Aurora couldn't stop hearing the name.
Aestrael.
It pulsed behind her eyes like a phantom heartbeat. She had never spoken it aloud. She hadn't even known it existed. But since seeing it flare across the mirror in her room — written in fire, etched into her memory — it haunted her.
She saw it in cracks between tiles, imagined it spelled in the curls of her steam when she poured tea, and whispered in wind patterns through the ancient halls of Aetherwyn.
No one else said it.
Which told her it mattered
That morning's lesson was in the Archive Atrium — a massive, dome-shaped hall filled with glass display cases and floating scrolls. The air shimmered faintly with spell-dust, and memory runes glowed faintly along the arches overhead. Most students walked with practiced reverence, heads high, hands off.
Aurora tried to keep her steps quiet, but her presence still made people turn. A few students stared openly. One girl whispered something and pointed to her collar — or rather, the absence of one.
Unmarked.
She had started wearing her school uniform with the fasteners undone at the neck, just to hide the empty space. It didn't help.
Atlas stood at the front of the room, speaking with the instructor. His hair was tied back today, neat and severe, his coat perfectly pressed. He caught Aurora's gaze once, then looked away. She hated how it stung.
"Each bloodline has a root," the instructor, Professor Nairis, said as she paced the center of the room. "A foundational magic passed from the first channelers of Veil energy. This is why sigils matter — they mark not only who you are, but what you carry."
She waved her hand and a massive family tree projected into the air — glowing lines connecting hundreds of names.
The projection shimmered, rearranged itself.
"Those marked 'Extinct' have been purged from the Codex. Most due to natural ends. Some… for other reasons."
Aurora raised her hand before she could stop herself. "Other reasons?"
The professor glanced at her, then nodded warily.
"There are lineages that were removed by order of the Council. Forbidden to be recorded, spoken, or studied. For the safety of all Veilborn."
Aurora's fingers curled against her thigh.
"What were they called?" she asked.
Nairis hesitated.
Then, as if by accident, she said the word.
"Aestrael."
A dozen heads turned.
The instructor stiffened immediately. "You are not to research that name. It does not exist in sanctioned texts. If you find it written — erase it. If you hear it spoken — forget it."
Aurora felt her pulse hammering in her throat.
"What did they do?" she asked.
Nairis stared at her.
"They opened the Veil."
Later, when the class dispersed and the other students drifted toward the lower levels, Aurora hung back.
She had learned by now that no one here gave answers freely — and if the name Aestrael had been spoken, even by accident, she needed more.
She slipped into a narrow corridor behind the Archive Atrium, where the older tomes were sealed behind spelled glass and physical locks. The halls grew colder here — not in temperature, but in mood. The lamps were dimmer. The silence heavier.
In the last alcove, behind a runewood gate, she found a glass case holding an artifact labeled only:
Lineage Record: Obscured Entry (Council-Sealed)
Inside, a scroll burned faintly beneath its protective charm. As she moved closer, the words faded — blurred like ink dissolving in water.
But for a moment, she saw it again:
Aestrael.
And beneath it—
Auror—
The magic flared. The glass cracked.
She stepped back quickly.
Then turned — and found herself face-to-face with Atlas.
"I thought I'd find you here," he said.
She tensed. "Are you following me?"
"No," he said calmly. "I'm watching you. There's a difference."
"Not really," she snapped.
He moved past her, stepping into the space between her and the cracked case.
"You shouldn't say that name aloud," he said.
"So I've heard."
He glanced at the broken glass, then at her.
"You shouldn't be able to see it."
Aurora crossed her arms. "Well, I do. And I want to know why."
His jaw flexed, but he didn't speak.
She stepped forward. "What do you know, Atlas?
He looked at her for a long moment. Then, voice quiet, he said:
"The Aestrael line was purged over two hundred years ago. Not just erased — sealed. Their name was bound by Veil Law. It should be impossible to remember them."
"But I can," she whispered.
"Yes," he said. "And that terrifies me."
That night, she stood at her mirror again.
The glass pulsed with heat — like it recognized her.
She drew a symbol with her fingertip.
A spiral.
It glowed. Faintly. Flickering.
And then a voice came from the glass — soft, female, like her own but older.
"You are the echo of a name that burned too bright."
Aurora's breath hitched.
The reflection shifted — and behind her own face, another figure appeared: robed in gray flame, eyes filled with stars.
A whisper followed:
"The seal is thinning."