The Door to Eternity

The ancient tome sat open on a marble pedestal in the antechamber to the Great Hall of the Illumination Tower, its weathered pages spread like wings across the white and blue veined stone. Dust motes danced lazily in the still air, oblivious to the tension humming through the room.

No one had deciphered the tome in five millennia. Its cryptic runes—sharp yet hauntingly beautiful, and utterly unknowable—had mocked every scholar, witch, and archivist who dared to try.

Until now.

Amriel Vardon stood frozen, disbelief knotting in her chest as her eyes followed the curling patterns of symbols etched into the brittle parchment. Her cobalt eyes traced the curling patterns of ancient runes beneath the protective enchanted casing.

She shouldn't be able to read this. No one could.

Yet the meaning was clear—vivid and undeniable—etched into her mind with searing clarity.

What in the Damned? Her mind raced as her heart fluttered inside her chest, which felt as if it had grown uncomfortably tight. This isn't possible.

The language of the tome was older than the foundation of the tower itself, a relic of a forgotten era lost to time. Entire lifetimes had been spent trying to translate a single line —all in vain.

And yet, here she was, understanding it as easily as one might read a nursery rhyme.

Her trembling hands hovered near the glass casing, fingers twitching with the urge to touch the ancient pages despite knowing better. The symbols seemed alive, pulsating faintly as if aware of her scrutiny. With every line her mind unraveled, her pulse quickened until the blood rushing inside her own head was all she could hear.

She staggered back, nausea twisting through her gut. The room tilted as dizziness gripped her. Her world narrowed to the words that thrummed like a heartbeat inside her skull.

The runes—their meaning thrumming through her consciousness—weren't just words. They were warnings.

When the last of the Starlight Witches falls, the door to Eternity shall open.

Her lips moved silently, repeating the phrase over and over. The words were jagged shards lodging themselves in her chest.

Starlight Witches? The door to Eternity?

Her thoughts fractured under the strain, scattering like broken glass. She forced herself to focus, the symbols sharpening into clarity once more, their dark truths laid bare:

"When silver fire rains from the heavens, and shadows stretch beyond the breaking dawn.When the hymn of forgotten stars is swallowed by silence.When the last of the Starlight Witches falls—The door to Eternity shall open.

And from its boundless depths, the patient shall emerge—those who have kept endless vigil.Destinies shall unravel as easily as they weave anew.

Beware, for not all who enter shall return,And those who do may never be the same."

A shiver coursed through her, cold and relentless. Her thoughts churned like a tempest as her breath came faster, shallow and ragged. She pressed a hand to her ribs, trying to calm the storm inside her chest.

The door to Eternity. The fall of the Starlight Witches. The unraveling of destinies.

None of it made sense. And none of it sounded good.

Amriel's pulse drummed in her ears, the weight of the tome's words pressing against her chest like a stone. Yesterday, when she had paused in passing to glance at the ancient book where it rested on its pedestal, the cryptic symbols had meant nothing to her—just the same beautiful, unknowable runes they had been to every scholar for generations.

But now...

How?

Her entire understanding of the world felt torn apart, leaving behind only frayed edges and questions she couldn't begin to answer. Her feet stumbled backward across the polished floor as if trying to carry her away from the tome. The room tilted slightly; her heart raced.

Then she hit something solid.

"Whoa there, Reil!"

Strong hands gripped her shoulders, steadying her as warmth radiated from the figure behind her.

Amriel spun around and found herself looking up into the deep, storm-gray eyes of Nikola Vrasic. His lips curved into that easy smile that had earned him half the admirers in the Illumination Tower. The faint scent of pine and something warmer—maybe leather—lingered around him.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice low and teasing. "You look like you've seen a ghost—or worse." His grin widened mischievously. "Don't tell me you fell asleep in the library and drooled on the books again."

Amriel blinked, trying to force the swirling fog from her mind. Say something normal, she begged herself.

"I—no, I didn't drool," she managed weakly, cringing inwardly the second the words left her mouth. Nice one, Riel. Truly brilliant.

Nikola Vrasic arched a dark brow, a smile tugging dangerously at the corner of his mouth. His storm-gray eyes glinted with amusement. "That," he drawled, "sounds exactly like something a person who definitely drooled would say."

Her face flushed scarlet as she instinctively folded her arms across her chest. "For your information, Vrasic," she huffed, trying to reclaim a shred of dignity, "I was not napping. I was studying."

"Studying?" he repeated, leaning in just enough that his voice dipped into a conspiratorial whisper. "Is that what we're calling daydreaming with your mouth open these days?"

Amriel's breath hitched slightly at his proximity, her senses betraying her as warmth crept up her neck. Oh, come on, she scolded herself, you're supposed to be smarter than this. But all her mind could think of was the tome and the warnings it carried.

But thankfully, just as she was about to further embarrass herself, salvation arrived in the form of Niamh Liandris.

"Riel!" Niamh's clear voice rang across the chamber as her long strides carried her effortlessly through the elegantly arched doorway.

Nikola straightened, stepping back just enough to give Amriel room to breathe.

A small, relieved breath escaped Amriel's lips. Her best friend could not have had better timing.

"Morning, Vrasic," Niamh greeted smoothly with a nod and a bright smile, her dark red braid gleaming in the golden light streaming through the windows. Her sharp pale green eyes sparkled mischievously. "Interrupting something?"

"Nothing but academic brilliance," Nikola quipped, shooting Amriel a grin. "See you inside."

With a final curious glance between the two of them, he made his way toward the classroom.

Niamh waited until his footsteps had fully faded before arching a brow at Amriel, who was still standing stiffly like a startled deer.

"You didn't drool?" Niamh echoed incredulously, crossing her arms. "That was the best you could come up with? Seriously?"

Amriel groaned, dragging a hand down her flushed face. "Don't. Just... don't."

"Oh, but I will," Niamh declared gleefully, mimicking Amriel's earlier tone. "'I didn't drool, Nikola!' Oh, sweet stars, I'm never letting you live that down."

Amriel tried for a glare, but the corners of her mouth twitched despite herself. "You're insufferable, you know that?"

"Obviously." Niamh grinned before her teasing expression softened as she took a closer look at her friend. Her smile faltered.

"Hey," she said gently, "what's wrong? You look like you just walked out of a nightmare."

"I'm fine," Amriel croaked, but the words felt hollow even to her.

Niamh's sharp gaze flicked toward the ancient tome encased in protective crystal. She waved a dismissive hand toward it. "Let me guess—you've been staring at that thing for too long again. I told you, obsessing over creepy old mysteries will rot your brain."

Amriel swallowed hard, the runes still burning in her mind. The weight of their message pressed heavy on her chest. How could I even begin to explain it?

"Riel," Niamh said softly, stepping closer. "You don't have to tell me everything. But you've got that weird panicked look you get when something really bad happens." She bumped her shoulder lightly against Amriel's. "So... spill. Or at least let me help."

Amriel's lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. How could she possibly describe understanding a language older than recorded history?

"Alright, you can think about it and tell me later. Come on," Niamh urged. "We're going to be late. Again."

Amriel nodded stiffly, her feet moving on instinct as they made their way down the hall. Her thoughts spun wildly, tangled in the echo of the tome's prophecy: The patient shall emerge... the unraveling of destinies.

Beside her, Niamh chattered on, and Amriel was grateful for it.

"Did you hear about the summoning mishap in the Illumination Tower?" Niamh asked, her voice brimming with amusement. "Apparently, some poor fool tried to conjure a minor fire spirit, and it set half the lab on fire. The instructors are still trying to figure out if it was sabotage or just pure incompetence." She snorted. "My money's on incompetence. These mageborn get cocky way too fast—rookie mistake."

Amriel forced a nod, offering a noncommittal hum whenever Niamh paused for breath. Her fingers gripped the strap of her satchel so tightly her knuckles had turned white.

As they turned the corner into the tiered classroom, the familiar buzz of conversation washed over them. The circular room was filled with rows of rising desks, each occupied by robed acolytes. High, arched windows cast fading streaks of golden light across the stone floor, where intricate runes had been etched into the surface over centuries of use.

Master Fenris stood at the center platform, his presence as commanding as ever. His broad frame was silhouetted against a chalkboard scrawled with diagrams and spellwork far beyond what any novice dared attempt. The murmurs in the room faded as his steel-gray eyes swept over the students.

"Acolyte Vardon, Acolyte Leodris," his voice boomed, cutting through the chatter like a knife. "You're late. Again."

Amriel winced at the sharp reprimand, feeling every pair of eyes in the room turn toward them. She cast a quick glance at Niamh, who shot her a half-apologetic, half-defiant smirk before stepping forward.

"Sorry, Master Fenris," they mumbled in unison, their voices drowned in the weight of the classroom's attention.

Fenris, a tall, broad-shouldered man with graying hair and a piercing gaze, arched an eyebrow. His sharp pale green eyes flicked between the two of them. "Take your seats. And try not to make tardiness a habit—again."

"Yes, Master Fenris," they chorused, weaving their way through the rows of seated students. Amriel kept her head down, acutely aware of the hushed whispers that followed them.

They slid into their usual seats near the middle of the room. Niamh immediately sprawled comfortably across her chair, pulling out her notebook and quill with practiced ease. Amriel, on the other hand, fumbled with her satchel, her hands still trembling slightly as she retrieved her materials.

"Relax," Niamh whispered, leaning closer. "Fenris loves the sound of his own voice too much to hold a grudge. Just nod along and pretend you're enthralled, and he'll forget all about it."

Amriel forced a smile, but her mind was far from the classroom. The words she had read, the story that had unfolded in her mind—they wouldn't leave her alone. What did it mean? And why her?

Her attention snapped back to the room as Fenris began his lecture, his deep voice resonating through the chamber. "Today, we'll be continuing our discussion on the foundational principles of elemental resonance and its practical applications. For those of you who think you already know everything, I assure you—this is far more complex than setting your lab partner on fire."

A ripple of laughter moved through the class, but Amriel barely heard it. Her gaze drifted to the open notebook before her, the blank page staring back at her as if mocking her silence. Her mind was elsewhere, lost in the tangled web of secrets that seemed to have chosen her as their keeper.