plant is dangerous to harvest. The brewing is dangerous to attempt. One mistake and you could burn down half the tower."

  "I understand the risks."

  "But you believe you're capable."

  "Yes."

  A smile played at her lips. "Good. I wouldn't have offered this opportunity if I thought otherwise."

  She stepped closer, and Akilliz caught the scent of herbs and something sharper. Sulfur, maybe. Or ash.

  "And Akilliz…this key. You know what it represents."

  "Trust."

  "More than that. It represents risk. For both of us." Her expression was serious now. Grave. "Be discreet in the archives. Don't draw attention. And when you're finished—" She locked eyes with him. "Return it to me directly. Tonight. After dinner. To me, personally. Understood?"

  "Yes, Sylvara"

  "Good. Students aren't supposed to be in there, so don't do anything to rouse suspicion. Now go. You have until evening."

  He left with the silver key burning in his pocket like a stubborn coal.

  The walk to Zolam's tower felt longer than it should. Every corridor seemed to stretch. Every passing student seemed to stare. Paranoia. He recognized it intellectually. The key in his pocket wasn't visible. No one knew what he carried. No one knew what he planned. But the weight of deception pressed down anyway.

  He was betraying Sylvara to Thalindra. Stealing from the archives. About to steal from Zolam. All while maintaining the mask of a dutiful student. The strange thing was, he didn't feel guilty about any of it. Just... aware. Like reading a list of facts about someone else's crimes.

  Akilliz Ashendale, apprentice alchemist, accused of: betrayal, theft, conspiracy, lying to authorities.

  The tower rose before him, seemingly build from ancient stone wrapped in climbing vines. Kael waited outside, leaning against the wall. Alone.

  "Where's Lirien?" Akilliz asked.

  "Coming. I talked to her. She'll help." Kael's expression was serious. "But she's not happy about it. Any of it."

  "I know."

  "Do you?" Kael's voice had an edge. "Because she's risking expulsion for you. We both are. If we get caught stealing from Zolam—"

  "We won't get caught."

  "You don't know that."

  "No. But I trust you. You know his patterns. You know when he sleeps deepest."

  Kael rubbed his face. "This is insane."

  "I know. I'm sorry."

  "Stop apologizing and start appreciating what people are doing for you."

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Akilliz wanted to. Tried to summon gratitude, warmth, anything. Like reaching for a word he'd forgotten. He knew what appreciation felt like, remembered the shape of it. But the actual emotion wouldn't come.

  Before he could respond, footsteps approached. He turned.

  Lirien.

  She wore a simple dress today instead of her healer's robes. Pale green that brought out her silver eyes. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a tight braid—practical, like she was preparing for something difficult. She looked beautiful. The observation was clinical. Factual. Like noting that the sky was blue or that water was wet. He knew she was beautiful the way he knew that two plus two equaled four. She wouldn't look at him.

  "Lirien," he started.

  "Let's just get this over with," she said, voice cool. "Kael explained what you need."

  "Before we do this…I need to say I'm sorry. For yesterday."

  She finally looked at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed. She'd been crying. "Kael said you were crashing from a potion."

  "I was… I drank an Acceleration potion. I made it wrong, or right, I don't know. But everything felt... distant. Cold. Like I was watching myself from outside."

  He wasn't lying. Not exactly. The potion had made things worse. But the numbness had been there before. Growing. Spreading like the gray on his arm.

  "Those are dangerous." Her healer instincts kicked in despite her anger. "Especially for mortals. They can damage your system. Make you dependent."

  "I know. I won't take them again."

  Another lie. Or maybe not. He didn't know if he'd take them again. Didn't know if he cared enough about the consequences to stop. She studied his face, and he could see her wanting to believe him. Wanting this explanation to be enough.

  "Good," she said finally. But her voice was still guarded. Careful. Like she was talking to something fragile that might shatter. Or something dangerous that might bite.

  Silence stretched between them. Awkward. Heavy. He should fill it. Should say something warm, reassuring, human. Nothing came.

  "Do you even remember what you said to me?" Her voice was quiet now. Hurt.

  "I said… 'Sure. That sounds fine.' When you asked me on a date." He made himself meet her eyes. "Like you'd asked me to do a chore instead of... instead of something that mattered."

  She looked away. "Yeah. That."

  "Kael told me what it means. For you. What you're risking by being seen with me publicly. I didn't understand before. I do now."

  "Did he."

  It wasn't a question. More like an acknowledgment that she and Kael had discussed him. Analyzed him. Worried about him together. The thought should've made him feel exposed. Vulnerable. It didn't.

  "I'm sorry I made it seem like it didn't matter. Like you didn't matter."

  She was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice was softer. "Do you even want to go? On this date? Because if you don't, just say it now. I can handle rejection. I can't handle being treated like I'm nothing."

  He should feel desperate. Terrified of losing her. Honored that she'd chosen him despite everything. He felt nothing. But he knew what to say. Knew the script. Knew what a person who still had feelings would do.

  "I do want to. I really like you and… I know you're taking a huge risk on me. I'll try to be worth it."

  She searched his face, looking for something. Sincerity, maybe. Some sign that he meant it. That the real him was still in there somewhere. He didn't know if she found it. Didn't know if there was anything left to find.

  "You still seem different," she said finally. "Even now. It is like you are far away. Like you're not really here."

  Too perceptive. Always had been.

  "I'm just… still recovering from the crash. It takes time."

  "Right." She didn't sound convinced. "We can try tomorrow night. Seven bells. The place in the artisan district we talked about. Don't be late."

  "I won't be."

  "And don't crash from any potions before then. I want the real you." Her eyes were searching his. Pleading. "The you that helped me through the Sanitarium, the one who saved my sister… or… I suppose… whatever's left of him."

  The words hit differently than she'd intended. Whatever's left of him. Like she already knew, except she didn't. He could become strong enough to protect her, he just needed more time.

  "I'll be there," he said.

  Kael cleared his throat. "Can we do this now? Before someone sees us loitering?"

  Lirien nodded. She headed for the tower entrance without looking back. Akilliz followed. Kael fell into step beside him. Spoke quietly. "I'm going in first. To check if the coast is clear. Give you two a minute."

  But there was no minute left. Lirien had already disappeared inside. The moment was gone. If it had ever existed at all.

  Zolam's tower stole his breath as soon as he stepped inside. Deapite the stonework outside, the inside was a giant hollow tree. Ancient beyond measure. The walls were bark—massive, thick, spiraling upward five stories. Spiral stairs wrapped around the inner surface, leading to different floors and laboratories. But the center was completely open, a vast vertical space that stretched all the way to a glass ceiling far above.

  And floating in the middle of it all, fifteen feet off the ground, was Zolam. The archmage drifted on his back, arms crossed over his chest like a corpse prepared for burial. His long white beard trailed below him, swaying gently in an unfelt breeze. His eyes were closed, his breathing deep and even.

  Around him, objects floated in a lazy orbit. Books. Scrolls. Vials filled with glowing liquid. Quills. A teacup. A small table. A chair. Even a potted plant, its leaves drifting as though underwater. Everything moved in gentle rotation. Silent except for Zolam's breathing. Peaceful. Wrong.

  "This is what he does on Rest Day?" Akilliz whispered.

  "Every time," Kael breathed beside him. "Like he's in zero gravity. Dream magic, maybe. Or he's so powerful that physics just... doesn't apply to him anymore."

  Lirien stood on his other side, staring upward. "The satchel?"

  "Right side. His robe pocket. See the strap?"

  Akilliz could barely make it out. A thin leather strap peeking from Zolam's pocket, fifteen feet above them.

  "How do we reach him?"

  "That's the problem." Kael pulled out his wand. "But I have an idea. Remember those spells from your mother's spellbook? The binding one?"

  "The rope spell. You said it was weak."

  "It was. When I first cast it, it made a thread thin as a hair. Useless." Kael's expression shifted to something like pride. "But I've been practicing. Every night since then. It's stronger now. Slightly thicker, actually useful."

  Akilliz felt something flicker. Not quite pride in his friend. Not quite gratitude. But acknowledgment, at least. Kael had worked for this. Had prepared. That meant something. Probably.

  "How thick?"

  "Actual rope. Thin rope, but rope. And I can control it. Extend it, retract it, guide it." He paused. "I think I can reel him in, it should work."

  Akilliz pulled the fishhook from his pocket. The one Melinda had given him ages ago, back when the world had made more sense. "Combine it with this?"

  Kael's eyes widened. "That's... actually brilliant. Light. Quiet. Ethereal rope won't make noise if it brushes something."

  "Can you do it?"

  "Probably. Maybe." Kael looked nervous. Excited. Alive in a way Akilliz remembered being but couldn't quite access anymore. "Gods, I hope so."

  "What if he wakes?" Lirien asked quietly.

  "Remember the sneeze incident?" Kael's voice dropped even lower. "During Mistwood? He sneezed and turned three dark elves to stone. Mid-sneeze. They're probably still statues somewhere in the forest."

  "So we definitely don't wake him," Akilliz said.

  "Definitely not."

  They stood there, staring up at the floating Archon. He tried to feel the appropriate amount of fear. Tried to summon anxiety, caution, anything. Just cold calculation. Risk assessment. Probability of success.

  "Ready?" Kael asked.

  "No," Lirien said. "But let's do it anyway."

  Kael raised his wand. Took a deep breath and spoke the incantation clearly. Ethereal light appeared from his wand tip. Not a gossamer thread this time. An actual rope. Thin (maybe a quill's width) but solid. Glowing faint blue in the dim tower light.

  It extended from his wand like a growing vine. Foot by foot. Controlled. Precise. Kael was good at this. Better than Akilliz had realized. All his talk of practice was showing in the steady extension, the precise control. Something like respect flickered in Akilliz's chest. Distant. Intellectual. But there.

  "When I started," Kael whispered, "this was thin as a few hairs. Completely useless. Now..." He smiled despite his nervousness. "Now it's actually something."

  The rope reached full extension—about twenty feet. Kael guided the end toward Akilliz.

  "Tie the hook."

  Akilliz did. The magical rope accepted the knot, solidifying around the metal. The fishhook dangled from ethereal light, glowing faintly. They positioned themselves beneath Zolam. Akilliz held the hook. Kael controlled the rope's length and angle with small movements of his wand. Lirien watched for floating objects that might crash if disturbed.

  A team. Working together. Like friends. Akilliz observed this from a distance. Noted it. Filed it away.

  "First cast," Kael whispered.

  Akilliz swung the hook gently upward. It sailed through the air, ethereal rope trailing behind it like a comet's tail. Too short. The hook passed beneath Zolam's pocket by several feet.

  "Extending," Kael murmured. The rope lengthened. Akilliz brought it back down slowly for another try.

  Second cast. Better arc. The hook sailed toward the pocket but was too far left. Missed by inches.

  Akilliz breathed slowly. Studied Zolam's rotation. Timed it. He was good at this kind of thing. Precision. Calculation. Maybe that's all he was now. A machine that calculated. That performed. That pretended to be human while being something else entirely.

  Third cast. Perfect arc. Perfect height. Heading straight for the satchel strap— A floating book drifted into its path.

  Lirien moved like water. Caught the book silently before it could tumble to the floor. Set it down without a sound. Nodded to continue.

  Fourth cast. Akilliz waited. Watched Zolam's slow rotation. Waited for the perfect moment when the pocket faced them fully. Now. He released.

  The hook sailed true. Caught the satchel strap with a soft click that seemed thunderous in the anxious silence. They froze. Zolam's breathing continued. Deep. Even. Undisturbed.

  "Got it," Akilliz breathed.

  "Pulling," Kael whispered.

  The ethereal rope began to retract. Slowly. Inch by inch. Kael's hand trembled on his wand, sweat forming on his temple. The strain of maintaining the spell while using it to pull was visible on his face. His jaw clenched. His arms shook like he was trying to reel in a tree trunk instead of a weightless satchel. Real effort. Real cost. This mattered to Kael in a way he couldn't quite grasp. He knew he should feel guilty about that.

  The satchel shifted in Zolam's pocket. Zolam's beard twitched. Complete stillness. No one breathed.

  The archmage muttered in his sleep. Words in a language Akilliz didn't recognize. Old. Guttural. The sounds scraped against his ears wrong, like they shouldn't exist in a human throat. Zolam settled. His breathing deepened again.

  Kael continued the pull. Sweat dripped down his face. "Almost... almost..."

  The satchel came free of the pocket. Suspended on the ethereal rope and fishhook, glowing faintly blue. Zolam's slow rotation brought him closer to the floating table. His hand drifted near the edge.

  "Careful," Lirien whispered. "If he touches it—"

  Kael adjusted the rope's angle with a precise twist of his wand. The satchel swung clear of Zolam's drifting form, guided around the obstacle. It descended toward them. Cleared the old man completely. Lirien caught it with both hands, cradling it like it might explode.

  Kael released the spell. The ethereal rope vanished instantly. He sagged against the wall, breathing hard. "Never... doing that... again..."

  "That was incredible," Akilliz said quietly. And meant it. Or at least, he thought he meant it. It was hard to tell. "The spell actually worked. Really worked."

  "Relentless practice," Kael panted. "Still not as strong as real wizard spells. But it's mine. And it's one I can't forget." He wiped sweat from his forehead. "Gods, that was harder than I thought."

  "You did it though."

  "We did it." Kael glanced at Lirien, who was examining the satchel. Then back to Akilliz. A question in her eyes. *Are you still in there? Do I matter to you?*

  Akilliz looked away first.

  A sound from above. Not Zolam's breathing. Something else. A soft rumbling. Like... Snoring?

  They all looked up. The sound was coming from one of the floating shelves. A leather-bound book with silver clasps lay on its spine, covers rising and falling rhythmically. Actual snoring emanated from it. Small puffs of air disturbed nearby dust with each exhale.

  "Is that book... sleeping?" Lirien asked.

  Kael squinted upward. His expression shifted. "By the Nine! That's the one I've been looking for! The sleeping tome... I've been searching for months in the library." He looked at Akilliz. "Could you...?"

  Before Akilliz could respond, the book let out a particularly loud snore and rolled over, nearly falling off the shelf. Lirien darted forward, positioning herself beneath it. The book teetered. Fell. She caught it with both hands.

  The snoring stopped abruptly. The book's covers snapped shut with an indignant thump. Then, slowly, it began to snore again. It would've been funny if Akilliz could still find things funny. His mind was telling him *"Book has a defensive personality. Interesting."*

  "Got it," Lirien whispered, bringing it down.

  Kael took it reverently. "Thank you. This is—I've needed this for my thesis. Sleep magic, dream walking, paralysis..." He trailed off, looking at Akilliz meaningfully.

  Sleeping nightmares. The circle under his bed. Sleepwalking. Akilliz filed that away. Maybe later he could look through it.

  "We should go," Kael said.

  They headed for the door quietly. Behind them, Zolam's breathing continued its deep rhythm. Objects drifted in their eternal orbit. They made it outside just as the tower's wards hummed louder, a warning that someone was beginning to stir. They walked quickly away. Not quite running, but close.

  Once they were two corridors distant, Kael stopped. Leaned against a wall. "That was too close."

  "But it worked," Akilliz said.

  "This time." Kael clutched his sleeping tome like a treasure. "Don't make me do that again."

  "I won't."

  Akilliz looked at the satchel in his hands. So small. So innocent-looking. But it would hide his mother's journal, the key to finding out what she'd been running from.

  "Thank you," he said to both of them. "I know you didn't have to—"

  "You're right. We didn't." Kael's voice was sharp. "But we still wanted to help. We're your friends, so we did. Just don't make us regret it."

  Akilliz turned to Lirien. She was watching him with those silver eyes. Searching. Hoping. Afraid.

  "Thank you."

  She met his eyes finally. "Just... don't waste it. Whatever you're looking for in that journal. Don't waste it."

  "I won't."

  "We'll wait for you in the library," she said. "...don't be late."

  "I won't be."

  She walked away without another word.

  Kael followed, leaving Akilliz alone in the corridor. He looked down at the satchel in his hands. Pocketed it. Felt its weight—almost nothing. But carrying everything. He headed for the forbidden archives. Time to find out if there were answers to his questions, ones that didn't cost so great.

  The archives entrance was easy to miss if you didn't know what you were looking for, but thankfully he didn't encounter any trouble on the way there. Akilliz pulled out the silver key. Studied the strange rune upon it. It looked almost like letters, but not in any language he recognized. Older than elvish. Had to be older than anything in the texts he'd studied so far.

  He inserted the key. It turned with a heavy click that echoed down the empty hallway. The door swung open on silent hinges.

  Beyond was darkness. Then, as he stepped forward, soft blue light bloomed from glowing moss in jars carefully placed in cubbies. They illuminated a vast chamber filled with towering shelves that stretched up into shadow. The familiar smell hit him immediately. Old paper. Leather. Dust. The particular scent of knowledge preserved across centuries.

  He was alone. No guard. No escort. Just him and the accumulated secrets of generations. The door closed behind him with a soft thud on its own.

  Akilliz walked deeper into the archives. His footsteps sounded too loud against the stone floor. Every shelf he passed held books and scrolls he wasn't supposed to see. Forbidden knowledge. Dangerous knowledge. Knowledge that might explain what was happening to him.

  First task, finding the book by Nicodemo. He found it quickly. The Dragon's Breath tome was exactly where Thalindra had said it would be. Thick black leather binding. Gold embossing on the spine, the nightmare hide cover seemed to have a texture like damp threads stretched over stone.

  "Nicodemo Maximo's Collection of Infernal Alchemical Medicinal Materials” the one he'd needed to make his silly dream a reality. The book seemed to have a presence of his own, and his hand hovered briefly before grasping it.

  He pulled it down carefully. It was remarkably heavy, this was the kind of book that took years to write and cost a fortune to produce. He flipped through it briefly. Illustrations of the plant with petals like flickering flames, stems that glowed red-hot. Cultivation requirements listed in precise detail. Harvesting techniques that looked dangerous even on paper. Brewing processes that came with warnings about explosion risks.

  These methods were beyond him, complicated, and way beyond what he should be attempting. But when had that ever stopped him? He set it aside on a nearby reading table and continued searching.

  His mother's journal was harder to find. He remembered the general area from his last visit, hidden near a treatise on elvish healing traditions. But the shelves here were dense, packed with texts that seemed to stare back when he wasn't looking directly at them. Protection magic, probably. Making it harder to find specific texts unless you knew exactly what you were searching for.

  Finally. There. A slim volume bound in worn brown leather. His hands trembled as he pulled it free.

  This was it. His mother's knowledge. Her wisdom. Her warnings. Her handwriting would be inside. Her words. The last pieces of her he had left. He should open it. Should read it now. Learn what stage of corruption he was in. Find out if there was still hope. But something stopped him.

  Not here. Not in this cold archive surrounded by forbidden knowledge and ancient secrets. He'd take it somewhere safe. Somewhere quiet. Read it properly. Let it mean what it should mean. He slipped the journal into Zolam's satchel. It disappeared into that impossible depth, swallowed by magic. When he closed the satchel, it looked and felt empty. Perfect, amazing, and yet so simple. How did Zolam make such an artifact anyway?

  Quickly gathering himself with the Dragon's Breath tome he kept out. That one was approved. That one he could carry openly. One last look around the archives. All this knowledge. All these secrets. And somewhere in here, probably, were answers about demon marks. About possession. About how to reverse corruption.

  With this satchel he could take anything he wanted, but he decided against looking into temptation and headed for the door. He locked the archives behind him with Sylvara's key and headed back into the hallway.

  The key felt heavier now. Or maybe that was just guilt. No. Not guilt. He'd lost that somewhere along the way. Just... awareness. Of what he was doing. What he was becoming.

  Three corridors later, a guard stepped out from a side passage. Stern-faced elf in silver armor. Cereth, his nameplate read.

  "Halt. You there. Human."

  Akilliz's heart should've jumped out of his chest. Nothing. Just cold awareness and the knowledge of what came next.

  "Yes?" He kept his voice respectful. Slightly nervous. What an innocent student would sound like when stopped by authority.

  "You've been in the restricted archives?"

  "Yes, sir. For Festival research. Dragon's Breath cultivation."

  "On whose authority?"

  "The High Judiciar herself. She provided access for educational purposes."

  Cereth's eyes narrowed. "I've been sent to verify. Set your bag down."

  Akilliz complied. Set his bag on a nearby bench. The Dragon's Breath tome was clearly visible inside. Exactly what they'd expect to see. Nothing suspicious. Cereth pulled it out, examined it carefully. His frown deepened. "This is well beyond a novice's material. Advanced."

  "My master believes I'm capable."

  Cereth flipped through the pages. Checked the title against some mental list. Finally nodded grudgingly. "This is... permitted. For Festival preparation." He set it back in the bag. "Turn out your pockets."

  Akilliz did. His notebook. A few pencils. Sylvara's bronze key. The satchel. Cereth picked up the satchel. "What's this?"

  "A friend lent it to me. For carrying supplies."

  Cereth opened it. Peered inside. Saw nothing but darkness, he felt around inside briefly, fingers searching for contraband. Found nothing. The journal was hidden too deep. Protected by magic older than Cereth's suspicion. He handed it back. "Seems empty."

  "I haven't filled it yet." The lie came easily. Smoothly. No hesitation.

  "Arms out."

  Akilliz raised his arms. Cereth patted him down professionally. Checked under his robe collar. Ran hands down his sides and legs. Found nothing.

  "You're clear." Cereth stepped back. "But this key will be taken to the High Judiciar. Your advanced material research requires supervision. I hope you're not careless with that. I will return your… key… in a while. Please wait in the library."

  "Of course. Thank you, sir."

  Cereth waved him on dismissively.

  Akilliz gathered his things and walked away. Kept his pace steady. Not too fast. Not too slow. Just a student heading back from research. Only when he turned the corner and was out of sight did he let himself acknowledge how close that had been. Thank the gods that satchel worked, he just had to hope he could find the book when he opened it himself.

  He headed through toward his destination, turned down a corridor, and stopped. Sylvara stood three paces ahead. She'd appeared from a side hallway, two apprentice alchemists trailing behind her discussing reagent ratios. His mind raced. She couldn't ask about the key. Not directly. Not with witnesses. But she'd want it back. Would be suspicious if he didn't have it. Think. Adapt.

  "Akilliz." Her smile was warm. "I was hoping to run into you."

  The apprentices were right there. Five paces behind her. Listening.

  "Master Sylvara." He inclined his head respectfully.

  "How did your research go? You didn't encounter any... obstacles?" The question was layered. *Did you use the key? Did anyone see you? Do you still have it?*

  "No obstacles. Everything went smoothly."

  "Wonderful. And you have everything you need now? No further... resources required?"

  "I have what I need for now. Thank you."

  Her smile tightened slightly. The apprentices passed them, heading toward the alchemy wing. Their voices faded down the corridor. Now alone. She stepped closer. "Akilliz, I need—"

  "I can't talk right now." His voice cracked. Not intentionally. But he recognized the opportunity when it presented itself. Ran with it. Let his breathing quicken. Let his hands shake slightly. He couldn't get caught without the key.

  "What's wrong?"

  "I'm sorry, I just—" The words tumbled out. Frantic. Desperate. Exactly what she'd expect from a lovesick boy in crisis. "Lirien is waiting for me in the library and I can't be late. I can't—"

  "Slow down. What happened?"

  "Yesterday. She asked me on a date and I was crashing from that potion and I said terrible things. She was crying. All night, Kael said she was crying. And I need to apologize but what if she won't listen? What if I already ruined everything? What if I lost her because I was too numb to—"

  He cut himself off. Perfect. Let that word hang. Let her think it was just the potion. Not the corruption spreading through him like rot through wood.

  "Breathe, young light." Her hand on his shoulder. Gentle. Concerned. Believing every word.

  "I know you need the key back but can it wait? Just an hour? She's waiting and if I'm late she'll think I don't care again and I can't—I can't lose her. Please."

  Sylvara studied his face. He let her see the panic. The desperation. The fear of a boy who'd hurt someone he loved and didn't know how to fix it. But she believed it.

  "Go," she said softly. "Apologize to the girl. Bring me the key later tonight. After dinner."

  "Thank you." Already moving, already turning away. "Thank you, I have to—"

  "And Akilliz?"

  He stopped. Looked back.

  Her expression was unreadable. "Be careful with matters of the heart. They make us do foolish things."

  "I know."

  He left her standing in the corridor. Around the corner, out of sight, the performance dropped. His breathing steadied. His hands stopped shaking. His expression went neutral. He'd lied to her face without a tremor of guilt. Without a moment of hesitation. The numbness made it easy. Made it perfect.

  She'd believed him completely. Had seen the distressed boy instead of the thing wearing his skin. His left hand twitched. He adjusted the satchel in his pocket with his mother's journal hidden safely inside, and headed for the Grand Library.

  The vast reading room stretched before him, filled with afternoon light streaming through tall windows. Students bent over books at long tables. The soft scratch of quills on parchment. The whisper of turned pages. He needed to find Lirien and Kael, and return the satchel. He hoped he could be more appealing to them now—they had just helped him with something they could've been in massive trouble for. He thought they were kind, useful, and even if he was still numb inside they did alleviate some of the loneliness that was constantly creeping in.

  And that's when he saw them.