The chamber of shadows was quiet that morning.
Dust floated lazily through shafts of soft blue light, slicing across the curved ceiling. The walls, veined with faint emerald runes, pulsed like a living heartbeat — steady, rhythmic, calm.
Aria sat at the long marble table, her hair loosely tied, shadows brushing over her face. The diary lay open before her, its old pages trembling faintly under her fingers as though breathing.
> "Alright," she murmured, exhaling slowly. "Let's see what you've hidden this time."
The letters shimmered — lines curling and shifting until the ancient script melted into readable form.
Her pen hovered for a heartbeat. Then she began to read.
---
The Diary
> The soil is sick.
It was supposed to take root — to bloom like the first seed. I gathered the blue sap from the sacred veins of the Amoth valley and fed it to the soil under the moon's alignment. The ground accepted it, or so I believed.
> Three days later, the grass blackened.
The flowers fell first — soft, silent. Then the air turned thick with a taste I cannot describe — like burnt metal and sorrow. Even the rivers grew sluggish, coated in gray film. The villagers began to cough. The children were the first to collapse.
Aria's breath caught. The ink beneath her hand seemed darker than usual, the strokes pressed deep into the parchment — as if the writer's guilt had carved itself there.
> The Amoths trusted me. They offered me their land, their patience, their faith. I told them I could make the Tree grow again — a second miracle. A second chance to touch divinity.
But the ground bleeds now. I hear them outside my hut, whispering my name with hatred. I deserve it.
A drop of ink had blotted the next line, spreading like blood. Aria traced it unconsciously, feeling the weight of it.
> I tried to burn the experiment pit. The roots screamed when I set fire to them. The vines twitched, alive, refusing to die. The earth itself is rejecting my remorse.
The next entries came fragmented — hurried, frantic.
> Fourth day — Amoths dying faster. The fruit of the false tree turned to dust in their hands.
Fifth day — Their healer said the soil was cursed. Perhaps it's true.
Sixth — Y— came to me. He didn't speak, just watched. His eyes were filled with disappointment so sharp I wished he'd struck me.
Aria frowned slightly. The "Y" — Yougen. The one Xyren said was his grandfather. She read on, her heart tightening.
> He told me to stop trying to fix it. Said that sometimes nature punishes hubris not with wrath, but silence. He wanted to help me flee, but I couldn't — not yet. The tree must be contained.
> Seventh — Too late. The vines moved last night. They crawled through the village like snakes. The soil beneath the huts turned black and sank. The Amoths screamed. The valley collapsed.
Her fingers trembled slightly. The edges of the page were burned — real burn marks, like fire had licked them centuries ago.
> Y— dragged me away. We ran through the ash. Behind us, the Tree fell inward, swallowing the last of them. Their voices… I still hear them when the wind moves.
> I killed them.
I killed the Amoths.
And then, near the end of the page — barely legible:
> If the roots ever rise again… may the next soul be wiser than mine.
---
The silence afterward was suffocating.
Aria sat there for a long moment, the flickering light washing over her pale face. Her throat tightened; she swallowed hard.
> "He destroyed them…" she whispered, eyes tracing the smeared ink. "An entire village."
James, who sat nearby flipping through maps, looked up at her tone.
> "You okay?"
> "I— yeah," she said, though the word felt thin. "It's just… he thought he was saving them."
Nina, sitting cross-legged on a chair, looked up from her scrolls.
> "People always think that," she said quietly. "Until they don't."
Aria shut the diary softly, as though afraid it might break further. She stared at the golden lock on its cover — faintly humming now, as if aware that another secret had been unearthed.
> "How many died?" she murmured.
> "Almost all of them," Nina answered, her voice gentle but matter-of-fact. "Amoths became a name in ruins. No one goes near their valley anymore. The land there still poisons everything that grows."
> "That's why the first Tree is sacred," James added, frowning. "Because the second one killed its worshippers. Balance, or whatever."
> "Balance," Aria repeated softly. "Funny word for a graveyard."
They fell quiet again.
---
The door creaked faintly. Xyren stepped in — his dark cloak brushing the floor, eyes unreadable. The faint scent of cold air followed him, like the night itself had clung to his skin.
James immediately brightened.
> "Well, if it isn't our brooding shadow prince. Welcome back. How's the scouting going? Found any new diary scraps or just more walls to glare at?"
Xyren ignored him completely. His gaze went straight to Aria, then to the diary in her hands.
> "You found another page."
> "Yes," she said quietly. "You were right about Yougen. He was there. He tried to save him."
His eyes flickered — the faintest crack in his calm.
> "And failed," he said softly.
> "You knew?"
> "Not everything. Only that the Amoths fell long before Carfein rose."
He walked closer, the soft sound of his boots echoing against the marble floor. He stopped across from her, resting a hand on the table.
> "What else did the page say?"
Aria hesitated. "That the second Tree poisoned the land. Ninety percent of them died, maybe more."
> "The Tree of Death," James muttered under his breath. "Charming name."
Nina shot him a warning look.
Aria's gaze returned to Xyren. "What could cause that? The first Tree gave life. How could the second destroy it?"
Xyren's eyes darkened. "Because life itself can rot if you force it to grow where it shouldn't. The first Tree was born of harmony — the second of desperation."
She stared at him, then at the diary again. "He wanted to recreate divinity."
> "And paid for it," Xyren said. "So did everyone around him."
A long silence followed. The shadows in the room seemed to move slower now, heavier.
Then Xyren spoke again — quieter this time.
> "Lirien will come soon."
James perked up. "Oh no. Don't tell me it's another one of his 'urgent matters.' Last time he made me scrub the entire hall with magic dust. My horns still sparkle in sunlight."
> "He's planning something," Xyren said sharply. "Something with Kael's return."
Nina's smile faded. "Kael? The king's heir?"
Xyren nodded. "He's coming back tomorrow. Lirien wants a meeting with him — and with the Council. I overheard the guards. There's tension in the air."
Aria frowned. "Tension about what?"
> "That," he said, "we'll find out. But whatever he's plotting, I need you to be ready."
She blinked. "Ready? For what exactly?"
He met her eyes then — steady, unyielding.
> "To walk in shadows."
James straightened. "Wait, we're involving her already? We haven't even given her the initiation tea! It's, like, tradition."
> "James," Nina sighed.
> "What? She has to try it. Otherwise, how will she learn to see in dark—"
> "She'll learn by surviving," Xyren cut in flatly.
The boy pouted but didn't argue further.
Aria folded her arms, tilting her head slightly. "You mean spying. Sneaking. Dangerous things."
> "Yes," Xyren said simply.
> "And if I refuse?"
> "You won't."
His tone wasn't commanding — it was confident, like he already knew her choice.
Aria let out a breath, half-exasperated. "You're infuriating, you know that?"
> "I've been told."
James snickered behind his hand. "By everyone."
Nina smiled faintly. "Welcome to the team, Aria."
> "Wait," Aria said quickly. "I didn't say yes yet."
> "You didn't have to," Xyren replied.
She stared at him, torn between irritation and reluctant amusement. "You really are impossible."
> "Good," he said, turning toward the door. "Then you'll survive this."
---
As Xyren left, the shadows of the room stretched long, curling around the edges of the walls like silent watchers.
Aria glanced once more at the diary — still open, the last line glowing faintly.
If the roots ever rise again… may the next soul be wiser than mine.
She touched it lightly, then looked toward the fading doorway where Xyren had stood.
> "Wiser," she murmured. "Guess that's not the word he'd use."
Outside, the castle of Carfein hummed with the wind — preparations echoing faintly through the stone halls. Somewhere in the upper levels, Lirien was speaking with the council again, and in the distance, the Tree of Life pulsed with an unnatural light — green and blue, intertwining like veins across the horizon.
The shadows were stirring.
And Aria — for the first time — was ready to walk among them.