The Door to Eternity

At midday, Amriel and Niamh navigated the winding halls of the National Khymarh Academy, the faint echoes of distant lectures trailing behind them. The labyrinthine corridors gleamed with polished stone underfoot, sunlight streaming through arched windows and dappling the ancient walls with patches of warm gold.

Niamh, ever the buoyant counterweight to Amriel's brooding tendencies, chatted on with carefree energy, her voice filling the spaces between footsteps.

Amriel nodded absently, the words only partially registering. Her mind was elsewhere—entangled in thoughts of the tome and the impossible revelation it had given her that morning.

Five millennia. The tome had stood unread for all that time, its angular script defying generations of scholars. Until today. Until her.

Why now? she wondered for the hundredth time. Why me?

The mess hall loomed ahead, buzzing with the restless energy of students breaking from their studies. The hum of countless voices blended with the clatter of wooden trays and the metallic scrape of cutlery on stoneware.

The warm light of the midday sun poured in from high-arched windows, bathing the room and illuminating the long, scarred tables stretching across the grand chamber. The air was thick with the mingled aromas of roasted meat, fresh bread, and a hint of char from the nearby hearths.

Amriel moved through the throng of students, following Niamh's easy, confident stride. Bodies jostled around them, but Niamh slipped through with the practiced grace of someone who belonged everywhere she went.

Amriel, on the other hand, felt like a ghost drifting through the chaos—untethered, out of sync. The weight of the tome's warning pressed against her chest, tightening with every breath. Her pulse quickened as fragments of the message echoed in her mind.

"When silver fire rains from the heavens and shadows stretch beyond the breaking dawn…"

A shiver prickled down her spine despite the warmth of the room. She clenched her fists, willing herself to focus on the present.

They reached their usual spot at the fourth-years' table, where their small circle of friends had already gathered.

Kaleth, gangly and sharp-eyed with perpetually ink-stained fingers, was in the midst of recounting some tale of alchemical mischief. His animated gestures nearly toppled his mug of cider as he exclaimed, "And then the whole flask exploded! I swear, Master Michel's eyebrows are still singed."

Mara, ever composed and deliberate, sipped from her steaming mug of tea, her lips quirking into a wry smile. "Perhaps next time you'll consider reading the entire formula before adding components, Kal."

"Where's the fun in that?" Kaleth shot back with a grin.

Simon, broad-shouldered and solid as the anvils he worked in the forge, chuckled deeply. "At least you're consistent, Kal. Consistently dangerous, but consistent."

"I think you meant to add handsome. I am dangerously handsome. Consistently" Kal replied with a charmingly cocky smile, "And the ladies love it."

That earned a groan that rippled through the friends gathered around the table and Mara rolled her beautiful hazel eyes at him over the lip of her mug before taking a sip of her steaming tea.

"We'll agree to disagree," Simon said as Niamh plopped onto the bench beside him with a theatrical sigh. Instantly the big man's dark eyes wen't soft as they settled on his wifes face, "Hello, love." He said softly, wrapping a muscled arm around her waist and drew her near.

The table groaned again, but this time it was directed at the sight of the love birds. Amriel forced a small smile and sank onto the bench across from Niamh, though her hands still trembled slightly beneath the table.

The sight brought a rare flicker of warmth to Amriel's distracted thoughts. Simon and Niamh's relationship had evolved naturally over the years—an inevitable shift from childhood friendship to something deeper. No one had been surprised, least of all Amriel, who had known Simon since before she could walk.

Simon placed a kiss on the middle of Niamh's forehead as she leaned into him, and over her head he caught sight of Amriel's pale face.

The blacksmith tilted tilted his head, his deep brown eyes narrowing. "You okay, Riel?" He asked quietly, genuine concern filling his voice.

"I'm fine," Amriel lied, her voice rough.

Kal arched a skeptical brow. "Really? Because you look like you just saw the ghost of Finals Future."

"I'm just... tired."

Before Kal or Simon could say anything further, Nimah spoke up, "Leave her be." her voice sounding motherly and protective and not up for question.

Simon didn't look convinced, but he let it drop. Amriel was grateful for it—grateful for the normalcy of their banter and the familiar comfort of the mess hall. Yet even as laughter bubbled around her and the warm scents of supper filled the air, she couldn't shake the weight pressing against her chest. The words of the prophecy lingered in her mind, sharp and unyielding.

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

Thankfully, Kaleth's voice cut through the moment, drawing everyone's attention.

"So, Riel, tell me—do you know of any herb or potion that can make someone lose half their hair? Or all of it? You know... asking for a friend."

Kaleth's grin was devilish, his freckled face brimming with faux innocence. His fiery red hair caught the flicker of torchlight from the sconces lining the mess hall, making him look like some mischievous spirit come to life.

Mara, ever composed, arched an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "For a friend? Or for yourself? No one here is going to help you harm someone, Kaleth."

"What? Harm?" He feigned a gasp of insult, hand over his heart. "How do you know it's not for me? Maybe I've grown tired of these stunning locks." He gave his hair a dramatic shake. "Besides, it wouldn't be for permanent harm, right?"

This time Mara actually snorted, a rare event. "It's not Caleb's fault that Dierdra has taken a liking to him."

Dierdra Fontain, a third-year acolyte, was as elegant as she was stunning—the sort of beauty that turned heads wherever she went. She also happened to be Kaleth's latest obsession. His heart, however, shifted as often as the wind, and it was only a matter of time before Dierdra would be forgotten, replaced by someone new. Caleb, an innocent bystander caught in the crossfire of Kaleth's affections, deserved better than magical hair loss.

"Anyway," Simon cut in, leaning back in his chair with a thoughtful expression, "Niamh and I are planning a study session tomorrow. You guys are welcome to join."

"Not a bad idea with finals breathing down our necks," Mara agreed, pulling her blond braid over one shoulder. "I'm in."

"Me too," Kaleth chimed in, lounging back with a grin. "Couldn't hurt to brush up."

Amriel sat quietly, her thoughts drifting despite the banter around her. The prophecy from the ancient tome haunted the edges of her consciousness, each word pulsing like a drumbeat in her mind. She forced herself to stay present, offering a faint smile. "Thanks for the invite, but I can't. My herb supplies are running low—I need to restock before I'm completely out."

Across the table, Niamh arched a delicate brow. "Really? Herb collecting? Right before finals?"

Simon's dark eyes narrowed slightly, his voice careful but probing. "It's not like you to skip prep sessions, Riel."

Amriel shrugged, keeping her tone light despite the turmoil beneath. "I'll catch up. You all know Master Lorenna's mantra—'A Healer without her herbs is a fish without water.'" She mimicked their herbology instructor's stern cadence, earning chuckles from the group.

"Fair point," Mara conceded, already pulling a notebook from her satchel to jot down study plans.

The deep chime of the bell echoed through the mess hall, signaling the end of the meal period. Chairs scraped against stone as students rose, their conversations carrying into the corridors beyond.

Later that day, Niamh's long strides easily caught up to Amriel's as they crossed the courtyard toward their final class of the day. The late afternoon sun dipped low, casting long shadows over the cobbled paths, while a cool breeze threaded through the towering spires of the Illumination Tower.

"So,"Niamh began, her tone playfully teasing as they walked side by side through the sun-dappled academy grounds, "Herb collecting? Or is that code for one of your meditative walks into the wild? You look like something's been gnawing on you since dawn."

Amriel's lips quirked in a faint smile despite herself. Niamh always had that uncanny ability to pull humor out of thin air, even when Amriel felt weighed down by the world.

"Little bit of both," Amriel admitted, brushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "But mostly I just needed some grounding." She hesitated before tacking on weakly, "You know, finals and all."

Niamh arched a brow, skeptical but patient. "Ah, the universal excuse for existential dread: finals. Classic." Her voice softened. "But seriously, Riel, you've been weird today—even for you. Is there something you're not telling me?"

Amriel's grip tightened on the strap of her satchel, her thumb tracing the frayed edge as if it held the answers she couldn't say aloud. The weight of the morning still pressed heavily against her chest—the cryptic prophecy from the ancient tome echoing in her thoughts.

"I'm fine," she said, the words coming out too stiff, too practiced.

Niamh stopped walking, turning to face her fully. Her pale green eyes, gleaming in the shifting light, locked onto Amriel with a quiet intensity. The freckles dotting her face seemed more vivid under the afternoon sun. "Riel," she said gently, "come on. Don't give me the 'I'm fine' routine. I've known you too long for that crap."

Amriel's throat tightened. She wanted to say something—anything that might deflect the conversation without lying outright—but the words refused to form. Niamh always made it so damned hard to hide. That was the thing about close friends: they saw you even when you wanted to disappear.

She forced a casual shrug instead, eyes fixed on the dirt path beneath her feet. "Just... a lot on my mind," she murmured. "I think some quiet time in the Vhengal will help clear my head."

The mention of the forest brought with it a rush of vivid memories—sunlight filtering through a canopy of ancient trees, the scent of damp earth and wildflowers, the gentle rustle of unseen creatures moving through the underbrush. The Vhengal had always been her sanctuary, a place where the noise of the world faded into nothingness.

Outside of her books, of course.

Niamh's teasing edge faded, replaced by genuine concern. "Look," she said quietly, "if wandering around in the woods talking to flowers helps, fine. But just remember—you've got me too. You don't have to do everything alone, okay?"

The warmth in Niamh's voice cracked something inside Amriel, loosening the knot that had been tightening all day. She glanced up, meeting her friend's steady gaze. There was no judgment there, only fierce loyalty and quiet understanding.

"I know," Amriel said softly, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Thanks, Niamh. Really."

Niamh grinned, her usual humor returning like sunlight breaking through clouds. "You're welcome. Just don't expect me to talk to plants with you anytime soon. I draw the line at befriending shrubbery."

Amriel laughed—actually laughed—and the sound surprised even her.

"Fair enough," she said, her heart feeling just a little lighter.

As they reached the arched entrance to their classroom, Niamh gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. The heavy oak door stood open, revealing rows of worn desks and shelves lined with ancient scrolls. Golden light streamed through narrow windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing lazily in the air.

"You'll get through this," Niamh said, her voice firm. "Whatever it is."

Amriel nodded, the cryptic prophecy still lingering in the back of her mind like an unresolved melody—but for now, Niamh's unwavering presence was enough to steady her fraying thoughts.