The Royal Aetherian Academy was vast, yet somehow Kael always found the corners no one noticed — places dust whispered, and light fell slanted and soft.
It was here, in the northern wing of the library, hidden behind towering shelves and enchanted archives, that Kael had found his sanctuary. Not because it was silent — but because it didn't expect anything from him.
No judgment. No stares. No whispers of "starless" trailing behind him.
Just ink. And old paper. And words.
He ran his fingers along the spines of forbidden histories:
"Chronicles of the First Shard War."
"Deities Among Men: Myths or Memory?"
"Draconic Bloodlines and the Cursed Children."
So many of them had missing pages — as if someone had tried to erase truth itself.
"What are they hiding..."
Kael pulled out a thick tome, its cover etched with symbols older than the kingdom's name. Dust burst into the air like ash from a pyre.
"You shouldn't be here."
The voice made him flinch.
It was a girl's voice — soft, but not kind. A wary softness, like someone who'd been taught to question everything.
She stood at the end of the row — sharp eyes, dark curls tied behind her head in a simple braid, and a satchel filled with books heavier than most noble egos.
Naya.
He had seen her in the Orientation Hall. The girl who hadn't looked at him like dirt.
Kael stayed silent, half-closed the book.
"This wing is sealed. Restricted to Second-years and above." Her arms folded. "Unless you know how to bypass the sigils."
Kael met her gaze. Said nothing.
Her eyes narrowed. "You're not supposed to have access."
A pause.
Then — a spark of curiosity in her voice:
"Did you break the seal?"
Kael shook his head.
Lied
She stepped closer.
Not scared. Not arrogant. Just curious.
"I'm Naya Velore. History track. You?"
He hesitated.
Then quietly, "Kael."
Naya blinked. "No last name?"
He shrugged. "None that matters."
Something flickered behind her gaze. She didn't pry.
Instead, she looked at the book in his hand.
"That one talks about a god who walked the mortal realms wearing a broken crown. Most historians think it's symbolic."
Kael closed the tome, dusting it off.
"Most symbols used to be real once," he said quietly.
Naya looked at him, almost amused.
"Smart answer." A beat. "Dangerous, too."
They sat. Not speaking. Just reading. The silence was comfortable — like two people hiding from the same storm, even if they didn't know it yet.
For the first time in days, Kael didn't feel alone.
-------
Hours passed.
He was copying something by hand from a page — a rune that glowed faintly when he whispered the name of a dragon god — when Naya leaned over.
"You're not really powerless, are you?"
Kael froze.
She wasn't smirking. She wasn't accusing. Just... asking.
And yet, his chest tightened. He forced his hand to keep writing, heart hammering with secrets he couldn't share — not yet.
Let them underestimate me. Let them forget I exist. When the time comes, I'll remind the world who I am — one scar, one breath, one fire at a time.
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Outside, the bell rang for curfew.
Kael looked up. Naya was already walking off — but she paused.
Without turning, she said:
"If you ever want to know the real history… the one they buried… meet me after dusk. East tower. Don't be seen."
And then she was gone
Kael sat in the library, heart still and
burning.
The ink on his parchment pulsed.
The rune glowed for just a second more.
And deep inside him, something ancient stirred.