Midday bells tolled across Karadesh as Amriel strode through the Lyceum's ancient corridors, one hand trailing along the cool stone walls—a grounding habit from her first bewildering weeks at the academy. The worn marble beneath her boots had been polished by generations of schors' footsteps, each seeking knowledge, power, or simply a way to survive the brutal end-of-term examinations.

  "—and then Ava looked Simon dead in the eye and said, 'But Daddy, you said that word when you dropped your hammer!'" Niamh's animated voice bounced off the vaulted ceilings, her dark red hair catching fire in the sunlight that streamed through arched windows. She paused mid-gesture, green eyes narrowing. "Riel? Hello? Are you even listening to me?"

  Amriel blinked, forcing herself away from the abyss of her thoughts. "Sorry," she muttered, tucking a strand of raven hair behind her ear. "I'm just..." Terrified. Confused. Possibly losing my mind. "...distracted."

  The tome's revetion still burned in her mind like a brand. Five thousand years of silence until this morning, when its strange symbols had suddenly resolved themselves before her eyes.

  When the st of the Starlight Witches falls, the Door to Eternity shall open.

  "Distracted doesn't begin to cover it," Niamh said, bumping Amriel's shoulder with her own. "You've been walking around like you've seen a ghost." Her freckled face broke into a teasing grin. "Is this about Niko? Don't worry, men always forget embarrassing moments in the presence of a pretty face. Even if you do drool."

  Amriel nearly ughed at the absurdity. Here she was, possibly holding the key to some ancient catastrophe, and Niamh thought she was worried about a boy.

  "Trust me," she said dryly, "drooling in front of Niko falls pretty low on my list of concerns right now."

  They emerged into the sun-drenched courtyard, the transition from cool stone to soft grass a welcome relief. The Arboretum spread before them in cultivated wildness—a living monument to what had nearly been lost a century ago when an invasive beetle had decimated the native Galious forests.

  In the western corner, beneath the spreading branches of one of the rare blue-leafed Galious trees, their friends had gathered at their usual table.

  "I swear by all the gods," Kaleth was saying, green eyes gleaming with mischief, "the whole fsk turned this brilliant purple and started whistling like a kettle! Master Michel dove under his desk so fast his spectacles went flying!"

  Kaleth's freckled face was alive with delight, somehow managing to look both disheveled and alluring simultaneously—a quality that had charmed nearly every woman in their year. Nearly every woman except Mara, who sat across from him, perfect posture and not a single blonde hair out of pce.

  "And this," Mara said, her rich voice carrying the faint lilt of her southern homend, "is precisely why alchemical elements should be added in precise order, according to established procedure. Not whenever some random inspiration strikes your fancy." She set her teacup down with barely a sound, a subtle smile pying at the corners of her full lips, belying her stern words.

  "Where's the discovery in that?" Kaleth pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. "The great alchemists didn't make breakthroughs by following some dusty tome's instructions!" His expression brightened as he spotted Amriel and Niamh. "Riel! Niamh! Please tell our frustratingly rule-bound Mara that true innovation requires creative disregard for procedure."

  "Don't drag me into this," Niamh ughed, sliding onto the bench between Kaleth and Simon. "Last time I took your side in an 'innovative' experiment, my eyebrows took three weeks to grow back. Three weeks, Kal!"

  Amriel settled beside Mara, the familiar banter washing over her like a balm. For a moment, she could almost pretend this was just another day—that her world hadn't shifted irrevocably that morning.

  "At least you're consistent, Kal," Simon said, his deep voice rumbling from his broad chest. The bcksmith's apprentice looked comically out of pce among the schors in his rust-colored forge tunic, massive forearms resting on the table like tree trunks. "Consistently dangerous, but consistent."

  "I think you meant dangerously handsome," Kaleth corrected, running a hand through his copper hair in a gesture that somehow left it looking artfully tousled. "Consistently. And the dies love it."

  A collective groan rippled through the friends. Mara's elegant eyebrow arched as she took another measured sip of tea.

  Simon's demeanor transformed instantly as Niamh settled beside him. The stoic craftsman softened, dark eyes warming as they settled on his wife. "Hello, love," he murmured, wrapping a muscled arm around her waist and drawing her close.

  "You two are nauseating," Kaleth decred with a theatrical sigh, though his grin betrayed him. "Some of us are trying to eat here."

  "You're just jealous," Niamh retorted, leaning into Simon's embrace.

  “Yes,” Kaleth mused, “I too yearn to be held by a rge man.”

  Simon's gaze drifted to Amriel, his brow furrowing as he took in her pallor. "You okay, Riel?" he asked quietly. A lifetime of friendship had taught him to read her face better than most.

  "I'm fine," Amriel lied, her voice rough even to her own ears.

  "Really?" Kaleth leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Because you look like you just saw the ghost of Finals Future."

  "I'm just... tired," Amriel said, fingers picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. She couldn't tell them. Not yet. Not until she understood what it meant herself.

  "Leave her be," Niamh interjected, her tone protective. "We all cope with exam stress differently. Some of us," she cast a pointed look at Kaleth, "blow up boratories. Others prefer quiet brooding."

  "I don't brood," Amriel protested with a fsh of her usual fire.

  "You absolutely do," Mara said quietly, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. "It's your default state. Like breathing, only more dramatic."

  Kaleth grinned, satisfied to have broken through her reserve. "So, Riel," he said, leaning forward with a mischievous air, "you're our resident herbology expert. Tell me—do you know of any potion that can make someone lose half their hair? Asking for a friend, obviously."

  "For a friend? Or for revenge on poor Caleb?" Mara asked, clearly unimpressed. "No one here is going to help you harm someone because Dierdra noticed him instead of you."

  Kaleth had a perpetual habit of wanting what he couldn’t have. Which was almost as bad as no longer wanting it when it was finally his.

  "Harm?" Kaleth gasped dramatically. "I'm wounded! How do you know it's not for myself? Maybe I've grown tired of these stunning locks." He gave his hair a theatrical shake. "Besides, it wouldn't be permanent harm."

  Mara actually snorted—a sound so rare that Amriel gnced up in surprise. "It's not Caleb's fault that Dierdra has taken a liking to him," she said.

  "Anyway," Simon cut in, his deep voice pulling them back to more practical matters, "My mother is keeping the twins tonight, so Niamh and I are pnning a study session after css. You're all welcome to join."

  "Not a bad idea with finals approaching," Mara agreed, pulling her blonde braid over one shoulder. "I'm in."

  "Me too," Kaleth chimed in. "Couldn't hurt to brush up."

  Amriel forced herself to stay present, offering a faint smile. "Thanks, but I can't. I need to restock my herb supplies."

  The lie tasted bitter on her tongue. She rarely kept secrets from these people.

  Niamh arched a brow, skepticism written across her face. "Really? Herb collecting? Right before finals?"

  Just then, the deep chime of the bell echoed through the city, signaling the end of the meal period.

  "Saved by the bell," Kaleth ughed, gathering his scattered papers. "Literally."

  The te afternoon sun hung low over the western tower when Amriel emerged from her Advanced Botanical Theory css, her mind still spinning with the morning's discovery rather than Professor Telmah's lecture on adaptive root systems.

  Footsteps quickened behind her—the distinctive rhythm of Niamh's determined stride. Amriel slowed, knowing avoidance was futile.

  "So," Niamh began, falling into step beside her. "Herb collecting? Or is that code for one of your brooding walks into the wilderness? You've been haunted all day."

  "Little bit of both," Amriel admitted, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "Just need some space to think."

  Niamh shot her a skeptical look, but her voice softened. "But seriously, Riel, you've been weird today—even for you. And I know weird. I'm married to a man who talks to metal."

  Tell her, a voice urged inside. If anyone would understand, it's Niamh.

  But what if understanding led to danger?

  Niamh stopped walking, pnting herself squarely in Amriel's path, arms crossed. The shadows of approaching evening deepened the consteltion of freckles across her nose, her eyes hard with determination.

  "Riel," she said quietly, "don't give me the 'I'm fine' routine. I've known you too long for that crap."

  "Just... a lot on my mind," Amriel murmured, gaze fixed on the worn paving stones. "I think some quiet time in the Vhengal will help clear my head."

  The mere mention of the ancient forest sent a wave of longing through her—the cathedral-like silence beneath towering sentinels, dappled light painting patterns on the soft forest floor. The Vhengal had been her refuge since childhood, a pce where the constant internal chatter of her thoughts quieted.

  Niamh's expression softened. "If wandering around in the woods talking to trees helps, fine." She reached out, her fingers squeezing Amriel's arm. "But remember—you're not alone in... whatever this is." Her green eyes searched Amriel's face. "You don't have to carry every burden by yourself, you know."

  The simple touch—warm, solid, present—cracked something in Amriel's facade. The knot that had been tightening in her chest all day loosened, just enough to breathe more easily.

  "What if—" Amriel began, then stopped. How could she even begin to expin? "What if I discovered something dangerous? Something I'm not sure I should know?"

  "Oh, Riel," Niamh's voice softened further. "Whatever it is, we'll figure it out together. That's what we do, isn't it? You get yourself into impossible situations with that curious mind of yours, and I drag you back from the edge before you fall in."

  "And when have you ever managed that?" Amriel asked, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips.

  "I'm still working on it," Niamh admitted with a grin that lit up her entire face. "But I'm nothing if not persistent." She linked her arm through Amriel's. "Go commune with your pnts if you must, but promise me something."

  "What?"

  "No life-altering decisions without consulting me first," Niamh said firmly. "I've invested too many years in this friendship to have you running off to battle ancient evils without backup."

  Amriel ughed—actually ughed—and the sound surprised even her.