The next morning, the library was not the same.
Aaron stepped inside, expecting stillness and scrolls. Instead, he was met by movement—books floating midair, ink dripping from open tomes, and the faint whisper of pages flipping themselves.
Frankfurt stood at the far end beneath a massive stained-glass window, arms crossed, waiting.
Ashen trailed beside Aaron, wide-eyed.
"You said we'd train," Aaron said. "In here?"
Frankfurt gave a slight nod. "This room isn't a library. It's a living archive of Skyborn memory. It listens, and it responds. But it only opens itself to blood of the flame."
He gestured with one hand.
The floor between them shifted.
A staircase, spiral and glowing, descended into the depths of the estate—beneath stone and silence.
---
📘 The Training Chamber
The chamber below the library was unlike anything Aaron had seen. Glyphs pulsed in the walls. Pools of silver light shimmered along the floor. Illusions moved in the air—echoes of battle, flame, death.
Frankfurt turned to them. "There are three parts to your training: Control, Memory, and Resistance."
He pointed at Aaron. "You'll begin with flame control."
He pointed at Ashen. "You… with memory extraction."
Ashen tilted his head. "From what?"
Frankfurt smirked faintly. "From me."
---
🔥 Aaron's Lesson: Control Through Pain
Aaron was placed in a circular rune, with fire crackling faintly beneath his feet.
"Summon your flame," Frankfurt said. "Then hold it."
Aaron raised his hand. Fire erupted easily now—blue, alive, warm.
But Frankfurt stepped forward, threw a dagger—aimed at Aaron's thigh.
Aaron flinched, flame faltering, the blade grazing skin.
"You lose control when you fear," Frankfurt said coldly. "Again."
Over and over.
Pain. Focus. Summon. Bleed. Focus.
By the fifth attempt, the flame didn't flicker—even when the knife pierced his side.
---
🧠 Ashen's Lesson: Memory Extraction
Ashen stood before Frankfurt, his eyes glowing faintly as he touched the older man's forehead with two fingers.
For a moment, nothing.
Then: visions.
A younger Frankfurt, kneeling in a ritual circle.
Standing over the corpse of a Skyborn woman with sky-blue eyes—his own sister.
Dropping a ring into her flaming grave.
Watching the birth of a child in secret—a child with hair the color of ocean stone.
Ashen gasped and broke contact.
"Who was she?" he asked.
Frankfurt's voice was flat. "My sister. Your mother, Aaron."
Aaron's blood went ice-cold. "You… knew?"
Frankfurt met his eyes. "I saved you. She disobeyed the Pact. The Thorn ordered her death. I burned her body so they'd never find your blood."
---
🩸 Meanwhile: The Thorn Unmasked
Far from the estate, in a ruined cathedral deep in the cliffs of Hollowmere, the Pale Thorn gathered.
A new figure stepped from the shadows—tall, armored in black vines, his mask shaped like a serpent's skull. His voice echoed like roots snapping in frost.
"I am Sevrin, Speaker of the Pale Thorn."
The gathered bowed.
"They've awakened two. One pure. One… fractured."
He raised a crimson scroll etched in blood.
> "The child survives. The sister failed. The fire lives."
He turned toward the altar, where a chained Lineborn child—no older than Ashen—trembled beneath a glowing sigil.
"We cannot kill them yet," Sevrin hissed. "But we can… unmake them."
---
Back in the estate, Aaron sat on the stone floor, blood on his sleeve, Ashen beside him, silent.
Frankfurt stepped forward, eyes unreadable.
"You now know the truth. Your mother was one of us. One of them. And I disobeyed the Thorn to save you."
Aaron's fists clenched. "Then we fight them."
Frankfurt nodded.
"Good. Because they've just declared war."