The library was eerily silent in the aftermath of the attack, the air still crackling with residual energy. Zyra pressed a hand to her temple, her thoughts swimming through the past hour's events. The shadow had disappeared, but its presence clung to the walls like a lingering curse. Damen stood beside her, blade still in hand, his sharp gaze scanning the darkened room.
"This is worse than I thought," he muttered. "If they're bold enough to attack in a place like this, then we're running out of time."
Zyra exhaled sharply, her hands clenched into fists. "We need to find out who's behind this before more people end up like Lorian."
Damen nudged the professor's lifeless body with the toe of his boot. "I don't suppose he left us any final messages?"
Zyra ignored his dry humor and instead focused on the books scattered across Lorian's desk. Among the ancient tomes and scrolls, one stood out—a leather-bound journal with symbols eerily similar to the ones they had been investigating. She flipped it open, scanning the handwritten notes inside.
"Lorian knew something," she murmured. "He was researching something called the Blood Veil Ritual."
Damen leaned in, his eyes narrowing. "That sounds... ominous."
She skimmed the pages. "It's a summoning. But it requires a vessel—someone with bloodline ties to the Veil. That's why the sigils have been appearing." She hesitated, her pulse quickening. "They're searching for someone."
A cold realization settled over her. The attacks, the symbols, the ritual—they were all leading to a single purpose.
"They're searching for me," she whispered.
Damen's smirk vanished. "Then we have an even bigger problem."
A Desperate Escape
Before they could process their next move, a distant crash echoed through the library halls. The scent of burning incense mixed with something fouler—rotten, putrid.
"They're here," Damen said, drawing his blade.
Zyra slammed the journal shut and tucked it under her arm. "We need to move. Now."
They darted through the winding corridors, the flickering torchlight casting eerie shadows along the walls. The further they ran, the stronger the sense of being watched grew. Zyra could feel it—eyes in the darkness, whispering her name.
Then, the first attack came.
A twisted figure lunged from the shadows, its skeletal hands reaching for Zyra's throat. She ducked just in time, slashing with her dagger. The creature hissed, recoiling as black smoke seeped from its wound.
Damen's sword cut through another figure, but instead of falling, the creature simply reformed, its essence reshaping in the dim light.
"These things don't die easy," he growled. "We need to get out of here."
Zyra reached for her charm once more, murmuring an incantation. A surge of energy pulsed outward, sending the creatures stumbling back.
The exit was close. If they could just—
A bolt of darkness struck the wall beside them, sending splinters flying. A new figure emerged from the shadows, its presence far more powerful than the others. Cloaked in black, its face obscured, it radiated raw energy.
"Everhart," it rasped. "You cannot run from your fate."
Zyra's breath hitched. She had heard that voice before. It haunted her dreams, lingered in the echoes of her past.
Damen grabbed her arm. "Not the time to hesitate."
With a final burst of effort, they sprinted toward the exit. As they burst into the cold night air, the library behind them erupted into unnatural flames, consuming the knowledge they had barely begun to uncover.
The Hidden Past
Zyra paced in Damen's safehouse, the flickering lantern casting long shadows on the walls. The weight of Lorian's journal in her hands felt heavier than any weapon.
"I need to know who I am," she admitted.
Damen leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "What do you think the answer is?"
She hesitated before opening the journal again. The name Everhart appeared again and again in Lorian's notes. A lineage traced back to the origins of the Veil itself.
"My mother knew," Zyra whispered. "She always warned me about the darkness. About what lurked beyond."
Damen's expression softened. "Then maybe it's time we pay her a visit."
Zyra swallowed hard. She hadn't returned to her childhood home in years. But if the answers were hidden there, she had no choice.
The past was calling.
And she had to face it before the Veil shattered completely.
Unraveling the Truth
The journey to Zyra's childhood home was fraught with unease. The closer they got, the more the air seemed to thicken with an unseen force, as if the very land itself remembered the past and sought to whisper its secrets.
When they arrived, the house stood just as she remembered—ancient, weathered, and shrouded in an unnatural stillness. Inside, dust-covered books and relics of her mother's studies lay untouched, waiting to reveal their secrets.
She ran her fingers along the worn spines of old tomes before stopping at one. The cover bore the same sigil as the markings they had seen in the city.
"This is it," she breathed.
As she opened the book, a sudden gust of wind whipped through the room, extinguishing the candlelight.
And then, a voice—soft, familiar, and filled with sorrow—whispered her name.
The past had finally caught up with her.