Ardyn woke before the chimes of morning.
The lightglass panel along the room's far wall still shimmered with a faint pre-dawn glow, casting long shadows across the floor. He sat up, moving quietly so as not to wake Pimri, who was sprawled across his bed in a tangle of limbs and blankets, mouth slightly open in sleep.
Ardyn dressed in silence, strapping on his boots and belt, slipping his jacket over one arm. He grabbed his satchel from where it hung by the wall—mostly out of habit—and slung it across his shoulder.
Just before reaching the door, he paused.
There was a feeling—slight, almost like a tug in the back of his mind. Not fear, not hesitation, just a faint thread of unease he couldn't quite place. He stood there a moment longer, brow furrowed faintly, then shook it off.
Mirae's always early, he reminded himself.
He stepped out, letting the door close behind him with a quiet hiss.
The corridors of the Aerohall were nearly empty at this hour, filled only with the soft hum of the isle's systems and the distant sound of turbines turning. As Ardyn approached the lift, he wasn't surprised to see Mirae already there—standing just outside the glass doors, arms folded, gaze distant.
She looked over at him when he arrived. "You're late," she said.
"Am I?" he replied.
"Kidding," she said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.
She turned as the lift doors opened, stepping inside without another word.
The platform ascended through the spine of Vireos, carrying them back into the upper levels. When they reached the Sky Arena, the vast chamber was still and empty, its grandeur muted in the dim morning light.
They made their way toward the outer exit. Outside, the sky was still tinted with the last shades of night—deep blue fading into violet, with pale gold rising at the edges. The walk to the central library wasn't far, and neither of them spoke as they went, their footsteps light against the polished stone paths that curved along the isle's tiered walkways.
The Vireos Central Library rose ahead like a quiet monument—tall, refined, its surface a blend of smooth stone and wind-scored metal. Inside, the air was cool and still. High windows filtered in light that shifted with the winds, illuminating rows of scroll-terms, bound data-books, and archives.
"I'll go on this section," Mirae said, nodding to the curved row of archive alcoves on the left. "You go there. We let each other know if we find something."
She glanced at the wall-mounted clock above the front desk. "We have three hours."
An hour passed.
Ardyn sat with a book in hand, though his eyes weren't on the page. He angled it just enough to sneak a glance across the shelves—Mirae was still scanning through the archive rows
She spotted him, lifted a hand briefly, and made a small wave—fingers open, then closed. Nothing. Then she pointed at him, brows raised, the silent gesture asking, You?
Ardyn shook his head.
Another hour passed.
Now they were seated side by side at one of the long reading tables, each with a stack of books. Neither had said much in the last thirty minutes—just the quiet rustle of pages turning, the occasional shift of a chair.
Then someone sat down across from them.
Both Mirae and Ardyn jerked up slightly.
Elari.
"You won't find anything," he said calmly.
Ardyn glanced at Mirae.
"Are you spying on us?" Mirae asked, voice low but sharp.
Elari shook his head.
"Then what are you doing here?" she continued. "And how did you know we were coming?"
"Fate?" Elari offered.
Mirae raised an eyebrow.
A small, almost imperceptible smile touched Elari's lips. "I read a lot. I was actually just here to find a book. Then I saw the two of you."
"Didn't know you knew how to smile," Mirae muttered.
"So what did you mean, we won't find anything?" she asked.
"You know what I mean," Elari said.
Ardyn leaned forward. "Are you some kind of psychic?"
Elari looked at him, eyes steady. "I'm someone like you."
"Breather?" Ardyn said quietly.
Elari quickly glanced left and right. "Don't say that word."
He shook his head. "I might be more like you two than you think. Half-convinced. Still searching for proof."
He leaned forward, voice steady. "I've been digging into this—maybe longer than Mirae has. And I'm telling you, if the truth was ever written down, it's been erased."
Mirae crossed her arms. "You ever heard of the former Cirran from the far south?"
Elari paused, and the calmness in his expression stiffened into something heavier—more focused.
"I've never heard of that," he said slowly.
"Then you don't know as much as you think," Mirae replied.
"What about him?" Elari asked, curiosity sharpening.
"He was imprisoned," Mirae said. "For dangerous beliefs. He was a Cirran—before the Council stripped him of it."
Elari rested his chin lightly on his interlaced fingers, elbows on the table. His eyes narrowed. "I didn't know that. But… I might be able to get a list. Of old Cirrans. Ones who disappeared, were dismissed, or reassigned quietly."
"You'll help us find him?" Mirae asked.
Elari nodded once. "If I can. Yes."
There was a short pause.
"What if we three are…" Ardyn began, but the words trailed off.
None of them filled the silence.
Mirae glanced up at the nearest wall-clock. "We're out of time," she said. "We need to head back."
She stood and slung her bag over her shoulder. "Let's meet again—same place. Six, the morning after our match with Dravon?"
Elari nodded again. "Let the wind guide you."
Ardyn hesitated a beat, then said with a faint smile, "If we make it to the finals… try not to kill us."
Elari's lips tugged upward—just a little. Not quite a smile, but something close.
Ardyn turned and followed Mirae as she headed for the exit.
* * *
That night, Ardyn lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling as the dim lightglass lamp cast a soft glow across the room. His body ached from the day's training—sharper, heavier than usual. Their drills had shifted fully into combat preparation. Every move was faster, tighter, more punishing. The match against Dravon was two days away, and Windmere's instructors were taking no chances.
Across the room, Pimri was already asleep, sprawled under the covers, breathing slow and even. He'd been just as exhausted—bruised, sore, and half-muttering complaints as he'd collapsed into bed.
Ardyn closed his eyes, hoping rest would come, but something stirred. A quiet tension. That same subtle pull he'd felt earlier that morning before meeting Mirae at the lift. It wasn't a sound or a thought. Just… a feeling. A gentle pressure, like a whisper brushing the edge of his mind—not in words, but in direction.
His eyes opened.
He sat up slowly, scanning the room. Then his gaze drifted to the wall near his bed—where his satchel hung on a hook. The feeling tugged again, faint but unmistakable.
Ardyn stood, crossed the room, and lifted the satchel from its hook. He brought it back to his bed, sitting on the edge, thumbing the leather strap as the lamp flickered softly beside him.
That was when he saw it.
A glint—barely visible—caught the edge of the lamp's glow. Something tiny was tucked beneath the metal clasp where the strap looped through.
He squinted, leaned closer.
A small, silver fragment. No bigger than the tip of a fingernail. Embedded just where it would go unnoticed.
Carefully, he pulled it free.
For a long moment, he just held it in his palm, turning it gently with his fingers. Then something clicked in his memory—faint and distant, but clear.
Years ago, back in the shop, he'd found a strange little shard while cleaning out one of the older bins. Curious, he'd brought it to his grandfather.
"That's a Whisperseed," the old man had said, voice low as he took it between two fingers. "Broken now—but I held onto it. Picked it up back when I was still a windwright. Useful little things, even if they were illegal in most isles."
He'd tapped it once, then set it aside. "People used to use them to spy, eavesdrop, track conversations. Could fit one into a buckle or belt loop, and no one'd know."
Ardyn's heart beat faster, thudding loud in his chest as he stared at the tiny device in his palm.
He stood quickly, eyes darting around the room. His hand clenched. He needed something—anything—to crush it. To make it stop.
But then he froze.
A breath caught in his throat. His hand loosened.
Slowly, he returned to the bed, sat down, and stared at the Whisperseed again. Then, carefully, he reached for the satchel and slipped the device back beneath the metal clasp—exactly where it had been before.
Whoever put this here must not know that I found it, he thought.
His heart beat harder now. Faster. Like something was pressing in on his ribs.
His mind raced—back to the library. Back to Mirae. Elari.
They heard everything, he realized.
I must warn them.
* * *
Somewhere deep within Vireos, in a room untouched by light, a lone figure sat cross-legged on the floor.
She didn't move—only the faint shimmer of her long hair caught the ambient glow from a standby console.
In the quiet, she reached toward a small device lying beside her and lifted it to her mouth.
"You received the Whisperseed recording?" she whispered.
A long pause followed—silence stretching like a held breath.
Then the device crackled softly.
A hoarse voice replied, calm and low.
"Yes."
"Silence them."