An Archmage Among Adventurers

Elnora’s fingertips traced the rough-hewn stone ledge beneath the library window, the cold biting into her skin. She stood still, her gaze stretched out over the distant hills, where the mist blurred the edges of the world, soft and dissolving—much like her own existence. The familiar ache twisted inside her, the one she had carried since childhood, watching her sister’s power bloom while her own withered on the vine.

A sharp gust rattled the window, snapping Elnora from her reverie. Her reflection caught in the glass—pale, wan, the faint gold of her hair like the last breath of summer. Eleanor’s likeness, she thought bitterly, but drained of all its light. Where her sister commanded attention like a storm cloud, Elnora barely stirred a breeze. No one ever lingered when she entered a room; their eyes always slid away.

Her hand fell from the ledge, curling into a fist. “If I vanished today, would they even notice?”

She used to believe her mother cared. Lady Valquinn had once been gentle with her, especially in the early years, before exhaustion began to settle behind her eyes. “Not every flower blooms in the same season, my love.”

But as time wore on, those words came less often. Her mother’s patience had frayed, unraveling thread by thread, leaving behind a woman stretched thin by years of duty and disappointment.

The look in her eyes had changed, too—not harsh, but weary, like someone waiting for something they no longer expected to come. The warmth that had once soothed Elnora in childhood had faded, replaced by a distant gaze that drifted past her, as though seeing only the shadow of something that never quite bloomed.

A lump formed in her throat at the memory, bitter and hard. “They’ve all given up on me.”

Behind her, the low hum of voices from the hallway filtered into the room. She stiffened. Two servants passed by, their words faint, but clear enough.

"Master Valquinn's looking grim today," one of them whispered. "Something about his younger daughter."

"Her?" the other replied, a note of disbelief. "Thought all the trouble came from Lady Eleanor."

A snort. "Not this time. Something’s coming. You can feel it."

Their footsteps faded, leaving Elnora rooted in place, her pulse quickening. She hadn’t been meant to hear that—again. Her father’s voice echoed in her memory, the conversation she should have walked away from but couldn’t.

"She’s weak, Lenora. We cannot afford weakness. Not now."

She could still hear the hard edge in his tone, like steel slicing through her chest. Her mother’s reply had been no kinder, each word colder than frost on a blade. "What do you suggest?"

They hadn’t said her name, but she didn’t need to hear it. Weakness had always been synonymous with Elnora.

A sharp pain bit into her palm, and she realized her nails had dug into the flesh. She released her fist, flexing her fingers with a shaky breath. She hadn’t even heard the rest of the conversation—hadn’t stayed to listen to her father’s final judgment. But she knew what it meant.

Cracks in the Valquinn line had to be filled.

In Velsorin, strength was everything. The land thrived under the arcane gifts of its noble bloodlines, and any weakness in their magic threatened the balance of the realm itself. For a family as ancient as hers, there was no room for failure. No room for her.

Her chest tightened, and she turned sharply away from the window, moving deeper into the library. The heavy smell of leather and ink wrapped around her like a smothering blanket. Her father’s bookshelves towered over her—row upon row of grimoires, spellbooks, and histories of their ancient bloodline. The Valquinn magic. All the power of her ancestors, carried on through Eleanor. Not her.

She ran her hand along the spines of the volumes, feeling the dust and age beneath her fingertips. “These pages were never written for me.”

No amount of study had ever sparked anything within her, no matter how many nights she’d spent alone in this library, her mind aching to crack open the secrets her body refused to hold.

The faint creak of the door sent Elnora’s heart lurching. She whipped around, pulse hammering in her ears, her gaze locking onto the maid who stood at the threshold. But something was off.

The girl’s face was unfamiliar, her presence unsettling. A soft rustle caught Elnora’s ear as the maid stepped into the room, her expression carefully neutral—too neutral. She wasn’t one of the regular servants. A recent hire? Or something more deliberate?

Elnora’s fingers tightened around the table’s corner as her mind raced. Another one of his spies. Or worse.

The maid’s eyes flicked briefly toward her, and something sharp passed between them—so quick it could have been imagined. She carried a tray of tea, the delicate porcelain teapot and matching cups gleaming faintly in the firelight as she placed it down on a nearby chair. Always a set for two, never just for her.

“Is there something you need, my lady?” the maid asked softly, her voice deferential but laced with a tension that Elnora didn’t miss. Was she studying her? Assessing whether she had been found out? Every breath felt like a trap being slowly sprung.

Elnora stared at the tray, her pulse quickening. Poisoned. The thought struck her like lightning, twisting in her gut. She swallowed hard, the scent of steeping tea now thick and cloying in the air.

"No," Elnora said abruptly, her voice sharper than she intended. The maid flinched, just slightly, her eyes widening a fraction as she clutched the tray. She stood there, frozen, but something dark flickered behind her lowered gaze.

The maid’s grip on the tray tightened as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, the porcelain rattling ever so faintly. Her lips parted as if to speak, but then closed, hesitating, unsure of her place in this moment. A soft breath escaped her, and her eyes, still lowered, darted toward the door, lingering there as if calculating her escape.

Elnora’s pulse quickened at the movement. She couldn’t let her slip away, not before she knew. Her hands trembled, the words bubbling up inside her before she could stop them. "What do you see when you look at me?"

The maid hesitated, eyes flickering to the side as though she hoped someone would save her from this conversation. But no one would. The room was empty, save for the two of them, and the silence pressed down like a weight.

"I…" The maid’s voice faltered, her eyes darting back to Elnora, confusion deepening as she struggled to answer. "I see… a lady of the Valquinn line?" Her response was more a question than a statement, as though she herself wasn’t sure if it was the right answer.

Elnora’s lips twitched, a bitter smile threatening to break free at the maid’s hesitation. A flicker of anger—no, frustration—rose in her chest, tightening her throat. She could almost hear the uncertainty in the maid’s voice echoing her own thoughts, that nagging reminder of what she wasn’t.

Her fingers curled into her palm, nails pressing into her skin as the maid’s questioning tone hung in the air, taunting her. The truth, always dancing just out of reach.

"Leave," she whispered, the tremor in her voice betraying her.

The maid didn’t need to be told twice. She dipped her head in a quick bow and hurried from the room, her steps barely making a sound as she slipped out the door. Elnora watched her go, the soft click of the door closing behind her almost deafening.

As soon as the maid was gone, Elnora’s legs buckled, and she sank down into one of the high-backed chairs near the fire. The flames crackled faintly, but the warmth did nothing to ease the chill spreading through her chest.

She stared at the empty hearth for what felt like hours, but the thoughts in her mind were relentless. They see you as weak. A crack in the line.

Her father’s words circled in her head like vultures. What would happen if she truly were a weakness to be erased? An accident on the road. A fall from her horse. Perhaps one day she would disappear entirely, and only Eleanor would remain, brilliant and unbroken.

The emptiness in her chest tightened, her breath coming shallow. She wasn’t strong enough to protect herself, not here. Not in a family that measured worth in power alone.

But there was another way.

If they saw her as a weakness to be erased, she would take herself from them first.