Distant screams kept Nyu up for most of the night.

It had taken her a while to realize they were not the product of her dreams or fantasies concocted by her racing mind, but instead came from somewhere outside. When she peeked out of one of the few tower windows that hadn't been barred, she could hear a gruesome symphony of many voices crying out in agony, carried all the way up to the Great Library by a cool breeze. They hung in the air for only a few moments at a time, thin as silky threads, before the wind blew them away like falling leaves, and they disappeared into the darkness of the night.

Even before the screams, her body struggled to find rest. The way she'd left things with Elara sat uneasy and all too present in her spiraling mind. She knew she'd messed up, and a throbbing pain in her chest kept reminding her every time she closed her tired eyes.

Had she finally managed to push Elara away? Not because she wanted to, but because that's just what she'd done with other people all her life? Emotional distance was one of her many means of mental protection, and it had served her well all these years. Now, however, the wall slowly started to crumble, and what shot through the cracks was heartache and the fear of losing what she never thought she'd have. Nyu wondered if these agonizing feelings were worth the temporary joy she'd felt in the few peaceful moments Elara and she had spent together.

A part of Nyu wished she'd never opened herself the way she had. She was vulnerable now, distracted. Whatever came next required a calm mind and body — thinking of Elara or whatever was going on between them would only keep her from being as sharp as she usually was in these types of situations. She couldn't allow that — not when Malvorn was about to be in her reach again, and she could finally put an end to him once and for all.

She'd not told Elara about this side goal of hers, and now she probably wouldn't. It was a thought she'd harbored since the day they eavesdropped on the wannabe king, and recent events had only strengthened her urge to split his smug face with the sharp end of a knife. His vindictive conquest against the surface world had made it clear that no peace or prosperity could ever come from his rule — his obsessive mind was poisoned with ambition and desire, and he would not rest until all that was beautiful was a smoking pile of ash, just like Cylion.

Nyu tossed and turned on the scratchy rug that served as her bed, surrounded by a dense forest of boxes and crates, veiled paintings and dusty statues. There were stacks of books, some as big and heavy as small children, and baskets with brass utensils and trinkets from faraway lands. Tall clocks and leaning shelves lined the walls, along with wardrobes full of silk garments and faded robes. There were massive chandeliers, both on the ground and dangling from the ceiling, and intricate candelabras, with wax trails like stalactites. But she didn't dare to light any of the candles, and so the faint glow from a distant moon was the only thing to hold back the creeping darkness coming through a window just above her and sprawling onto the cracked floorboards in milky stripes.

The musty air reminded her of Morathen, but not in a good way. She could feel dusty particles fill her lungs, and the dry cold was seeping through the old walls and her thin clothes alike. She caught her gaze getting stuck on the orange Fateweaver robes that were lying on the edge of a cushioned chair a few feet away. Resisting the urge to put them on and swaddle in their warmth, she rolled over and stared at a silver goblet next to the base of a statue depicting a swan.

She could hear a mouse scurry past the crates near her feet, the soft pitter-patter muffled by the rugs and tarps that covered the densely packed furniture.

"What a dump," she thought to herself, cursing herself for ever agreeing to this ridiculous plan.

Zerath had been right from the start — what was even the point? More than likely, they would fail to save Kaelen, cause that's just how the world worked. Elara would be heartbroken, and she'd blame Nyu for setting this entire awful chain of events in motion. And she'd be right to do so. Nyu had never been a proponent of Malvorn, and she'd even tipped off the resistance here and there. But she'd still gladly taken his gold, and the weight of her loaded pockets had weighed down any moral concerns. You always had to serve someone, and most of the time, they were your Master because they'd sold their own morals to get there. At least that's how things worked in Morathen.

An owl hooted in a nearby tree, then flapped away with swift wings.

"Screw this," Nyu hissed into the silence, then grabbed her knees and pulled herself up.

With a sour taste in her mouth, she stared at the orange robes next to her, then sighed and bent down to grab them. Leaving her confinement was a stupid idea in any case, so the least she could do was try to blend in, even though she didn't expect to run into much traffic at this unsavory time of day. Most likely, not even the kitchen staff was up yet.

She inspected herself in a milky oval mirror that stood by the door, framed by woven wood covered in flaking gold leaf — the irony was not lost on her that she, too, was pretending to be something she wasn't. Not gold, but a Fateweaver. Her orange hair matched the robes surprisingly well, and Nyu didn't know how to feel about that coincidence. Luckily, her tarnished skin stood in stark contrast to the smooth fabric that ran down her features — features that were now a lot less pronounced.

"So prudent," she thought, and rolled her eyes.

Nyu scurried down the curved staircase and tossed her hood over her head before she unlocked the bulky front door. Cool night air brushed against her face like a whip, and the smell of burned wood filled her nostrils. She wondered how much of that was still a remnant of what had conspired in Cylion. At least she couldn't see the smoke anymore, but maybe it was just hidden by the darkness of a starless night.

She quickly crossed the courtyard and entered the Great Library through one of the smaller side portals. As she'd expected, the hallways were all but deserted, except for the occasional stray cat or fleet mouse. Silent as a shadow, she passed the empty dining hall and the large entry lobby with the many odd paintings, then made her way to the east wing, following the path Elara and Kaelen had taken on their tour the other day. Her memory served her well, especially now that she'd seen the place in the light of day.

After a few minutes of scurrying through oppressive darkness, she reached the first archive Kaelen and Elara had shown her, right past a large intersection of multiple wide hallways. Its heavy oaken portal doors were closed, just like the matching doors that lined the dimly lit corridor, but this one had a sign posted up in front that read in curly letters: "Do not enter."

Scanning the corridor with her watchful eyes, she shoved the sign aside and pulled at the door handle. Naturally, it was locked. Only mildly annoyed, Nyu reached for her pockets and … cursed when she realized she was wearing the impractical robes of a Fateweaver, and all her lock picks were still in the many compartments of her leather jacket that she'd left in Zerath's storage tower. Only a pair of daggers was hidden beneath the fabric, but they wouldn't help her much here, unless …

Nyu pulled out one of the skinny knives and held it up to the slit between door and frame. Given its age, the old wood had warped over time and left a crack just big enough to expose the iron bolt that held the door in place — and for her blade to barely ease in between the planks. A gentle but firm swiping motion was met with initial resistance, but then rewarded with a clicking noise as the portal swung open, exposing a dark archive with tall windows that cast soft moonlight onto massive bookshelves.

Nyu didn't care for the fate tomes, or whatever records or books were kept here. She wanted to see the place where it happened — the place where Oryn had been murdered. She didn't exactly know why, but a part of her felt like there were answers to be found in this starry night.

Leaving the door ajar behind her, Nyu slowly walked up and down the many aisles in search of signs of a struggle, a fight, or anything that could mark the scene of the crime. And sure enough, after a few minutes of wandering past leaning shelves that seemed to watch her every step, she stopped in front of a large, dark spot on the floor. Bending down, despite the impracticality of her new outfit, she touched the cold stone with two fingers and held them up to her nose. A quick sniff told her she was looking at dried blood — a lot of it. Unless someone had fallen off a ladder trying to reach some of the books in the topmost shelves, this was likely the exact spot where Oryn had been assassinated.

Nyu stood back up and studied the surroundings. The tomes and scrolls around her were neatly organized, and any remains of Oryn were long gone. Someone had tried to scrub the blood off the stones, and she could see the scratch marks the viscous brushing had left, but the dark stain was still very prominent. There were no signs of a struggle, at least none that had survived the clean-up efforts, and no further leads or traces of how Oryn's death had come to pass. Worse yet: everything looked entirely mundane, like a completely normal murder. Nothing compared to the bloodbath Beon saw the night King Montis got assassinated.

Nyu scowled. She knew coming here had been a long shot, but she'd still hoped to find something. Staring at the blood stain on the floor, she felt foolish and was once more reminded of how she had screwed things up with Elara.

"Stupid," she whispered into the darkness, and clenched her fists in the spacious sleeves of her robes.

She was about to head back to the entrance when she heard soft movement a few steps behind her. She whirled around, eyes peeled, but didn't see anything other than inanimate shelves to both sides. But then, without warning, a harsh light split the darkness and shot jolts of pain through her head. Trying to shield her face with her arms, she took a step backwards, then reached into her robes to produce the dagger she'd used to open the door.

Squinting into the glaring light, she hissed: "Who's there?"

No one answered.

"I heard killing Fateweavers is in season," Nyu rasped, "so show yourself before I see for myself what all the hype is about."

A sharp, cackling laughter followed.

"I hope your skills with a knife are better than your acting," a greasy voice sneered. "One wonders why you even bothered to put on these robes in the first place."

With that, the lamp got lowered to the ground, and Nyu's throbbing eyes could make out the silhouette of a tall, hooded man. When he stepped closer, she could see his bony nose and blue eyes, which gazed at her with malicious curiosity.

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"Back to the scene of your crime so soon?" the man asked and stepped closer.

He was covered in a silky green robe the color of fresh grass, and his skin was pale even in the warm light of the oil lamp he brought.

"Who are you?" Nyu barked, tightly gripping her concealed dagger.

"Me?" the man quipped, "Oh, I'm just a scholar."

"A scholar who wanders around in the dead of night?"

The man smirked, but didn't respond.

"You got a name?" Nyu probed while assessing if the man posed a threat.

He was a lot older than her, and had a noticeable hunch — he wouldn't be much of a physical threat, but that didn't mean he wasn't dangerous.

The man examined her with his azure eyes, then raised the lamp to his skinny face, where it cast sharp shadows onto his unpleasant features.

"My name is Sylvaris," he said in a menacing voice.

"What's with the green robe?" Nyu asked warily. "What kind of Fateweaver are you supposed to be? Or do you guys just really like garish colors?"

Sylvaris chuckled, and it sounded like the death struggle of a small animal. "I am a Fateweaver, a Master even. But my … talents lie elsewhere."

Nyu frowned. "What talents would that be?"

He smiled a sinister smile. "Oh, I'm a man of science, you see? I observe, and I learn. I'm a student of life and death. I create things … and I know how to make them go away. Like I said: I'm a scholar."

"That doesn't sound ominous at all," Nyu muttered, more to herself.

"But enough of me," Sylvaris continued as if he hadn't heard her. "You are far more interesting. You are the Fateless the Dor siblings brought back, like a stray cat they found along the way."

"Careful now," Nyu hissed, "this cat's got claws."

Sylvaris grinned. "I bet you do. And from what I've heard, you used these claws quite effectively."

He gestured at the patch of dried blood in between them.

Nyu curled her lips.

"That wasn't me," she grumbled instinctively, then bit her lips when she realized that was exactly what they wanted people to believe.

"Maybe, maybe not," Sylvaris said casually and shrugged. "In any case, you take an interest in this matter. Which makes you interesting to me."

"How so?" Nyu asked slowly, further tightening the grip around her dagger, but still making no move to expose her weapon.

"Master Oryn's death was such a tragic incident," Sylvaris said with feigned sympathy. "Understanding how something so terrible could've happened in our very midst is of utmost importance to me. And to the Elder Thornec, of course."

"Right," Nyu sneered. "And that's why you snoop around in the middle of the night at the scene of the crime?"

"Just like yourself — isn't that ironic?"

They fell silent for a moment, eyeing each other in the dim light of the lamp in Sylvaris' hand.

"You seem oddly unfazed," Nyu said skeptically. "After all, I'm a declared murderer and enemy to your order."

Sylvaris scoffed, and his blue eyes took on a fierce glow.

"My brothers and sisters declare a lot of things — most of them are devoid of any wit or wisdom."

"You don't seem to think too highly of your brothers and sisters," Nyu quipped.

Sylvaris's face remained hard. "I know what it's like to be an outcast, to be the scapegoat for simple minds. The moment they fail to comprehend what is plain to see for the knowing eye, they abandon all their morals and principles in search of simple answers to their simple problems. And then, their slow gaze falls on people like us."

"I doubt you and I have anything in common," Nyu snarled.

Sylvaris cackled. "You'd be surprised."

Then, he turned around and gestured for her to follow.

"Come," he said without looking at her.

Nyu didn't move.

"Come where?" she asked incredulously.

"Come to where you may find your answers," Sylvaris said in a honeyed voice and started walking, his green robe gracefully gliding over the stone floor.

Against her better judgment, Nyu followed the ominous man, and he led her down a few flights of stairs until they eventually reached the undercroft of the Great Library, where low arches did their best to brace themselves against the oppressive weight of multiple stories above them. Without speaking a word, Sylvaris ushered her inside a dark room at the end of a long corridor with damp walls. Once inside, he briefly put down his brass lamp on a small stool by the door and let the eerie light creep up the surrounding walls and cabinets. In its green shine, Nyu could see rows of labeled jars filled with brown fluids, and fleshy structures that gently pressed against the milky glass. There were potions and vessels full of stacked bones, and delicate metal instruments that looked like they could torture a man to say whatever he knew and more.

"You sure you are a Fateweaver?" Nyu asked with a hint of disgust in her voice.

Sylvaris grinned and exposed a row of yellowed teeth. Then, he slowly locked the door behind them.

"Just in case," he said in an amused tone when he saw the silent warning in Nyu's eyes.

"In case of what?"

He let the keychain disappear in his deep pockets, and Nyu could see that his hands were covered in scars and burn marks.

"In case of unexpected guests."

"What does that make me?" Nyu asked despite herself.

Sylvaris didn't answer her question.

"This way," he said with a fiendish smile, and picked up the lamp to guide their steps.

Cluttered tables and stained counters emerged from the dark as they went deeper into the gloomy room. The ceiling above them was made from gray bricks, and wet moss had formed in its many cracks and crevices, dripping onto the cold stone floor in a steady rhythm.

"What is all this?" Nyu asked when they passed a set of blackened casks with yellow signs on them.

They looked like poisonous animals, lurking at the edge of the dark shadows that followed them around.

"My work," Sylvaris breathed into the silence, the outline of his tall figure bobbing along in front of her.

"Don't touch anything — we wouldn't want to kill half the order by mistake," he sneered, then chuckled maliciously.

Nyu already didn't like the man, and the musty hole he'd let her into did not help his case, nor did the barely veiled threats.

She was just about to reconsider her choices when Sylvaris suddenly stopped, and the dim light of the oil lamp fell onto a large wooden table. On it lay a corpulent body, stomach down, with its head twisted awkwardly to the side. Its skin was dark, but the color was starting to fade due to a lack of circulating blood, and only a stained piece of cloth was protecting its modesty.

"What the …" Nyu began, but then cut her curse short.

She looked at Sylvaris, and a poisoned smile tugged at his lips.

"Our dear brother is now in my care," he whispered with a sly voice. "So that I may learn his secrets. But you are my guest, so please indulge my hospitality. Go ahead."

He pointed at the body of Master Oryn, indicating that she was free to take a closer look.

When Nyu had left her confinement, she never thought she'd actually get to see the body of the victim, let alone study it. She wouldn't let this opportunity pass, but she'd keep a close eye on the green-robed Master at all times.

Stepping over to the dead body on the table, she let her gaze run up and down its features. She realized that she was more used to warm bodies, ones that had been freshly murdered, either by her own hands or by others. Seeing this corpse was different — even without touching it, she could tell it was cold as stone, and any traces of life had vanished into the thick air of Sylvaris undercroft hours ago.

Oryn's short black hair was stubbly and streaked with lone strands of gray hair, his neck a stack of bulging skin due to his awkward posture. His twisted elbows were covered in dark bruises, most likely from falling forward and desperately trying to brace himself against the impact. His exposed back presented four gaping wounds about an inch wide each, like slits in a burst sack of grain, meticulously cleaned to show the exact path the knife had taken. They were spread out over his upper body, with no apparent pattern to them, only with the goal to kill by any means necessary.

Nyu acknowledged that the way Oryn had been killed was savage, but not very professional. The cuts were lacking precision, finesse. Instead of one clean blow, the attacker had just kept stabbing without much thought or appreciation for the process. Judging by the depth of the incisions, they didn't even know how to properly hold a dagger. The cuts were all fairly superficial, so Nyu figured the cause of death had actually been blood loss and not internal hemorrhage.

She scowled.

Was this really Kaelen's doing? Compared to what Beon described in Cylion, this was an amateur's work. She still didn't know how Kaelen had turned into a killing machine the day Montis died, but this right here bore a different trademark. But then again, maybe he just didn't have control over what he did, or how he did it. Maybe he didn't have to be as efficient and vigilant as with King Montis, given how there were not even any guards around.

"I see in your eyes that you found more questions than answers," Sylvaris mused next to her, as she circled the table for a third time.

"Not a very clean murder, as I'm sure you've also come to realize," he continued with a casual tone. "Not exactly what one would expect from a ruthless Fateless with a history of murder and stealth."

Nyu stopped walking but remained quiet. She had no interest in sharing her thoughts with the creepy man in green.

Sylvaris chuckled.

"You don't have to confirm my suspicion. The fact that you are here speaks louder than a thousand words. You didn't kill Oryn."

Nyu glared at his hood-covered face, her teeth clenched.

"If you don't shut up, you will be the next body on this table."

He grimaced and cocked his head, letting the light of the lamp make his yellow teeth glow.

"Save your threats for those who need them," he said casually and without fear. "I won't tell anyone. Not yet, anyway. Not until I know who the real murderer is."

His eyes met hers, and they stared at each other for a long moment. Nyu could tell he was waiting for her to say or do something that would give away whether she knew who the killer was, and so she kept her face emotionless except for a healthy display of contempt.

"I should head back," she said and meant it.

Soon, the library would come to life, and it would be too dangerous to roam the halls and hallways.

Sylvaris chuckled. "I'm happy you're staying with us for a little longer. Might I ask where?"

Nyu bit her lip, cursing herself for spilling yet another secret.

Ignoring his question, she extended her open palm.

"Give me that key."

Sylvaris could have resisted, but he didn't. As much as Nyu disliked the man in front of her, he was no fool. Even if he knew she didn't kill Oryn, he was perfectly aware that she easily could have. And so he saved both of them valuable time and did as she asked, his scorched fingers almost touching hers.

Nyu shuddered, then hastily grabbed the oil lamp and walked back to the door, letting Sylvaris and Oryn's dead body be consumed by darkness.

"It was a pleasure," Sylvaris sneered behind her, with a sardonic voice that left her wanting to take a bath.

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