But that was impossible.
Ink didn’t move. Ink didn’t breathe. Ink didn’t call to her like something alive.
And yet, as she stared down at the parchment spread across the ancient wooden table, she swore the symbols shifted when she wasn’t looking, their sharp angles twisting into impossible shapes.
Her heart pounded.
This wasn’t just any blueprint.
This was the Core Blueprint—the forbidden design that the Guild of Architects had spent centuries hiding—the one no one was supposed to see.
And now, it was in her hands.
The underground archives were silent, save for the flickering torchlight and the faint scratch of her breath. The air smelled of dust and old parchment, thick with the scent of ink and time.
Elira ran a shaky hand through her dark hair. She had spent months searching for this. Ever since she first found her mother’s journal.
Her mother—gone for six years.
Vanished without a trace.
All she left behind was a single warning written in frantic ink:
“If you ever see this blueprint, run.”
Elira swallowed hard.
Run from what? From whom?
Her fingers traced the strange sigil in the center of the parchment—a perfect circle, bisected by sharp lines that extended outward like veins.
Her mother had drawn this symbol repeatedly in her journal. She had studied it. Obsessed over it. And now, Elira understood why. Because this wasn’t just a blueprint. It was something more. Something powerful. “Elira.” She flinched.
??? ?? ???
The whisper wasn’t coming from the parchment this time.
Someone was standing at the entrance of the archive vault.
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Aidan.
His silhouette was outlined in the dim lantern glow, his Academy uniform slightly wrinkled from the day’s training. His sandy brown hair was damp with sweat, his breathing slightly uneven.
Too observant. Too nosy.
Elira quickly rolled the blueprint up, shoving it behind her back.
“What are you doing down here?” he asked, stepping closer.
“Nothing,” she said quickly.
Aidan frowned. “You’re in the restricted section.” His sharp green eyes scanned the table, the flickering candlelight reflecting in his gaze. “What did you find?”
Elira’s grip tightened around the parchment.
She and Aidan had been friends since their first year at the Academy. He was the only person she had ever trusted.
But something deep in her gut whispered: Do not show him.
“Just old city layouts,” she lied. “Nothing special.”
Aidan didn’t look convinced. He stepped closer, gaze narrowing. “You’re a terrible liar.”
Elira forced herself to hold his gaze, keeping her expression neutral.
Aidan sighed. “Look. You know the Guild would kill you if they caught you down here, right?”
Her stomach twisted.
She knew. Of course she knew.
The Guild didn’t take kindly to rule-breakers. They especially didn’t tolerate students meddling in knowledge that wasn’t meant for them.
And yet, despite knowing the danger, something had drawn her here.
Something had called her.
“I just—” she hesitated. “I needed to know if the old stories were true.”
Aidan’s brow furrowed. “What stories?”
Elira took a slow breath. She shouldn’t say anything. She should just walk away.
But the words slipped out anyway.
“The Lost City of Veynor.”
Aidan’s face darkened.
“Elira—”
“I know it’s real.” She took a step closer, voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve seen the records, Aidan. I’ve seen the maps the Guild tried to erase. Veynor wasn’t destroyed in the war—it was hidden.”
His expression was unreadable.
“Elira,” he said slowly. “You don’t know what you’re getting into.”
That made her pause.
Because there was something in his voice—something heavy.
Something that sounded like fear.
Aidan never got scared. Not even when they were kids sneaking out past curfew. Not even during the Academy’s brutal combat training sessions.
But now, in this moment, he looked at her like she had just said something forbidden.
“You should put that back,” he said, nodding toward the rolled-up blueprint in her hands.
Elira’s fingers tightened around it.
“Why?”
“Because,” Aidan said, his voice quieter. “If the Guild finds out you’ve seen it, they won’t just expel you.”
A shiver ran down her spine.
“They’ll erase you.”
The words landed like a blow to the chest, sharp and suffocating.
Elira’s grip tightened around the blueprint. “Erase,” she whispered, the word foreign and jagged in her mouth.
Aidan didn’t confirm it. He didn’t have to. The look in his eyes was enough. This wasn’t exile. This wasn’t punishment. It was elimination.
Her hands went cold.
The Guild didn’t take risks. If they found out she had seen the blueprint, there would be no trial, no warnings. No second chances. Just silence.
Her pulse pounded in her skull. “And if I put it back?”
Aidan hesitated. His voice, when it came, was barely more than a breath. “You’ll still know.”
The blueprint felt heavier in her hands now. It was no longer just ink and parchment but something breathing, something waiting.
She could return it, act like none of this had happened, convince herself she hadn’t traced every line into memory. But the moment she pressed her hand to that sigil, the moment it whispered her name—she had stepped over a threshold.
There was no undoing it.
She looked at Aidan. “So either way, I disappear.”
He didn’t deny it.
The candle wavered, shadows twisting across the stone walls.
Elira swallowed hard, forcing down the panic clawing at her throat—the weight of the blueprint pressed against her chest like a brand, scorching and inescapable.
A prison, her mother’s journal had said.
Then why did it feel like the door had already locked behind her?.
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