The deeper sections of the castle library felt untouched by time, as though even decay had chosen to avoid them.
Elira followed Maelor through narrow aisles lined with towering shelves, each filled with records that carried the weight of forgotten centuries. Dust did not gather here in the usual sense; instead, the air itself felt dense with memory.
"You seek answers," Maelor said, his voice echoing softly. "But answers rarely exist without consequence."
Elira ran her fingers along the spine of a sealed manuscript. "Everything in this place feels like a warning."
"That is because it is."
He stopped before a locked case. Inside rested a collection of scrolls bound in dark thread, each marked with symbols Elira recognised from the burned village.
"Containment," she said quietly.
Maelor inclined his head. "Yes. But not merely of power. Of fate."
Elira's gaze sharpened. "You speak in riddles."
"Because plain truth would be far more dangerous."
A faint pulse stirred within her chest—the bond reacting again. Somewhere above them, Kael moved, and the connection between them shifted like a tightening thread.
Elira exhaled slowly. "Then stop avoiding it. What am I to him?"
Maelor looked at her for a long moment.
"Not what you think," he said at last. "And far more than you should be."