A red moon hung low in the sky, casting the courtyard in the glow of smoldering coals. The duel had ended hours ago, but its echoes still haunted the stone. Cracks remained where Rael's steps had fallen. Magic lingered like the scent of ozone.
Rael stood alone at the heart of it all, the wooden sword still sheathed across his back. His black mantle fluttered gently in the wind.
> "They're watching you now," came a voice behind him.
Rael didn't turn.
> "They always were."
From the shadows stepped Lord Alric Vyrmor, heir to House Vyrmor — the House of Shadows and Law, known for its judges and inquisitors.
He wore black and silver robes, with a ring of obsidian around one finger — the signet of his bloodline.
> "You made enemies today," Alric said.
> "I've always had enemies," Rael replied, "I just stopped hiding from them."
Alric nodded, his expression unreadable. "Come. Lady Evelyne of House Thornehart is waiting in the east wing library. And so is… she."
Rael's eyes flicked toward the shadowed archway. He knew who Alric meant.
---
The east wing of the academy's library was a cathedral of silence. Towering stained glass cast moonlit arcs across shelves of ancient grimoires. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting long shadows across the velvet chairs arranged in a circle.
Lady Evelyne Thornehart, heir to House Thornehart — the House of Blades and Thorns, leaned against one of the tall windows. Her crimson sash marked her duelmaster's rank.
> "Took your time," Evelyne said, crossing her arms.
> "Time isn't something I waste," Rael replied, stepping inside.
Sitting at the long table, lost in the flickering light of the fire, was the cursed elf girl. Her silver-white hair shimmered like moonlit snow. She looked up, startled for a moment, then nodded faintly.
> "You came," she said.
> "I said I would," Rael answered. "I keep my word."
Evelyne tilted her head. "You two have met?"
> "Briefly," Rael said. "But something told me she had more to say."
The elf hesitated, eyes flicking between them. Finally, she said quietly, "Ilyara. My name is Ilyara."
Rael gave a respectful nod. "Then let's not call you 'the cursed one' anymore."
Alric took a seat, folding his hands. "We're not just here for pleasantries. That curse… it's not ordinary. The magic around you, Ilyara, it's older than the kingdoms. And it's binding you to something — or someone."
Ilyara flinched but did not deny it.
Rael turned to her. "Can you tell us what happened?"
Ilyara stared into the fire for a long moment. Then, slowly, she began. "I was once a handmaiden to the Seelie Court. Before they fell. Before they… changed."
Evelyne narrowed her eyes. "That's ancient history."
> "Not to me," Ilyara said. "Time… does not pass the same for my kind."
She touched the delicate vine tattoo on her wrist — a mark that shimmered faintly, like frost. "They marked me when I tried to flee. Said I betrayed them. This curse keeps me from speaking the full truth. Every time I try, it burns."
Rael knelt beside her chair, eyes sharp. "But there's a way to undo it?"
Ilyara's eyes met his. "Perhaps. If someone could enter the Wyrd and unweave the threads…"
> "The Wyrd?" Evelyne asked.
> "A realm beneath thought. Magic's birthplace. Dangerous, ancient… forbidden."
Alric nodded grimly. "That would explain the silence around this. No records. No histories. They've erased her past."
Rael stood, the air around him pulsing subtly with magic. The shadows bent toward him, the firelight dimming slightly in his presence.
> "Then we find a way," he said. "We don't abandon our own."
Ilyara looked at him, genuinely shocked. "Why do you care?"
Rael's voice was quiet. "Because I know what it's like to be cursed by your own past."
A silence followed, heavy with unspoken truths.
Evelyne finally broke it. "We'll need ancient texts. Forbidden sections. Things locked behind the Founders' Seals."
Alric nodded. "And political permission. Or at least plausible deniability."
Rael looked at them both, then to Ilyara.
> "Then we begin. Tonight. No more running."
And in the silence of the ancient library, a pact was made — one that would rattle the bones of the academy, and shake the chains that bound the cursed elf girl to a forgotten war.