---
The journal lay open on the desk.
Its pages still and waiting.
Ink faded but sharp enough to linger in the mind.
John sat in front of the desk.
His elbows resting.
His fingers pressed together—knuckles tight—
caught somewhere between thought and decision.
The words they'd read earlier stayed with him.
Settled low in his stomach like a puzzle with too many missing pieces.
Sally leaned against a bookshelf, arms crossed.
Her boot tapped against the floor in slow, restless intervals.
Across from them,
Jake ran a hand through his hair, exhaling as if he'd been holding something in for a while.
King was standing beside him, quiet, unreadable.
John looked up,
studying them both carefully.
Sally did too.
She caught the subtle tension in Jake's jaw, the way his fingers twitched against his sleeve.
And King—usually so composed—
stood with his arms folded, his shoulders weren't as relaxed as they normally were.
He hadn't quite come back from wherever his mind had drifted off to.
They had seen something.
Something that left a mark.
Something they hadn't fully unpacked.
John's voice broke the quiet first.
"Well,
"…Anything else?"
"That's it, really," jake said, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Other than the parts I couldn't see in the dark."
Sally pushed herself off the shelf with a dry scoff.
"Right. And all of that…
because you wanted snacks."
Jake gave a half-shrug, voice lighter than his expression.
"You know me. Can't go snacks-less for too long."
He let out a heavy sigh.
"Who knew it'd lead to a crazy old chef… and a prisoner who looked like death—both on the inside and the outside."
Sally frowned.
"Still… the chances of being transported there somehow…"
She hesitated.
"I mean, weirder things have happened. But...
why the prison? Why him?"
"You're just gonna ignore the chef-guy then?"
Sally continued—completely ignoring that.
"I don't think my mind can handle any more of this."
She sank down beside John's chair with a long, tired exhale.
"Yeah, sure. Let's all just ignore the weird cook with a passion for questionable cooking methods."
Sally shrugged, feigning ignorance.
Her arms rested on her knees,
head tilted slightly like she was still processing everything.
Her boot scuffed against the floor once,
then stilled.
Jake's fingers tapped against his sleeve again.
A little too rhythmic.
A little too practiced.
Then—
finally—he spoke.
"He said we made a wish."
The words landed like they didn't belong.
Like they'd been smuggled into the room by accident.
"Or at least… he implied that we did."
John's fingers—resting on the edge of the journal—froze mid-tap.
Sally's head lifted.
Her gaze sharpened.
"…What?"
Jake let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head.
"Yeah. That was my reaction too."
He leaned back against the wall, letting his head thunk lightly against it.
"Didn't know what a 'wish' even meant. Still don't. Honestly."
"And what exactly," John said slowly, "did he say we wished for?"
Jake's smirk faded.
"That's the part we didn't get to ask."
"Kind of glad we didn't, honestly."
He rubbed the back of his neck again.
There was a roughness in the way he moved now.
Like he didn't want to admit how much it had gotten under his skin.
"Feels like a load of crap to me anyway," Jake muttered.
But the way his knee bounced told another story.
Sally inhaled sharply.
Her arms uncrossed.
Fingers curling around the back of the chair beside her,
"…Hmm.
Did he say anything else?" she asked.
"About the wish?"
Jake didn't answer.
Instead, he glanced at King.
King, who had been silent through all of this.
His eyes stayed downcast.
His voice came low.
"Wishes… they… take."
"Not what you expect."
The words felt like reenactment.
"That's what he said."
Sally turned toward him, staring now.
"You're saying… we already lost something?"
King gave the smallest nod.
Jake cut in,
"Of course… he could just be a crazy old man. Talking nonsense."
He let out a breath through his teeth.
"Feels like nonsense."
He didn't sound convinced.
King spoke again, voice quieter.
The cost of a wish…"
A beat.
"…could be anything."
Then—
His thoughts went silent.
John sat back slightly, his gaze drifting toward the open journal on the desk.
His fingers moved again—
Tracing the grain of the wood like it might answer for him.
Jake shook his head, frustration bubbling back to the surface.
"Let's be real, John. We've been dragged into something way over our heads since the start. Nothing about this place is normal."
He let out a humorless breath, voice low.
"So yeah… not saying the guy was right. But I'm also not sure he was wrong either."
Silence pressed in.
A slow, weighted kind of pause where no one wanted to be the first to speak.
Then—
Sally stood.
Crossed the room.
Her hand pressed flat against the surface of the journal.
"Someone wrote something similar," she said.
Jake and King both turned toward her.
She flipped quickly through the pages, faster now—
her eyes scanning like she already knew where to look.
Her finger stopped mid-page.
"There."
She cleared her throat and read aloud, carefully:
"To wish is to forget."
A short pause.
"The price was never mine to pay."
The room dipped colder at the words.
Jake exhaled, dragging a hand down his face.
"Fantastic."
John didn't say anything.
He stared at the page—silent and still.
Sally glanced up, looking between all of them.
Her voice steadier than it felt:
"So, if we did make a wish…
then,
someone—or something—had granted it."
She let the words settle.
Let them sting.
"And if there's a cost…"
Her grip tightened on the chair beside her.
"…then that means there's something out there keeping track of it."
King's gaze dropped to the floor.
"…So what did we ask for?"
John finally spoke.
Soft.
But absolute.
"No,
the better question is…"
"…What is it that was taken from us?"
---
The library was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt intentional—
like the air itself was waiting for something to happen.
The air felt thick.
Almost... too aware of them.
Aurora's voice came low, thoughtful—
"Maybe we're not supposed to leave."
Her gaze drifted over the empty shelves. Row after row of blank, silent wood.
She added, almost as an afterthought—
"Not until we find something."
The words had barely left her mouth when—
Thud.
Soft. Deliberate.
She jumped.
"Wha—?"
Turned fast, heart catching in her throat.
And,
There it was.
A single scroll…
Rolling lazily across the wooden floor…
Coming to a slow stop at her feet.
The three of them froze.
Finn blinked first. His hands went up in surrender.
"…That was not me."
Harry didn't say a word.
Didn't even glance at them.
He immediately stepped forward, slow and careful.
The scroll lay there at her feet.
Aged parchment, bound in a faded red ribbon.
No markings.
No seal.
Nothing that screamed trap—
but also… nothing that didn't.
Harry crouched, gently picked it up.
The paper felt cool against his skin. Not cold. Just… cool.
Like it had been waiting somewhere far from sunlight.
He turned it over in his hands.
Fingers drifting over the ribbon.
Feeling the texture.
Plain fabric. Nothing special.
But still...
"A scroll," he muttered.
"In an empty library."
Finn stepped in next, peering over his shoulder.
"So what are we waiting for?"
He bumped Harry's arm lightly.
"Open it."
Harry shot him a look.
Finn blinked. "What?"
Harry let out a slow breath.
"…You better hope we don't die because of this."
With a tug, he untied the ribbon.
The scroll's edges loosened.
The parchment creaked softly, like it hadn't been opened in years.
Finn and Aurora both leaned in from either side—
one on each of Harry's shoulders, hijacking his personal space completely.
Harry barely noticed.
His focus stayed locked on the mystery scroll before them as it fully unrolled.
Inside…
It was like a picture book.
Not one meant for children—
but something older.
Wiser.
And meant for eyes that wouldn't look away too easily.
The parchment unfurled slowly, the paper heavy in Harry's hands.
Illustrations sprawled across it—
Paintings, soft but vivid,
like dried pigment still wet beneath the surface.
The images…
they didn't make sense.
Scenes of people… places… moments none of them recognized.
Cities with impossible architecture.
Figures silhouetted beneath constellations that weren't theirs.
Mountains split open with light that bled upward instead of down.
It all felt—
Too real.
Too deliberate.
And woven between the images—
lines of handwriting.
Precise.
Elegant.
Unfamiliar.
---
"The stars above do not grant wishes."
Her voice broke the stillness like a thread snapping.
Harry's head turned toward her.
Then Finns.
"They listen," Aurora continued softly.
"They watch. They remember."
She blinked, hesitated—just a second.
Glanced back at them, her eyes unreadable.
"Long ago… in the city of Aestria… a woman sought to speak to them directly."
Her eyes drifted back, then along the page.
"She built a bridge between the heavens and the earth… and for a time…"
Aurora swallowed.
"…The stars whispered back."
Finn muttered.
"Whispered?" he echoed.
Aurora's expression twisted.
"But…"
Her voice dropped softer now, barely above a breath.
"Bridges are meant to be crossed…"
She paused.
Her finger drifted along the next line.
"And the stars…"
Her throat tightened at the words.
"…were not meant to answer."
Silence.
Complete, Silence.
As if something had been…
invited in..
The air in the library felt heavier now.
Aurora finally pulled back, rubbed her eyes, once.
"Aestria?"
she muttered, voice uneven.
"Where the heck is that?"
---
"Well…"
Finn said, clearing his throat.
Then, with a soft chuckle..
Squinting at the scroll like he could read something between the brushstrokes,
"someone really pissed off some stars, huh."
A beat.
Aurora rolled her eyes dramatically.
"Really? That's what you got from that?"
Finn blinked, innocent:
"Do I look like an expert in mysteriously spawning scrolls to you?"
Aurora opened her mouth. Closed it. Then side-eyed him.
Hard.
"You're the one who encouraged him to open it,"
gesturing to Harry like she was filing an official complaint.
"You're the one who suddenly started speaking scroll language!"
Harry.. meanwhile,
wasn't paying much attention to their love quarrel.
His gaze had been locked onto the scroll. Unblinking.
Something about it felt... odd.
The words. The depictions.
The paper, cool at first.
Smooth and dry like regular old and forgotten parchment.
Which suddenly…
Became warmer.
"Haz!" Finn's voice cut through,
"Back me up, man!"
Harry didn't blink.
"Harry!"
Aurora now, trying to get hold of his face. In turn, his attention.
"No, this way! This way!
Stop zoning out!"
Both started wrestling with his poor face.
His undying attention was the price. As usual.
"Harry!"
Harry…
without a word…
Lifted his hand.
They stopped. Half expecting some retribution.
But instead,
He placed his palm flat against the scroll in front of them.
His fingers hovered there for a single breath—
then,
pressed down.
---
The parchment felt different beneath his touch.
Cool…
then warmer.
Then—
Alive.
The ink shifted under his skin.
Like liquid metal—
too smooth, too responsive.
His fingertips traced one of the painted lines—
And that's when the first flicker hit.
A shimmer of golden light sparked from beneath his touch.
It twisted out like smoke caught in wind—
ribbons of soft, curling glow spiraling from his palm.
Aurora stumbled back, eyes wide.
Finn let out a noise that was somewhere between a gasp and a swear.
"WHAT THE—"
Before either of them could pull away,
the ink didn't just glow—
It jumped.
From the page.
From Harry's hand.
Right. Onto. Them.
It coiled along their wrists—
up their arms—
curling over shoulders—
wrapping along skin in fast, shifting, elegant lines.
Like moving tattoos made of sunlight.
Aurora's breath hitched.
Finn's eyes went wide as the glow raced up to his neck.
Both of them instinctively clung tighter to Harry—
As if that would solve anything.
Bad choice.
Because the light leapt again—
spreading faster—
Spiraling outward—
along all three of them.
The air in the library vibrated.
The shelves blurred—
No—melted—
Like the walls themselves had turned to water—
Rippling outward from the scroll.
Finn barely had time to yell:
"YOOOO THE—"
They vanished.
.
.
.
[The City That Spoke to the Stars]
The fall.. wasn't a fall.
There was no sudden drop.
No stomach-lurching pull.
No scream caught halfway to the floor.
It was…
a shift.
A blink.
A breath that caught halfway in their lungs and never let go.
One second, they stood in the library—
bathed in cold lantern light and the dust of a thousand empty shelves.
And the next—
A different sky.
A different world.
Finn's eyes opened first.
He blinked hard, disoriented.
Once.
Twice.
The air smelled sharper here—clean, but strange.
Like metal after rain.
He took an instinctive step back, boots scuffing against a surface that didn't feel like wood or stone.
It took him a second to realize—
They weren't standing on solid ground.
Or at least…
not the kind they knew.
Beneath them stretched a bridge.
If you could even call it that.
It glowed faintly—like woven light, braided with glass and air.
Every step shimmered beneath their feet, like walking on something that shouldn't hold their weight…
yet somehow did.
Finn swallowed hard, turning slowly.
Below them—
far, far below—
a city sprawled out beneath the vast starry sky.
Its towers glimmered in strange, crystalline blues and muted golds.
Buildings shaped like impossible spires.
Roads lined with silver-lit veins that pulsed, faint and rhythmic…
almost like a heartbeat.
Aurora's breath stuttered out of her chest—
a slow, shaky sound like she'd been punched in the ribs.
Her hands hovered uncertainly in front of her.
"Where…"
Her voice cracked at the edges.
"…are we?"
Harry crouched low beside them,
picking up his glasses from where they'd fallen.
He adjusted them with steady hands, but his face was pale.
Eyes wide.
He took a few slow steps forward.
Scanning everything.
Like his brain was already filing away every impossible detail.
His voice came soft. Low.
Measured like he was talking more to himself than them.
"…This is Aestria."
Aurora turned fast.
Sharp.
Her shoulders squared like she was ready for a fight.
"You don't know that!"
Harry didn't flinch.
Didn't blink.
"I do."
A pause.
"It fits."
His eyes flicked over everything—the bridge beneath their feet…
the glittering city stretched out below…
the sky above,
where the stars hung heavy and far too low.
"Look around you," he said, voice calm but certain.
"The bridge. The city. The stars…"
Another breath.
Then quieter.
"What else could it be?"
Aurora opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Not because she believed him.
But because…
She didn't have a better answer.
---
"…Aurora."
Finns voice rang out.
She turned, moving fast toward him.
Finn had shifted closer to the edge of the bridge.
His boots scraping softly against the glowing surface,
sending a ripple of pale light outward with each step.
He hadn't leaned too far.
Something about this place made him trust the ground under him just… a little less than usual.
Still, curiosity won.
He peered over the side.
And froze.
As soon as Aurora came beside him,
"Look," Finn said, grabbing her arm.
He pointed below.
Aurora's breath hitched.
Below them—
moving through the streets of the silver-lit city—
figures drifted.
People—at least…
that's what they looked like at first.
But the longer she stared, the more that word felt wrong.
Their forms… blurred at the edges.
Their movements too fluid,
too slow.
Like film stuck between frames.
Faces unreadable.
Limbs moving just a half-second behind where they should be.
As if…
As if they weren't really here.
Or weren't now.
Aurora's stomach twisted.
"Are they…" she hesitated, her throat dry, "even real?"
Finn, cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled down:
"HEY!"
His voice echoed—just for a second—
then vanished.
No heads turned.
No faces lifted.
Not a single figure reacted.
Finn tried again. Louder.
"HEY! YOU THERE!"
Nothing.
Aurora wrapped her arms tightly across her chest.
The air felt colder now.
Thinner.
"...That's weird," Finn finally muttered, stepping back.
Aurora's gaze drifted sideways.
"Harry?"
No answer.
Her eyes followed Finn's line of sight.
Harry stood a few paces ahead—further down the bridge.
Unmoving.
His entire focus—locked on something else.
Aurora squinted toward the far end of the bridge.
There—
at the center of it all—
A towering, unfinished structure.
The structure rose out of the bridge like a monument halfway between dream and ruin.
A ladder…
or something like it.
Stone and metal twisted together—
spiraling upward, tier by tier—
reaching toward the sky like it meant to catch the stars themselves.
But it wasn't finished.
The highest section blurred into the unknown—
vanishing somewhere between the last rung and the clouds.
Like it had kept building upward…
long after anyone had stopped watching.
Aurora stepped forward slowly.
Her boots made no sound on the glowing surface.
Harry…
still stood ahead of them.
Still staring.
Unmoving.
His gaze fixed—
not on the ladder—
but on the figure beneath it.
At the base of the structure…
alone…
a lone figure.
A woman.
Her cloak silver—draping like flowing water down her back and over her shoulders.
The fabric shifted, slow and dreamlike.
She stood tall.
Her arms raised—reaching skyward.
Her face was turned upward too—though they couldn't see her features from here.
And her voice—
It carried.
Clear.
Unblurred.
Unaffected by the haze that coated the rest of this place.
"I have built the path."
Her tone shook, like she was holding back too much all at once.
"I have reached across eternity."
Her arms lifted higher—trembling with weight unseen.
"And now, I ask you—"
Her voice cracked at the edges—strained with hope and fear both.
"Do you hear me?"
The air shifted.
A low vibration—deep enough to feel in their chests—rumbled through the bridge.
The stars…
above them…
moved.
No—
not moved.
Turned.
Like something distant and old had tilted its gaze downward.
The hum deepened.
It rolled through the air—
through the bridge beneath their feet—
through the very space between breaths.
Aurora pressed her hand to her chest instinctively.
Her heart felt like it had paused mid-beat.
Finn took a single step back, boots skidding slightly on the too-smooth surface.
"…Guys…"
His voice came out low. Uneven.
"I think this is where things go horribly wrong."
As if on cue—
The ground beneath them shuddered.
Not a small tremor.
Not the kind of shake you feel from far-off thunder.
This was different.
Immediate.
The bridge vibrated—
the glow at their feet flickering in and out,
like a dying current.
Aurora's eyes widened.
She turned sharply to Finn.
"Finn! We need to go!"
Her hand locked around his arm, fingers cold and tight.
Finn's gaze whipped around, scanning.
"Where's Harry—?"
Harry…
Still locked in place.
Still staring at the woman beneath the ladder.
His whole body tense—
as if something inside him wouldn't let him look away.
The woman's voice rose again—
cracked and desperate now.
Her hands still stretched toward the stars.
Still begging.
Still praying.
Still unheard.
The air around her twisted—
light fracturing at the edges of her silhouette like glass under pressure.
Finn lunged toward Harry.
"Harry!"
No reaction.
"Harry! Snap out of it!"
Finn grabbed him by the shoulder—
shaking hard.
Harry blinked once.
Then again.
Like surfacing from underwater.
His focus broke.
Finn didn't wait for more.
"Now!"
Harry's eyes darted toward Aurora—
then back toward the woman—
then… finally… back to reality.
He nodded.
Just once.
The bridge cracked beneath their feet.
A sharp, splintering noise—like a bone snapping too close to the ear.
Aurora stumbled.
Finn pulled her upright.
The stars above…
They shifted again.
Lower this time.
The air felt thinner.
Like the whole sky was leaning toward them.
"This is bad," Aurora gasped.
"Really—really bad."
Finn's grip on both of them tightened.
His heart in his throat.
No plan.
No escape.
Just—
"Harry! We have to do something!"
And Harry—
His thoughts snapped into focus.
And without meaning to—
They all thought it at once:
Leave. Get out. Anywhere but here. Now.
The ink—the same ink that had dragged them here—
It lit up again.
Swirling. Fast. Violent.
Wrapping them in light.
The world blurred.
The glow swallowed them whole.
The stars.
The city.
The crumbling bridge—
all dissolving in light.
And just as quickly as it began—
They were back.
---
.
.
.
They landed hard.
Not physically.
But like air suddenly thickened around them—
pressing into their lungs—
dragging them down into reality.
The light receded.
The library ceiling stretched above them again—
high and empty.
The same shelves.
The same dust.
The same quiet.
But now...
it felt heavier than before.
Harry staggered first—bracing a hand against the nearest wall, breathing hard like he'd just run miles.
Finn dropped onto the floor without grace—both hands planted on the wood to steady himself.
His heart raced.
His skin still tingled where the ink had touched him.
His arms still shook, even if the light was gone.
Aurora didn't say anything.
For a moment… she just stood there.
Frozen.
Her eyes wide, chest heaving like she couldn't pull enough air into her lungs.
Her knees gave out first.
Finn barely caught her before she hit the ground.
Without thinking—
without a single sarcastic word—
he pulled her in.
Held her tight.
Aurora buried her face against his shoulder—
Her shoulders trembled.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
But enough.
Enough to make Finn hold on tighter.
Harry watched from the far wall, still catching his breath.
His glasses hung slightly crooked on his face,
but he didn't move to fix them.
His voice finally broke the silence.
"That.. wasn't a vision."
Finn, still breathing hard, managed a shaky nod.
"Yeah. No kidding."
Harry continued, quieter now.
"We weren't just seeing it. We were inside it. The scroll wasn't telling a story… it was preserving something real."
A beat.
"A memory. Fixed in time."
Aurora shifted against Finn's shoulder. Her voice, soft:
"Then… whose memory was it?"
Harry shook his head.
"That's the part we don't know yet."
---
Finn shifted slightly, loosening his grip just enough to glance down at her.
That's when he noticed it.
The shimmer at the corner of her eyes.
Aurora—
always quick with a joke, always the first to crack the tension—
trying very hard to blink it away.
Too hard.
She sniffed once, subtle—but Finn caught it.
He gave her a small, crooked smile.
Didn't tease.
Didn't push.
Just rested his chin lightly on top of her head for a second.
Let her hide if she wanted.
"You good?" he asked, voice soft. Quiet enough that Harry wouldn't hear.
Aurora made a tiny, indignant noise against his jacket.
Then—without lifting her head—she mumbled,
"Yeah. I'm fine."
Her voice cracked halfway through the word.
She cleared her throat, tried again—brighter this time:
"Super fine. Like… the finest."
Finn chuckled low.
"Yeah… totally."
Aurora wiped her eyes against his sleeves, cheeks flushed but smiling now—just a little.
"Better?"
Finn smiled.
"Better."
---
Harry's voice came.
Quiet at first… but certain.
"Hey…"
"...Found something."
It pulled both Finn and Aurora toward him like gravity.
They both turned to him.
Harry stood near the far wall of the library,
his palm pressed flat against the surface.
Where, just moments ago,
there had been only smooth wood and dust—
Now… a door.
A door that hadn't existed for some time.
Aurora took a slow step closer.
"No way…"
Finn frowned.
"That's the same door."
Harry nodded.
"The one we came through."
They all stared.
The handle sat there—ordinary, brass, slightly tarnished like it had always been there.
Like it had never left.
Aurora's throat tightened.
Her voice dropped low.
"…It's letting us leave?"
Harry pulled his hand back slowly.
"As if…"
He exhaled, barely finishing the thought.
"…as if it's only here now because we're done."
Finn frowned.
"Done with what?"
No one answered.
Because none of them knew:
But, one thing was clear.
Whatever the library wanted from them…
it got it.
They stood in front of the door now—standing shoulder to shoulder.
The three of them…
Staring at that door like it might bite back.
Harry reached for the handle.
Stopped halfway.
His fingers trembled—just a little—
but he curled them around the metal and twisted.
Click.
The latch released.
The door creaked—
Slow.
Too slow.
The hinges whined like something ancient turning awake.
Light bled through the crack.
Not golden. Not dramatic.
Just… dull.
Normal.
Finn's stomach dropped.
The three of them leaned in, bracing for—
For what?
Another void?
Another cursed staircase?
Another world?
As the door swung wider—
And there…
Sitting—
On a toilet.
Jake.
Mid-bathroom break.
Minding his own business.
Head turned lazily toward them, pants halfway down,
holding a crumpled piece of paper in one hand.
He stared.
They stared.
Blinking in unison.
Once. Twice.
There was a very, very long pause.
Finally—
Jake cleared his throat.
"…Do you mind?"
Harry closed the door slowly.
Face blank.
Emotionally detached.
"…Nope."
---
The city of Vash'Kael stirred like a waking giant.
From the highest spires to the narrowest streets, hands moved fast—
hanging banners, stringing lanterns, sweeping stone paths clean of non-existent dust that would return the moment feet touched them again.
Colors stretched across every balcony.
Gold and white.
Deep reds.
Ornamental blues.
The estate wasn't spared either.
Attendants rushed across marble halls with fabric trailing behind them.
Silver trays carried ribbons, food lists, guest schedules.
Noblemen and noblewomen began to arrive—each dressed finer than the last—
accompanied by guards, servants, and too many unspoken questions.
It was a preparation for,
The Festival of a Hundred Years.
A celebration marking the city's birth.
A story most of the city believed.
And the others… chose to.
Inside the estate, the air hummed with that kind of controlled chaos.
For our group,
this was the best thing that could've happened.
John adjusted the cuffs of his jacket, running his thumb along the edge of the sleeve like he still wasn't used to how it fit.
The fabric was too clean.
The cut too sharp.
A little too… noble.
He moved through the main hall, shaking hands when required.
Nodding when expected.
Smiling even when it isn't necessary.
His usual polite edges…
More polished for the day.
Sally, just a few paces behind, tugged awkwardly at the hem of her dress coat—
grumbling under her breath.
"This thing itches."
King passed her with a tray of glasses—moving like he was born for the role.
Expression tight.
Posture straight.
But Sally caught the small twitch in his left eye every time someone tried to thank him for being so 'helpful.'
She smirked.
A little.
A few steps further down the hall—
beyond the floral arrangements and too many polished gold candle stands—
stood Jake.
Dressed in a jacket that fit almost right.
Shoes that pinched a little.
And hair that had somehow already fallen out of place despite Sally's best attempts to fix it earlier.
But none of that mattered right now.
Because today—
Jake had a mission.
He peeked out from behind the column.
And,
There she was.
a young noblewoman.
Elegant dress.
Hair pinned high.
Probably twice his age, at least.
Chatting politely with two others.
Jake didn't care.
He Leaned against a marble column like he thought he belonged on the cover of some noble fashion magazine.
Arms crossed.
Head tilted at just the right angle—
Exactly like he'd practiced in the mirror at least three times this morning.
He cleared his throat—loud enough to make sure she heard.
"Hey…"
His voice came out a little too high.
He coughed.
Tried again.
"Hey."
The noblewoman turned, blinking down at him.
He pushed off the column—
"You know…"
(…immediately stumbling a little, catching himself with a quick foot shuffle—)
—and sauntered over.
Flashed a grin that was at least 40% teeth, 60% raw determination.
He tugged at the front of his jacket like it might make him taller.
"For all the decorations around here…"
He paused for effect.
The noblewoman blinked.
He smiled—big, hopeful, way too wide.
"…nothing in this room really… uh… compares to you?"
Silence.
The woman blinked again.
A pause.
Her friends exchanged quick looks.
Then—
she laughed.
Polite.
Warm.
But definitely confused.
She crouched a little, leaning down to his level.
"Well… aren't you a bold one," she said, smiling.
Jake just grinned wider.
Clearly taking that as a victory.
Somewhere behind him—
off to the side—
John had been watching the whole thing.
Arms crossed.
Wearing that exact "oh for the love of" older brother expression.
Before Jake could say anything else—
John casually walked over.
Rested a firm hand on top of Jake's head.
Ruffled his hair.
Gently.
Jake jolted.
"Alright, lover boy," John said with a tired sigh,
"Let's cool it before you get yourself engaged."
Jake sputtered, batting at John's hand,
"Hey! I had it under control!"
John just raised an eyebrow.
"Uh-huh."
The noblewoman—trying and failing not to laugh—gave them both a polite nod and quickly slipped away, probably to go gossip with her friends that some tiny elf boy had just tried to flirt with her in the middle of a boring party.
Jake watched her leave.
Then sighed, dramatically.
"So close."
John shook his head, already turning away.
"You're nine, Jake."
Jake called after him.
"Age is just a number!"
John froze mid-step.
Slowly turned back.
"…No. Absolutely not."
Jake just shrugged — already moving on to his next big conquest.
Nearby—
Finn and Aurora.
Their latest scheme… already in motion.
Finn reached dramatically for the wrist of a passing servant.
Eyes full of mock desperation.
"My good sir! Tell me—
Does the Governor require any assistance for the evening?"
The servant froze.
Startled.
Blinking.
Finn pressed on.
"Surely… surely a man of his stature must be burdened with the weight of such a grand occasion!"
Before the poor guy could react—
Aurora appeared at Finn's side—
jumping right into the performance.
"Yes, yes—anything to lighten his noble burdens!
Perhaps… a speech?"
Her eyes widened.
"Or… a toast?
Or—wait for it—a dramatic reading of city law to boost morale?"
Finn gasped.
Clutching his chest.
"A toast! Brilliant idea my love!"
He turned to her—stage-whispering loud enough for the servant to still hear:
"A moment of unparalleled inspiration!"
The servant, now visibly sweating, forced a polite—very nervous—smile.
"Ah… no, no… The Governor is quite… well. But… thank you… for your kindness."
Finn placed a hand to his heart.
"A true leader…
Bearing the weight of a nation… in silence."
Aurora shook her head, sighing like it was all just too tragic to speak of further.
And with that—
They walked off.
Leaving the poor servant standing in the middle of the hallway—
Utterly…
bamboozled.
---
(Hiding from Festivities)
The main estate hall buzzed with noise.
Laughter. Music.
The clinking of glasses and distant bursts of applause.
Somewhere,
a group of nobles raised a toast to… something.
Harry wasn't listening.
He slipped down a side corridor—
away from the noise,
away from the colors,
away from the carefully scripted smiles.
He had managed to slip away from the crowd.
Not far.
Just enough to breathe.
The estate's private study wasn't locked—
not today at least.
Most of the staff were too busy hauling decorations and trays to care where one quiet boy had wandered off to.
The quiet settled quick.
Dust caught in the slant of late afternoon light.
Curtains half-pulled.
The air cool with disuse.
Harry breathed out, shoulders easing for the first time in hours.
He stood near the doorframe,
half-shadowed,
watching the chaos in the halls from a safe distance.
The air was thick with the scent of polished wood, old paper, and distant perfume.
Somewhere down the corridor, a string quartet tuned their instruments.
Somewhere closer—
laughter drifted.
Then—
A voice behind him:
"Hiding from the festivities, are we?"
Harry froze.
That voice.
He turned, already knowing who it was.
She stood at the far end of the corridor,
Her robes had changed since last time—now a deep blue—stitched with silver threads that curled like constellations along the sleeves and collar.
No shoes, as usual.
Her smirk… entirely present.
Harry exhaled slowly.
Didn't answer at first.
Her eyes glimmered with something between curiosity and trouble-making.
"I'd say I'm surprised," she said, stepping into the light,
"but honestly… I kinda figured you weren't the dancing type."
Harry gave her a flat look.
"Not really."
"That tracks."
She folded her arms, tilting her head.
For a second—just a second—her gaze softened.
Less playful. More… thoughtful.
"Still… you blend in better than I expected."
Harry snorted lightly.
"An actor, then?" she teased.
He sighed. "A survivor."
That… pulled the smallest smile from her.
Then—
Before Harry could come up with an excuse to leave—
Two more pairs of footsteps rounded the corner.
Finn and Aurora.
Mid-whisper.
Clearly scheming something.
They both stopped dead the second they saw her standing there.
Finn leaned toward Aurora, whispering loudly (but not nearly quietly enough):
"Wait… who's this?"
Aurora, just as bad at being subtle:
"Thats that weird lady from the library Harry talked about before."
The woman's eyes flicked toward them both—acknowledging their presence but clearly disinterested.
Her attention swung right back to Harry.
"You don't seem like the kind to enjoy grand celebrations," she said, voice low now. "Yet here you are… playing along."
Harry shrugged.
Before he could answer—
She stepped in closer.
Lowering her voice until it was just for him:
"You've been asking the right questions, you know."
Harry blinked.
"I've been doing a little thinking… after our last conversation."
Her smile tilted—just enough to unsettle him.
"You're not from this city.
You didn't know its history.
And yet… you poke at the seams like someone who's seen them unravel before."
Her gaze narrowed.
"So tell me, Harry…"
"Who are you really?"
Harry held her stare.
Didn't flinch.
"A visitor, curious about the place he's currently visiting" he said softly,
"who asks a lot of inconvenient questions."
A pause.
"..And who occasionally… steals tea."
"Wait, no. You stole m-
"Tell me, dear Harry…"
Her words smooth, almost playful—
"…What speaks without a mouth… moves without legs… yet changes everything it touches?"
Harry blinked.
A riddle?
He opened his mouth—
but she lifted a finger to his lips.
Not letting him answer.
Not yet.
Her eyes glinted—like she wanted to push further—
But instead—
She just grinned wider,
A slow, amused grin that said she wasn't done yet… not by a long shot.
And as she turned to leave—
She lifted her hand—
And blew him a kiss over her shoulder.
"Enjoy the show… my little owl."
Harry froze.
Blinking once.
---
Finn stared after her.
"…Harry," he said slowly.
"…What the hell was that?"
Aurora raised both eyebrows.
"No, seriously. What was that?"
Harry sighed.
"Long story."
…Very long story."
Finn grinned —hand to chest.
"You know… I didn't think you had it in you."
Aurora nodded sagely.
Harry exhaled hard—shook his head.
He pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Enjoy the show, huh?"
His voice was low.
Dry.
Tired.
Somewhere down the hallway, distant music picked up again.
---
The music swelled as she stepped back into the hall.
her blue robes catching faint lantern light as she moved.
No one noticed her departure.
No one ever did.
The festival had bloomed in full.
From the upper balcony where she now stood,
the estate spread wide below.
Nobles moved like clockwork pieces.
Perfectly timed laughter.
Polished smiles that caught the light just right.
Servants darted like well-oiled mechanisms.
Trays balanced.
Orders taken.
A dance as intricate as the waltz playing in the hall.
The scent of roasted meats and wine drifted upward.
Lanterns swayed in the warm night air.
She lingered—
watching.
It was all running as expected.
And yet,
There were anomalies in the machine.
She saw them.
All of them.
Her eyes lingered,
Watching…
them.
---
John stood near the entrance, giving polite nods as nobles passed him by.
Shaking hands when needed.
Smiling with just enough sincerity to pass unnoticed.
King lingered by the refreshment tables—
Casually setting glasses,
Offering short, practiced bows to guests.
His face unreadable.
Sally worked her way through a small group of attending staff—
Offering help with a serving tray like she was actually enjoying it.
Laughing softly when spoken to.
Blending in.
And Jake…
Leaning against a far pillar,
Grinning at anything that moved,
Speaking with that lazy, too-casual charm that left people either amused… or bewildered.
Even Finn and Aurora—
Somewhere near the outer courtyard—
Performing their latest round of harmless estate chaos.
Entertaining a few wandering nobles, judging by the small crowd of laughter following in their wake.
The woman's lips curved slightly as she watched.
"What are they up to…?"
The words slipped from her in a murmur.
---
(The Sunset Before the Dawn)
The first of the festival lights flickered on.
Tiny lanterns—strung between rooftops and across winding streets—
glowed soft and gold against the deepening dusk.
From one of the estate's quieter balconies—
just far enough from the noise,
just high enough to watch the whole city unfold—
John stood at the railing.
Hands resting on the cool stone.
Watching.
Below…
the streets of Vash'Kael shifted like a living painting.
Dancers spun in open courtyards.
Vendors lit their stalls.
Children laughed and wove through the crowd with paper lanterns in hand.
He exhaled slowly.
The air smelled like burning oil and distant spices.
Behind him—
Sally stepped out.
Arms crossed.
She stood there for a long second— taking in the view.
Her gaze scanning the streets.
"They really believe in all of this," John said quietly.
Sally didn't answer right away.
Her voice came low.
"Yeah."
"Doesn't make it true tho."
King appeared beside them—leaning against the far wall of the balcony.
Arms folded.
Eyes distant.
"But they don't question it," he added softly.
"That's what makes it powerful."
For a few minutes…
no one said anything.
Just the distant hum of music rising from the festival streets below.
Then—
Aurora slipped outside too—
followed closely by Finn.
Neither of them speaking at first.
Finn sat on the edge of the balcony,
letting his legs dangle over the side.
Uncharacteristically quiet.
Aurora noticed.
She nudged him with her shoulder.
"Hey," she whispered.
"What's on your mind?"
Finn hesitated.
Ran a hand through his hair.
"…I just keep thinking…"
His voice came low. Thoughtful.
"…If they knew the truth…
what would they do?"
The words hung heavy.
No one rushed to answer.
Jake was leaning against the balcony frame,
head tilting just enough to catch Finn's words.
"Probably the same as us," he said simply.
Harry appeared last—
leaning in the open doorway behind them all.
Listening.
Silent.
John finally turned to face them.
All of them.
His gaze drifted—to the small table near the balcony doors.
Where the journal still sat.
And,
Beside it lay,
the book Finn and Aurora had pulled from the wall.
Resting.
Closed.
But heavy… in more ways than one.
John's voice broke the stillness.
"We've all agreed on this… right?"
His eyes moved across each of them.
Sally.
Jake.
King.
Finn.
Aurora.
Harry.
The group exchanged looks.
No jokes.
No sarcasm.
Not now.
Because the next step…
was a choice.
And they all felt it.
The weight of it.
Finn let out a slow breath—then stood, brushing imaginary dust off his jacket.
Aurora gave him a look, half fond, half worried —but stood with him.
Sally straightened, her arms uncrossing.
Harry pushed off the doorframe.
King remained where he was—but his gaze lifted.
Watching John.
Even Jake… finally setting aside the last of his pastry.
His grin faded to something quieter.
"Guess we're really doing this, huh?" he murmured.
John looked at them all.
And for the first time that day—
Smiled.
Not a polite smile.
Not the one he'd been giving nobles all evening.
A real one.
Determined.
Ready.
"…Alright," he said.
"Let's do this."
---
[TO BE CONTINUED IN EPISODE 20]