When Kaelen saw the lofty towers of the Great Library emerge behind a group of young pine trees, a wave of relief washed over him.

There it stood, a monument as old as time, supported by sharp cliffs that dove into the rough sea. The smooth rooftops and turrets were covered in a fine dusting of frost, and yearned for the low-hanging evening sun, casting sharp silhouettes onto the colorful backdrop that extended over the glistening sea like a silky curtain of orange and purple. Scattered columns of soft smoke rose sluggishly from the mouths of skinny chimneys towards the sky, and were shining like waterfalls of pure gold when the last rays of sunlight touched them with their gentle embrace.

Nothing here spoke of impending doom, of looming war, or cold-blooded murder. It was a scene as pure as the first stretch of a newborn child, as serene as a dewdrop on a petal come spring.

#

They had walked without much of a rest for more than a day, through blistering cold and icy rain that had felt an awful lot like sleet.

Purling mountain creeks on their way to the coast had sustained them with fresh water, and the occasional farmer they ran into had been kind enough to offer them some of their harvest, not knowing what had conspired in the capital. They never stayed anywhere for long, but instead focused on getting as much distance between them and Cylion as possible, as fast as possible.

When they reached Tavira, they had made an effort of crossing the coastal city in the cover of night, moving through the familiar alleys with the mantel of darkness protecting them from watchful eyes. Here, they figured, people would already know what had transpired, and there was no telling what reactions the reports of a new ruler had been met with. Besides, it was more than likely that some of the Fateless who had captured them on their last visit still roamed these streets, and the latest events would've only encouraged their willingness to act openly.

All the while, Nyu assured them that the army of the Fateless would take one of the exits closer to Cylion for their march onto the capital city, and not the one near Tavira. Still, they were all relieved when they finally left the coastal town behind without running into Malvorn and his followers.

Now, as they walked up the narrow path that led to the Great Library of Amareth, they could feel the seductive grasp of exhaustion creep up on them like the rising tide. Pushing aside thorny bushes and undergrowth with their tired legs, they wished for nothing more than a warm meal and a place to sleep, but they knew those indulgences had to wait until they got a chance to speak to Master Zerath, and discuss everything that happened while they were gone — along with what would happen next.

A chill breeze washed over the land, carrying salt and the scent of pines. An owl announced the upcoming nightfall, and the sound of waves splashing against unyielding stone hummed somewhere deep below them. When they reached the large gate that led into the courtyard, they were surprised to find it guarded by a pair of fellow Fateweavers in orange robes — a sign of the times, Kaelen thought. They startled when the trio approached, but quickly relaxed when they recognized Kaelen's and Elara's sleep-deprived faces.

"It's you!" one of them exclaimed, a young man they knew from their history classes. "You made it back!"

The excitement in his eyes was like the flickering of distant stars.

Kaelen tried a smile but failed.

"We did," he said with a voice as battered as a hoe after harvest, "but there is no time for celebration. We need to talk to Master Zerath — immediately."

The man stiffened.

"Of course," he said hastily, but then hesitated.

"I hate to be a stick in the mud, but," he said with an apologetic look on his face, "may I ask who your companion is?"

He glanced at Nyu, where his gaze was met with a violent glare.

"I'm sorry," he added, "but Elder Thornec ordered us to check all newcomers and only allow members of our order to enter the premises."

"She is an exception," Kaelen stated dryly.

He didn't have the energy to discuss technicalities — they had much bigger problems right now.

A pained expression took hold of the young man's slender face as he studied Nyu's hostile appearance.

"I —" he began, but crumbled under the collective stare of three pairs of firm eyes. Finally, he sighed and muttered: "Of course."

He gestured at the young woman who stood watch with him to open the gate. It took her a moment to peel her skeptical eyes off the new arrivals before she produced a key from the pockets of her robe and unlocked the squeaking gate.

Escorted by the male guard, they walked through the walled-off courtyard and along a path that led to the main entrance. Only a handful of students were still roaming the grounds, and the few horses that served the Fateweavers had returned to their stables for the night. The smell of wax wafted through the crisp evening air, and muddy patches squelched quietly under the weight of their thin leather shoes.

They didn't speak, and the serenity Kaelen had felt when first setting his eyes on the Great Library had already vanished. He could tell Nyu was cautiously inspecting her surroundings, like she always did when treading unexplored paths. He thought it to be a useful habit to scan any new environment for potential threats or escape routes, should the need arise — that kind of foresight could've prevented them from getting captured in Tavira.

For a moment, he wondered how their story would've played out had it not been for their abduction by the Fateless. Would the trail have gone cold right there and then? Would they have returned to the Great Library within a day, with nothing more than a field trip to show for it? In a way, it had been a blessing that they ran into the Fateless, and that they had revealed themselves to them — that, and the series of fortunate events that had them live to tell the tale, first and foremost their run-in with the grumpy Fateless that eventually joined their little band.

But the cruel reality was that despite the intel they managed to retrieve, so far they had failed to act on it. Nothing they'd done had even slowed down the Fateless' plans. Worse yet, they had been caught in the bow wave of Malvorn's machinations in Cylion. Kaelen wondered if at least their order had been able to put the information they sent to good use, provided it ever reached them.

#

A cloud of warm and stuffy air brushed against their rosy cheeks as they stepped foot into the large entry hall. The counter for receiving petitioners stood deserted next to the central staircase, cleaned out like it was not expecting to see any use for a while. The massive chandeliers hanging from the ceiling were casting eerie shadows onto the watchful oil paintings that covered the smooth stone walls, and the crackling of dancing candle flames snickered in the woodwork high above them. The tapestry hanging from polished hooks seemed darker than usual, and so did the carpet that ran down the smooth steps of the wide staircase in the center of the room, like they had aged significantly in Kaelen's absence.

"Master Zerath should be in the Master's Scriptorium," the guard murmured into the silence, "do you want me to take you to him?"

His whispered words wafted through the room and subsided in the many dark corners of the hall. A group of orange-robed figures briefly appeared at the top of the staircase, but moved on without paying the newcomers any attention.

"That won't be necessary," Elara responded absently.

The young man studied them for a moment longer, staring at Nyu's dark leather rags with narrowed eyes, before he bobbed his head and returned to his station outside the gate.

"What's with all the paintings?" Nyu asked once they were by themselves.

Kaelen followed her gaze up to the many portraits of past Fateweavers.

"That's the forefathers of our order," he said reverently.

Nyu frowned. "So purple is an option, too? And burgundy? I thought you guys were all orange."

Kaelen couldn't help but smile.

"Purple robes are only worn by Masters, such as Zerath, whom we're about to speak with. The honor of wearing burgundy robes is only bestowed upon our Elders, the leaders of our order."

"Why?" Nyu asked, and the question caught him off guard.

"What do you mean, why?"

Nyu shrugged, and her interest in the subject was starting to fade.

"Why does it matter what color you wear?" she asked. "Are the egos of your Masters and Elders that fragile?"

Kaelen and Elara exchanged puzzled glances.

"Well, no," Elara interjected. "It's just tradition. That's how it's always been."

Nyu sighed. "When has that ever been a good reason for anything?" she asked without expecting an answer.

#

The corridors of the Great Library were mostly deserted, and only a few people crossed their path, all of them eyeing Nyu with fierce skepticism. Most of them were their age, some they had shared classes with. The younger students were not allowed to roam the hallways past nightfall, and Kaelen could still remember those days long gone. Back then, they'd felt like rebels when they scurried through the dark to visit their friends' rooms to play cards and talk the kind of talk that somehow didn't fit the light of day. Sometimes, they would get caught, and frequently they had to atone for their unruliness by scrubbing the floor of the dining hall or trimming the grass in the backyard. Kaelen had enjoyed these days of innocent youth, even more so in retrospect, now that the world was coming apart.

The Scriptorium was located in the east wing of the Great Library, at the top of one of the larger towers. It served the Masters of fate as a place of tranquility and concentration for recording the important fates that were bestowed upon them, making it one of the most sacred and exclusive retreats of their order, rich in history and shrouded in myth. While the Master's subjects — babies and their influential parents — were allowed inside for most of the writing process, students were generally prohibited from entering. But Kaelen figured that the circumstances allowed for an exception to the rule — besides, he was more than willing to use the excuse to finally peek inside this most illustrious study.

They climbed the tower following a narrow spiral staircase that was tucked in between the stacked floor levels and the outer wall, and led them up well-trodden steps and past metal-clad doors made from dark wood. Through the milky windows, they could see the last distant glow of the fading sun at the far horizon, nothing more than a purple shimmer below flickering stars.

Taking the last steps in stride, they reached an unpretentious door flanked by two stone statues, a pair of ravens that skeptically eyed any new arrivals.

Kaelen cleared his throat, then knocked.

A long moment passed, and then they heard a muffled and dreamy "Come in!" from somewhere behind the wooden planks.

Kaelen pressed the handle, and the door silently slid open, exposing an extensive round room with a tall ceiling that reached all the way to the tip of the tower roof, with vaulted beams running along the sides like an oversized spine. A large chandelier with tall candles hung in the middle of the room, shining a warm light onto the turquoise tapestry and curved bookshelves that lined the walls. Nine writing desks were neatly arranged in symmetrical rows and columns, each of them with a slanted pedestal that could hold a fate tome, and large quills and inkwells. Upholstered chairs were arranged behind the workplaces, and simpler chairs were waiting off to the side to accommodate subjects during the early stages of the recording process.

Only one desk was occupied — by a man absorbed in study and awkwardly hunched over, his eyes narrowed in a desperate attempt to see what he was writing, his neck craned, and the spotty glasses almost sliding off his prominent nose.

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When Kaelen saw their Mentor, a wave of relief washed over him.

It took Zerath a moment to notice them — once he did, he slowly put down his quill, the tip of which was shimmering in vivid green, and leaned back in the wooden chair he was sitting in with the delight of someone feeling their age.

"Don't let Master Aldrin see you in these robes," Zerath said joyfully and adjusted the glasses on his crooked nose, "he will think we have finally abandoned all that is holy."

"It is good to see you, Master Zerath," Elara blurted out with a radiant smile on her face.

Zerath's old eyes grew soft.

"It is good to see you, too, my Dear. You are a bright spark in these dark hours. Both of you."

He extended his arms and gestured for them to step closer. Kaelen and Elara did so without hesitation, while Nyu remained at the doorstep, cautiously eyeing her surroundings. When Zerath noticed her, a hint of concern crossed his face, but quickly gave way to curiosity.

"Oh," he said and chuckled under his breath, "I see you brought a guest."

He raised his bushy eyebrows and examined Nyu, who had crossed her arms as if that could save her from being analyzed.

"Her name is Nyu. She's a friend we met along the way," Kaelen explained. "She saved our lives in Morathen. Without her, we wouldn't have been able to warn you about Malvorn's plan."

Zerath's expression took on a serious demeanor. "In Morathen, hm?"

"She's a Fateless," Elara admitted, glancing at Nyu's tense features.

Zerath didn't seem shocked, but the joyfulness had left his voice.

"Few would consider a Fateless their friend in these trying times," he finally said and started combing his white beard with his fingers. Deep wrinkles showed on his cheeks and forehead as he pensively studied Nyu.

"Are you done now?" Nyu snarled and bobbed her head forward, like a bird snatching at a worm.

Kaelen bit his lip, secretly cursing their new friend's temper.

An amused smile tugged at Zerath's lips.

"There is no reason to feel hostile, my Dear," he said gently.

"I'll be the judge of that," Nyu snapped back, "and I don't need your approval."

"Her childhood has been —" Elara began, but Zerath interrupted her politely with a raised hand.

"It's okay," he said. "These are difficult times. We are all on the edge, which is understandable, but that can lead to rash decisions. Like, let's say, if the Elder were to find out a Fateless is within the walls of our ancient sanctum."

Kaelen and Elara exchanged concerned glances, but Zerath continued before they could respond.

"Worry not — I will talk to Thornec. If you, Nyu, helped Kaelen and Elara in making it back to us and warning us of this imminent threat, then we consider you an ally."

He folded his hands and inclined his head.

Nyu growled briefly, but then relaxed her crossed arms.

"I only came here cause there is nowhere else for me to go," she hissed defiantly.

Zerath's eyebrows narrowed slightly. "Tell me, why is that?"

"Most of the Fateless should be marching onto Cylion right about now. Morathen will be a ghost town. And besides, I didn't exactly leave on the best terms." She shrugged and leaned against the door frame.

Their purple-robed mentor didn't respond right away, his pensive eyes resting on the tome in front of him.

"How do you know this?" he finally asked.

It took Kaelen some effort to muster the resolve for what he had to say next.

"Our father told us, when he visited us in the prison cell he tossed us in."

Zerath sighed. "Rhea mentioned your capture in a letter. I do not know about Vaelorian's role in all of this, but I'm truly sorry your own blood turned on you."

"He openly admitted being in league with Malvorn," Kaelen scoffed, and a sour taste filled his mouth. "He said that he would have need for us when the Fateless arrived in Cylion. He made it sound like that wouldn't take much longer — maybe they are already there."

Zerath's eyes suddenly looked more serious than Kaelen had ever seen them, deep and dark like a well.

"That is …" he began, with a voice as heavy as a stack of books, "concerning, to say the least."

His folded hands docked on his lips as he gave each of them an intense stare.

"In her letter to us, Rhea mentioned that Vaelorian decided to cut ties with the Fateweavers, but we didn't know his true motivation was that sinister. If what you wrote about Malvorn is true, then he will use this opportunity to raise the entire surface world to the ground — with Cylion's backing, he will have the necessary means at his disposal."

He shook his head in an expression of disbelief.

"We were hoping the armies of Cylion would take the brunt of it, and most likely defeat the Fateless before they could cause any real harm. To learn that instead, they might be allied now …"

"I doubt the soldiers of Cylion would obey his command once they find out who they are in league with," Kaelen said, knowing it was wishful thinking.

"That depends on how much they value their payment," Elara muttered bitterly.

They all nodded, then fell silent.

"How did you manage to escape?" Zerath asked after a moment.

Kaelen sighed as he thought back to their struggles.

"Rhea helped us. Seems like she isn't too fond of Cylion's change in leadership."

Zerath chuckled dryly. "No, she sure is not. I'm glad to hear it, though — she might be one of the few allies we have left."

"It seems like she is working with Montis's former military advisor, Beon. I'm not sure how much they can do on their own, though. Especially once Malvorn reaches Cylion." Kaelen curled his lips.

Zerath nodded. "It would indeed seem like a dire situation. But none of that might come to pass if the Elder's plan bore fruit."

The trio exchanged curious glances, but Kaelen could tell by the frown on Zerath's face that there was no reason to relax. And yet, he was clinging to their Master's lips as he started to elaborate.

"You see," the old Master began with a low voice, "a few days ago, Master Nerina and a handful of her best fighters left for Morathen. Their mission was simple, but dangerous all the same: take out Malvorn before his twisted beliefs lead all of us to ruin. Cut off the snake's head, so to speak."

He gestured with his hands to underline his point, but the message was clear as day. Kaelen didn't know what to think, and he could tell the others felt the same. Taking out Malvorn would be a blessing for this world, but doing so the same way they had done with King Montis seemed morally reprehensible. Maybe, he admitted to himself, the time for taking the high road was over.

Zerath seemed to read their minds and gave a bitter smile.

"I see you question our methods," he said without sharpness.

"It's just," Kaelen muttered, trying to find the right words. "It sounds like we are employing the same methods they used — the same methods that got us into this mess. Operating from the shadows, assassinating unsuspecting victims, theft."

Nyu twitched at the edge of his vision, but was quickly back to staring bleakly into the round.

Zerath's pained smile intensified. "You are not wrong. I, too, condemn these methods. But ultimately, it was the Elder's decision, and it is not the right time to question our leader."

"I'm sure that's exactly what the Fateless at home say," Nyu sneered.

Zerath glanced at her with an expression that was hard to read, then inclined his head.

"There is wisdom behind your anger," he said gently, "never be afraid to use it."

Nyu was caught off guard by this unexpected compliment and, for once, didn't have a snappy response at the ready. When she remained quiet, Zerath turned his attention to Kaelen and Elara again.

"If Master Nerina succeeded, and if anyone could have, it's her, then none of the vile fantasies Malvorn and Vaelorian have concocted will come to pass. Cylion might have a new ruler for now, but people will question Vaelorian's righteousness in due time. After all, time is all we need."

Elara didn't look convinced. "Do you think she did? Succeed, I mean."

Zerath exhaled and massaged his temples.

"Truth be told, we expected Nerina to be back by now. Granted, we don't know much about Morathen, if anything. We can't tell how long her mission would've taken her, but it's starting to become less and less likely that she managed to complete her task."

"That means —" Elara began, but her words trailed off as she wrapped her head around the implications.

Zerath lowered his gaze, and sorrow took hold of his expression.

"I'm afraid so," he whispered. "If their mission failed, I don't think there is any hope of them making it out alive."

Nyu nodded absently, as if to confirm that her people weren't exactly known for showing mercy.

Kaelen could feel a blunt pain radiate from his chest as he thought back to all their lessons with Master Nerina and the harsh but honest interactions they had over the years. Nerina was a great teacher and an inspiring personality, which had gotten her into the position of Master at a relatively young age. Her prowess in battle had been unparalleled, her spirit unwavering. Kaelen didn't want to write her off just yet, but he could tell the chances of seeing her again were slim, and it pained him deeply.

"How did they even know where to find the entrance to Morathen?" Nyu asked into the glum silence that followed.

Zerath glanced at her over the rim of his glasses.

"Nerina pieced together the report Kaelen and Elara sent us and ancient records of Tavira and the surrounding region. That gave her a good idea where to look, and since they didn't return within a day or two, I'm guessing at least that part of their mission was successful."

With a cheeky smile, he added: "Of course, you would know best …"

Nyu avoided his gaze, trying to keep a secret that was already spilled.

"Pardon me," Zerath said and showed his palms. "Sometimes my curiosity gets the better of me. This is not an interrogation, and you are not our enemy."

Nyu rewarded him with a brief, insincere smile. Zerath did not seem to be bothered, but instead leaned back and rested his arms on the cushioned sides of his chair.

"It's ironic to think that in the midst of all this chaos, we still follow the mundane business of recording fates, just like any other day." He nodded at the tome in front of him, and a somber smile tugged at his wrinkly lips.

"Come to think of it — are you still in possession of the fate tome you retrieved? The one that seems to be in the center of all this?"

Kaelen's hand instinctively reached into his pocket, where he had kept the tome during all this time. It looked a bit worse for wear, and a few of the pages were dog-eared and damp. And yet, even through all the chaos, it still remained right by his side, its evil contents always just the flick of a page away.

When he pulled out the tome and hesitantly handed it to Zerath, the old man took it with great interest.

"I see," the Master mumbled, as he ran his fingers up and down the spine of the tome, then proceeded to study its cover and back.

He lifted it up to his narrowed eyes, then rotated it on his open palm, and finally weighed it in his hands like a sack of coin.

"Interesting," he muttered as he adjusted his glasses.

"What's interesting?" Kaelen asked impatiently.

Zerath didn't respond, but instead gently laid the tome on his desk and flipped it open to reveal the first page — only to raise his eyebrows in astonishment when he saw the blank pages that filled the first half of the book.

"Most interesting," he repeated, as his fingers gently stroked the yellowed paper.

Finally, he looked up into the unsettled faces of Kaelen and Elara.

"This is no ordinary fate tome, I can tell," he declared and cleared his throat.

"You mean the fact that part of it is just … empty?" Elara asked carefully.

"That, yes — among other things. What I can say for sure is that this tome warrants intensive study."

To Kaelen's surprise, Zerath closed the tome again, with the care of a curator.

"Are you not going to read it?" he asked in confusion.

Zerath chuckled. "Oh, I will," he said quietly. "In due time. But first, I need to understand what kind of fate tome we are dealing with here. It would be foolish to trust its every word when it so obviously has been tampered with."

Kaelen bit his lip, but didn't say anything. He couldn't, however, escape Zerath's firm gaze.

"Have you read it?"

"We only read until the part where Montis got assassinated," Elara interjected, while Kaelen remained quiet.

He could feel Zerath's wise eyes piercing his mental defense and reading his thoughts like it was child's play.

"Right," the old Master whispered, and Kaelen was relieved that he was not going to get exposed in front of Elara.

He hated the feeling of having lied to her — he'd tell her eventually, but not here, not now.

"Master Zerath?" his sister asked after a moment.

"Yes, my Dear?"

"Did you find out who the tome belongs to by now?"

The corners of Zerath's mouth twitched ever so slightly before he broke into a gentle smile.

"Master Oryn has been investigating the matter while you were gone. If I'm not mistaken, he should come to a conclusion within a day or two. Last I spoke to him, he sounded rather confident he could untangle this mystery in a timely manner."

"How is that a timely manner?" Nyu asked skeptically. "It's been forever."

"There are a lot of fate tomes in this library, dear Nyu," Zerath said with a patient voice. "To manage all of them is a great effort, as I'm sure you'll come to realize for yourself."

Nyu mumbled something inaudible, while Kaelen felt the need to express his own thoughts.

"Why would someone with a fate work for the Fateless? It doesn't make any sense."

Zerath shrugged. "A sympathizer, maybe. Or someone walking both worlds."

"Do you think it could be our father? After all, he stands to profit from Montis's death."

Zerath considered the question for a moment. "I find that hard to imagine, but we can't say for certain that it's not him." He looked down at the tome. "I'm certain we will get our answers soon. We just need a bit more time."

"So what now, then, wise man?" Nyu sneered.

She had taken a few steps forward to join the group that was standing around Zerath's desk.

Their mentor studied the Fateless for a long moment and finally flashed a weak smile.

"Now, you three should get some well-deserved rest. I will take the information you shared with me to Elder Thornec, along with this …" he glanced at the tome in front of him, "... most interesting fate tome."

To Kaelen's surprise, the thought of parting with the tome nourished a feeling of defiance within him, but he knew his place well enough not to object to Zerath's proposal.

Zerath heaved himself out of the chair and straightened his purple robe.

"Gather all your strength while you can," he said earnestly, "you will need it."

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