The halls of the Aetherium Archives had never been this quiet. Not even when the warlocks sealed away the last of the Cursed Tethered centuries ago. Yet now, silence reigned. Dust floated through slanted rays of twilight, and the air smelled like secrets left to rot.
Lyra wasn't supposed to be here.
The Archives were restricted—especially to witches who hadn't reached full awakening. But her magic wouldn't let her sleep. Her hands itched. Her thoughts spun like torn leaves in stormwater. Every night brought the same dream now: a burning sky, a stranger's voice, and a pull inside her chest that felt like gravity with claws.
She traced her fingers along the spines of forgotten tomes, their bindings older than the kingdom's founding. Then she saw it—the one. No title, no label, only deep grooves carved into the cover like veins. It pulsed faintly beneath her fingertips.
She didn't hesitate.
The moment she opened it, the room breathed. Not in a metaphorical way. The Archives exhaled. Scrolls fluttered. Lanterns flickered. A soft tremor rolled through the stone beneath her feet.
The pages inside were written in a language that made her eyes ache. But she saw one thing clearly—a sketch of herself.
Not a perfect likeness, no. This version had black ink staining her hands and crimson thread woven into her braid. But it was her. Below the sketch was a single word:
"Unwoven."
She heard the word in her head. Spoken in a voice that wasn't hers. Spoken like a warning.
Far across the veil, Raven's sleep shattered.
He bolted upright, breath ragged. His chambers were cold, colder than they should be. The windows frosted over with unnatural speed, and his reflection in the mirror… wasn't alone. For the briefest second, he saw her.
The girl.
The one his blood kept whispering about.
She had her hand on a book.
And somehow, he could feel it. As if she'd peeled open a layer of time itself—and now something was watching them both. Something old enough to remember when the realms were one.
He summoned his guard.
"Have the seers seen anything?" he demanded, pacing. "Any sign of the veil thinning?"
"No, my prince," the guard answered. "But… there's been movement in the Hollowwoods. The ground weeps. And something spoke from the blood wells last night."
Raven went still. "Spoke?"
The guard nodded, pale. "Just one word."
Raven already knew it.
"Unwoven."
Back in the Archives, Lyra slammed the book shut. But the damage had already been done.
From the shadows of the vault, a thin voice echoed.
"You've opened what should not be read, girl of the braid. And now… he will wake."