Elara awoke to the soft rustle of leaves tapping against her windowpane.
The nap had been shallow, more like drifting beneath a surface she couldn't quite break through. Her body rested, but her mind refused. Memories, fragments, whispers, they all tangled like roots around her thoughts.
She sat up slowly, the room bathed in pale gold from the evening sun. For a moment, the silence felt kind. Safe.
Then the weight of the black-sealed letter returned.
"You are not the only one who remembers. Trust no one in the House."
She reached for the parchment again, reading it for what must have been the tenth time. The initials, "V.K." burned more vividly now. A signature, a warning… or a call.
The Veilkeepers.
They weren't just myths locked away in forgotten books. They were real. Alive. And watching.
She moved to her writing desk and slid the parchment beneath the false bottom of one of the drawers. If someone had broken into her room while she slept, they'd find nothing. At least, she hoped.
She tied her hair back and changed into something less formal. The pressure of the day clung to her shoulders, but she couldn't stay coiled up in her chambers forever.
She needed air.
And answers.
The inner gardens behind the east wing had always been a quiet place. Shielded by tall stone walls and thick hedges, it was one of the few places in the estate that felt untouched by duty and legacy. Her mother had once spent hours there, Elara remembered vague images of laughter and lavender.
Now, the garden belonged to ghosts.
She walked slowly along the winding path, the soles of her boots crunching lightly against the gravel. Night-blooming lilies unfurled around her, their petals pale and strange in the fading light. Everything smelled of damp earth and something sweet she couldn't name.
She paused by the old sundial near the center of the garden.
Its shadow pointed west, though the sun had nearly gone.
And beneath it, just barely visible in the moss, was a faint line.
A mark.
Elara crouched, brushing away the greenery with cautious fingers.
There it was again.
The same symbol she had seen in the clearing beyond the estate weeks ago.
An open eye, half-closed by a crescent moon.
But this one was different, sharper. Etched with intention, not age. And beside it, in the soil, were the faint remnants of something burned. Ashes, maybe. Or incense.
'Someone had been here.'
Recently.
She stood, scanning the garden.
"Who else are you?" she whispered. "Who's leaving these?"
The wind didn't answer. But a shift in the hedge did.
She spun, instinct already igniting a faint shimmer beneath her skin. Not bright, not fully formed, just a tingle, a warning.
"Show yourself," she said aloud.
Silence.
Then, a voice, soft and unfamiliar, carried from the shadows.
"If you want the truth, you'll have to stop looking in the places they built."
Elara stepped forward, heart racing. "Who are you?"
The hedge parted slightly, and a figure emerged, not fully cloaked, not fully exposed. A girl, maybe a year or two older than Elara. Her hair was dark and short, her eyes quick and silver in the dim light.
"Someone who remembers," the girl said.
Elara's jaw tightened. "You're one of them. A Veilkeeper."
"I was," the girl said. "But the Order fractured after Serah vanished. Some followed the truth. Others followed fear."
The name struck Elara like lightning. "You knew my mother?"
A pause. Then a small, sad smile. "Everyone in the Order knew Serah. She wasn't just powerful. She was dangerous in the way only those who truly question things are."
Elara took a step closer. "Is she alive?"
The girl's expression darkened. "I don't know. She shimmered one final time during the breach. Left no trace."
"The breach?"
The girl reached into a satchel slung over her shoulder and pulled out a small leather notebook. "It's all in here. What little I salvaged. Notes, locations, names. We thought the Aerlyn family had buried the last of the bloodline when they erased her. But you…"
She looked at Elara like she was something reborn.
"You weren't supposed to shimmer. Not in this life. Something changed the pattern."
"I died," Elara whispered. "In my last life. My husband and my best friend betrayed me. I don't know why. But when I woke up, this time, I remembered everything."
The girl's eyes widened. "That's not supposed to be possible. Rebirth with memory is a myth."
"Apparently not," Elara muttered.
The girl stepped forward, handing Elara the notebook. "Then we don't have much time. If someone awakened your Gift, it means they're moving. And if Kaelin betrayed you before, she will again."
Elara felt her stomach twist. "How do you know about Kaelin?"
The girl gave her a look. "Because betrayal always begins with proximity."
The words sent a chill through her bones.
"What's your name?" Elara asked.
The girl hesitated. "Call me Sira. That's the name I took after I left the Order."
"Why are you helping me?"
"Because if Serah had lived, she would've fought to find you. To protect you. The best I can do is finish what she started."
Elara stared at her. "Which is what?"
"Bringing down the people who've rewritten history and buried the truth beneath power."
They stood in silence for a moment. The garden was quiet, but the air felt charged. Like it was listening.
Sira glanced toward the western wall. "I have to go before the estate guards start their rounds. But read the notebook. Carefully. There are names you'll recognize in it—and some you won't."
She stepped back into the hedge, her form already dissolving into shadow.
"Sira," Elara called. "Will I see you again?"
A beat. Then, "If you survive long enough."
And then she was gone.
Elara stood there, breath shaky, the notebook clutched tightly in her hands.
She opened it.
The first page was marked with a sigil she didn't recognize—three interlocking circles, each holding a symbol: flame, eye, and veil.
Underneath, in delicate script:
'To remember is to resist. To resist is to return.'
She closed it and looked up at the stars.
For the first time in days, she didn't feel entirely alone.
But she also knew the clock had started ticking.
And the house she slept in was not a home anymore.
It was a cage full of liars.
And she had just found the first key.