They walked in silence.

  Kurai led the way, his footsteps sure and steady as the tunnels narrowed and twisted deeper into the roots of the undercity. The glow of the upper markets faded behind them, replaced by the soft shimmer of crystals embedded in the walls. The air grew cooler. Older.

  She followed a few paces behind, trying to keep up—not just physically, but mentally. Everything here felt ancient. Alive in a quiet, watchful way. Like the stone and moss remembered more than they let on.

  She was torn. Though all of this amazed her—it was beautiful, nothing like anything she had ever seen before—all she could think of was home. Brick, concrete, cars and streets. Her family waiting for her. Well... maybe just Charlie. The others probably hadn't even noticed she was gone.

  She shook her head, trying to banish the thoughts. "Just worry about the next step, Astrid," she muttered. "One step at a time."

  Kurai didn't speak, didn't look back. His shoulders were tight, like he was walking toward something he didn't want to face but couldn't avoid. Astrid thought about asking him something—anything—but stopped. He wasn't just quiet. He was somewhere else. Somewhere far away.

  Eventually, the tunnel opened into a small grove of stone and light, tucked away at the heart of the roots. The air was different here—thick and still, like it hadn't been breathed in centuries. The pulse of the city's magic faded. This place wasn't alive like the rest of the undercity. It felt like it had been sleeping for a very long time.

  A dwelling was carved directly into the tree's base—round and crooked, like it had grown out of the earth rather than been built. Glowing vines clung to the outer bark, and faint golden runes were etched above the door.

  An elf stood outside, his posture alert, hand resting near the hilt of a sheathed blade. His eyes narrowed as Kurai approached.

  "Long time, Kurai. You're not here to cause trouble?" the guard asked.

  "Just cashing in on that favour," Kurai replied coolly. "He owes me."

  The elf didn't move at first. Then, with a reluctant grunt, he stepped aside and rapped twice on the door with the end of his staff.

  "One time only."

  "One time only," Kurai echoed. "He knew I'd come back eventually."

  The elder's home was carved deep into the roots of the undercity—older than the caverns, older even than the tree above. The door creaked as it opened, revealing a space lit with floating candles and silver-threaded lanterns. Dust hung in the air, undisturbed. Books lined every surface. Shelves curved into the walls like they'd grown there.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  And in the middle of it all stood the elf.

  He was small—barely taller than her shoulder—and ancient in every line of his face. His robes, though faded, were finely woven with patterns older than most cities. His eyes, however, held a sharp, steady warmth.

  "So," he said, voice like parchment, dry and wise. "You've returned, Kurai. You know you shouldn't be here."

  Kurai offered a stiff bow. "I need that favour."

  The elf sighed and motioned them in. "Of course you do."

  She stepped carefully into the room, eyes wide. It felt like walking into a museum that had somehow been forgotten by time—and she was the clumsy tourist who didn't belong.

  The elder glanced at her. "I see you brought a human."

  "A human?" Kurai asked, like he had never heard that word before.

  "Yes, a human—from the other world. Immune to magic," the elder explained. "I'm sure the Council is already aware of her presence. Not much gets past that lot."

  Kurai didn't reply. But looked confused.

  The elf's gaze narrowed slightly, but his voice remained calm. "You know how dangerous this is. The Council watches everything above. And they're after you, this isn't a good situation my boy."

  "She didn't choose to come," Kurai muttered. "Neither did I."

  "And yet," the elder said, gesturing to the girl, "here you are. Just like they said, pleasure to meet you my dear, Myrren Taelas and you are."

  She blinked, ignoring his question. "They?"

  The elf tilted his head. "The old ones. The dragons. Before the Veil. Before the silence."

  She stared at him, uncomprehending. "Dragons? Like Game of Thrones?"

  Kurai rolled his eyes.

  Myrren smiled gently, then gestured toward a door at the far end. "Come. If you're to understand what you are—and what you're not—you'll need to see this."

  He led them into a chamber beyond the main study. It was larger than she expected—almost a hall, with domed ceilings and walls etched in delicate runes. Dozens of artifacts sat in glass cases. Faded banners. Broken hilts. Preserved scrolls.

  Kurai stopped just inside the threshold, arms crossed.

  Myrren paused in front of a great circular mural carved into the wall. It showed two worlds, overlapping—one of magic, spirals and stars; the other of machines, towers and circuits. Between them, a tear. A dragon, its wings outstretched, lay across both halves. Beneath it, a figure with no face held a flame in one hand and a broken chain in the other.

  "This is what they destroyed," he said softly. "Not just the records, not just the names. The truth."

  She stepped closer, the hair on her arms rising. "What... what is it?"

  "The prophecy," the Myrren replied. "Or what's left of it. A human immune to magic. And one born of flame and shadow. Together, they break the Veil—and either save the world... or end it."

  Kurai shifted, his jaw tightening. "You're talking about her."

  Myrren's gaze flicked to him. "Am I?"

  Astrid glanced at Kurai. His face was blank—but too blank. Like he'd bricked something up behind his eyes.

  She stared at the mural, her throat dry. "That's not me. That can't be me."

  "No?" Myrren asked, turning to her. "Then how is it that you ended up here? Not a mere coincidence, my dear."

  She had no answer.

  He stepped to Kurai next. "And you. You're apart of this too, you must help her"

  Kurai looked away. "I'm not part of this nonsense."

  Myrren tilted his head, studying him. "You've felt it, haven't you? The thing inside you you pretend isn't there, a pull?"

  "So what? I'm just here to make sure she stays alive," Kurai questioned.

  Myrren nodded solemnly. "That's correct."

  Kurai's expression flickered. He didn't answer.

  The silence stretched, heavy as stone.

  Finally, Myrren said, "You may stay the night. We will see if we can cast some protection runes to hide you for a while longer. You both have truths to face. And you can't do that on the run. After that—well, I can only shelter ghosts for so long. The Council already feels your presence."

  He looked to the girl, his voice softer now. "You didn't ask for this. I know. But sometimes the world doesn't need permission—it needs a spark. Even if that spark doesn't know it's burning yet. Your sister will be fine."

  She looked at him, shocked. "Charlie...? How do you—?"

  "All in good time, my dear." He turned to Kurai. "Look after her. She's your responsibility now."

  Astrid blinked. Wait—what? She glanced at Kurai. He's my... what? Babysitter? Magical parole officer? She didn't get it. And she didn't like the way Myrren said it. Like it meant something more.

  Kurai's eyes dropped to the floor. His jaw clenched.

  And Myrren turned, robes whispering across the floor as he disappeared into the dark.

  They were left standing in the quiet chamber, surrounded by the echoes of the past.