The day after the incident with her father's mana dream, Illyria found herself wandering into the academy's grand library before the sun had fully risen.
The library's high windows spilled slanted beams of late afternoon sunlight, dust drifting in slow spirals through the still air. Shelves of ancient tomes stood like silent sentinels, their spines worn and softened by centuries. The scent of old paper and ink lingered like a memory too stubborn to fade.
Illyria slipped inside without a sound, her boots barely whispering against the polished floor.
The air smelled of old parchment and quiet dust, the kind that clung to the spines of books no one had touched in decades.
She ran her fingers along the titles — histories of kingdoms swallowed by time, tales of monarchs who once ruled but now existed only in half-remembered myths.
A faint shift in the air told her she wasn't alone.
Her eyes found Seraphine almost at once — seated at a long oak table, head bowed over a stack of weathered books. The light touched her hair, making the silver strands glow faintly as if holding a piece of moonlight captive.
Illyria paused a few steps away.
"I thought you had morning classes," Seraphine's voice came from between the shelves, low and cool, carrying the kind of precision that made it impossible to tell if she was scolding or simply stating fact.
Illyria didn't look up immediately. "I did. But there's something I want to understand first."
"Magic arts?" Seraphine stepped closer, her footsteps soundless.
"I've already mastered the magic." Illyria's eyes stayed fixed on the dusty spine of a thick volume. "Now I want the histories. The Spirit Realm, the Beast Realm… and the stories everyone seems so careful not to speak about."
One corner of Seraphine's mouth twitched. "Curiosity is a dangerous thing here."
"Dangerous doesn't mean I'll stop," Illyria replied softly. Her voice held a strange steel that hadn't been there when she first entered the academy.
She pulled out a book — The Chronicle of Realms — and flipped to a chapter titled The Monarch of the Forbidden Beasts.
"That story," Seraphine said quietly, "isn't told in full anymore."
"Then tell me what you can."
Seraphine hesitated, her gaze distant. "It's said the Forbidden Monarch could see threads of fate, yet chose to cut his own. His decisions bound both our realms together — in ways even I cannot undo."
Her eyes sharpened slightly, studying Illyria as if searching for something beneath the surface. "And you… are legally the Spirit Realm's heir. Whether you want the role or not."
Seraphine stepped closer, letting her gaze wander to the oldest torn book in the shelf. The script was elegant but foreign to her — curling letters inked in deep crimson.
"What is it?" Illyria asked.
"A record of the three realms' oldest oaths," Seraphine said, tracing one line with the tip of her finger. "Vows made before most kingdoms even had names. One in particular… concerns the one we call the Forbidden Monarch."
Illyria leaned in, the faint scent of parchment mingling with Seraphine's subtle fragrance — something clean, like fresh rain on stone. "You've mentioned him before. But you would never tell me who he was and his actual story. You know I always crave for those wonderful stories."
"No one tells me what I want to know yet the stories of unfamiliar people comes to me."
"No one remembers him anymore," Seraphine replied, eyes still on the page. "Not truly. What remains is only his duty — to stand guard over the balance of the realms. And when his final breath comes, another must inherit that burden."
"And also, everyone has their own unique stories. If you listen to their voices, each story has their own judgement. Never belittle any story. Be it a savior or a sinner."
Something in her tone was heavier than the words themselves.
Then,"Are you...?" Illyria guessed.
"Yes," Seraphine said simply. "When he is gone, I am to take His place."
Illyria frowned, sensing there was more — something Seraphine wasn't saying. "Do you want that?"
"It doesn't matter what I want," she said, closing the book with quiet finality. "The balance must be kept. If it fails, chaos will consume everything."
A stillness settled between them, filled only by the faint ticking of the library's clock. Illyria studied her — the steady composure, the way her hands rested one over the other, the light catching in her eyes. She looked untouchable, like a figure carved from some immortal stone. And yet, in moments like this, Illyria could almost imagine reaching her.
"You speak like an old scholar," Illyria murmured.
"And you listen like a restless child," Seraphine returned without missing a beat.
That drew a quiet laugh from Illyria. She stepped around the table and leaned on the edge beside Seraphine, close enough that their sleeves brushed. "Maybe. Or maybe I just like hearing you talk."
Seraphine's gaze flicked to her, brief but sharp enough to stir something warm in Illyria's chest.
They turned the next page together, neither speaking for a while. The script blurred for Illyria — not because she couldn't read it, but because her focus kept straying to the curve of Seraphine's mouth, the delicate way she breathed as she read.
When they reached the end of the passage, Seraphine closed the book again. "That's enough for today."
"Already?"
"Some things are better learned slowly."
Illyria lingered, reluctant to leave.
"Remember, even if you are a Queen or not, you are always my Teacher and my Friend, a bond that you can never break even if you are forgotten from this realm."
Illyria closed the book slowly, her voice became quieter now. "If you are forgotten, I will die. If I die, I'll be your shadow. You will never be able to get rid of me. I will stay as your spirit and follow you everywhere. I will be the one to remember you if every beings forget."
The words weren't a threat. They were a promise — binding and unshakable.
But Seraphine's attention had returned to the shelves, her expression calm and distant once more.
When Illyria finally stepped out, the library felt colder without her.
Seraphine remained at the table long after the door closed. She touched the cover of the book but didn't open it again.
She didn't respond aloud. But later, as she left the library and the faint scent of Illyria's mana lingered behind, her thoughts betrayed her calm exterior:
"How cute, she looks speaking those grave promises yet not knowing them."
"She does not know, Seraphine thought. She cannot know. My path will end before hers even begins.
It would be easier not to name it — this tether she felt to the girl, this ache she carried in silence. A queen should not love like this, with the weight of the realms pressing down."
For so long, she had counted her life in centuries, not years. Time was a thing that dulled—seasons blending into one another until even joy lost its sharpness. She had watched empires rise and fall, the sea swallow kingdoms whole, lovers and friends reduced to the silence of graves
How strange it was—to have walked through millennia, to hold the memories of countless seasons, to stand at the precipice of leaving this world entirely... only to find her now.
Illiriya.
If fate had a cruel sense of timing, this was it.
After centuries of standing alone, of burying lovers and comrades and entire eras, she had stopped seeking warmth in anyone. Yet the moment her path was meant to end, here she was—offered something far greater than the kingdoms she ruled or the wars she won.
The threads of her soul, worn thin and frayed, wove tighter every time Illiriya spoke her name.
It was not passion in the reckless, burning sense. It was recognition—the kind that made her think, If the world burned tomorrow, I would hold her hand until the last ember faded.
She had fought gods. She had bled oceans. But the thought of walking into eternity without this girl at her side felt... unbearable.
If there is another life, Seraphine thought, her gaze softening, let me find you sooner.
So she let the truth stay buried, wrapped in the safer names of teacher, friend, perhaps even soulmate — a word that could mean many things if one wished it to.
But in her heart, she knew. And she would keep knowing, until the end.