Chapter 5: The Archives and the Mentor's Shadow
The following morning, the mist hung heavier than before, coiling through Whisperwood like a living thing. Lyra tightened her cloak around her shoulders as she followed Kael toward the northern edge of town, where the archives supposedly lay.
Kael had been quiet for most of the walk, his usual gruff demeanor even more withdrawn. Lyra didn't press him. Her own thoughts were tangled with memories of Oran and the warnings he'd given her before she left.
Oran had been her anchor in a world that had shown her little mercy. He wasn't a warm man—not in the way most would expect—but his care showed in the way he taught her. Every lesson was precise, purposeful, and often brutal. He'd once thrown her into a frozen river to teach her how to control her breathing under pressure.
"You don't survive this world by being soft," he'd said when she'd dragged herself out, shivering and furious. "You survive by being smart, by knowing your limits—and breaking them when you have to."
That ruthlessness had shaped her, but Oran had his own limits. The day she'd shown him the parchment with Whisperwood's name was the first time she'd seen true fear in his eyes.
"I've been there," he'd confessed after a long silence. "Years ago, before I met you. It's not a place for the living, Lyra. There's nothing but death and madness waiting for you there."
She hadn't understood then, but now, as she walked through the cursed town, his words felt like a prophecy.
Kael stopped suddenly, pulling her from her thoughts. Ahead of them stood a towering structure, its stone walls cracked and overgrown with moss. The air around it felt heavier, the whispers louder.
"This is the archives," Kael said, his voice low. "It's where they kept the town's records—before the curse. If we're lucky, we'll find something useful here."
"If we're lucky," Lyra repeated, eyeing the building.
The door creaked loudly as they pushed it open, revealing a cavernous hall lined with shelves. Most of the books and scrolls had rotted away, leaving behind only fragments. The air was thick with dust, and the faint smell of decay lingered.
Kael moved to the nearest shelf, scanning the remnants of parchment. "Look for anything with symbols like the ones on the box or medallion," he said.
Lyra nodded, moving deeper into the room. The shelves loomed over her, their shadows stretching like claws in the dim light filtering through the broken windows.
Her fingers brushed against a tattered book, its cover marked with faintly glowing runes. As she opened it, a strange sensation washed over her—a pull, as if the book itself wanted her to read it.
The pages were filled with sketches and notes about Whisperwood's history. One sketch caught her eye: a drawing of the altar she'd seen in the chamber below the statue. Beneath it was a single line, written in jagged script:
"Blood binds the curse. Blood must break it."
A chill ran down her spine as she read the words. The phrase reminded her of something Oran had said during one of their training sessions.
"Your bloodline carries weight, Lyra," he'd told her, his voice unusually soft. "Never forget that."
At the time, she'd dismissed it as one of his cryptic lessons, but now it felt like a clue.
"Find something?" Kael's voice broke through her thoughts, and she turned to see him watching her.
"Maybe," she said, holding up the book. "It mentions blood—binding and breaking the curse. I've seen that phrase before, in the chamber below the statue."
Kael frowned, stepping closer to examine the book. "Blood magic," he muttered. "It's dangerous. The kind of magic that takes more than it gives."
Lyra's jaw tightened. "If it's the key to breaking the curse, then I'll use it."
Kael looked at her, his expression unreadable. "You don't understand what you're saying. Blood magic doesn't just take power—it takes pieces of you. Your memories, your strength, your will. If you're not careful, there won't be anything left of you to save."
"I've faced worse," Lyra said firmly.
Kael sighed, shaking his head. "You sound like someone I used to know."
Lyra raised an eyebrow. "Who?"
He hesitated, then turned back to the shelves. "Someone who didn't listen."
Lyra didn't press him, but his words lingered as she continued searching the archives. She couldn't shake the feeling that Kael's past and Oran's warnings were tied to Whisperwood in ways neither man wanted to admit.
Hours passed, and the light outside began to fade. Lyra had gathered a small pile of books and scrolls, each containing fragments of information about the town's curse. Most of it was cryptic—mentions of The Hollow Saint, the ritual, and Aelina—but no clear answers.
As they prepared to leave, Kael paused near the door, his gaze distant. "The more you dig, the more this place will take from you," he said quietly. "Are you sure you're ready for that?"
Lyra met his eyes, her expression unwavering. "I didn't come here to turn back."
Kael nodded, a flicker of respect in his eyes. "Then we keep going. But be ready, Lyra. The worst is yet to come."