The hidden alcove behind the east wing's tapestry was colder than Arin remembered. He and Lireya had returned at dusk, slipping past corridors emptied of students and staff. The fragment lay between them on a low stone table, its white-and-black veins pulsing slowly—like a heartbeat caught in marble.
Arin pressed a hand to the smooth crystals. The pulse quickened under his palm, and a soft hum filled the air. Lireya's lantern cast dancing shadows on the walls, etching their outlines into the ancient runes carved above the doorway.
"We need silence," Arin murmured, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. "And focus. The visions were… fragmented. We have to piece them together."
Lireya nodded, drawing out a narrow leather-bound journal. "I've copied what you saw—the battles, the Council's chambers, Drayven's silhouette—everything I could recall." She flipped to a blank page and pressed the journal flat on the table. "Let's start with the Council."
Arin settled on a low stool, leaning close to the fragment. He willed its pulse to slow, fingertips grazing the crystals until they felt cool and steady. He closed his eyes. The lantern's glow flickered through his lashes.
—A circular chamber of obsidian pillars. Ancient mages robed in white and gold. A single cracked pedestal in the center, the Fragment of Truth hovering above it like a suspended star.
He saw Drayven's face—stony, determined—as he stepped forward, hand outstretched. His voice echoed, hollow and distant: "With this, we bind the Dual-Core to our fate… but at what cost?"
Arin shivered and opened his eyes. "He offered the fragment willingly. There was… regret in his eyes, as though the power that once saved him had also betrayed someone he loved."
Lireya scribbled furiously. "Who?" she asked softly.
Arin shook his head. "I don't know. But the next vision—the battlefield—it was the Valley of Whispering Pines." He drew a trembling breath. "That's where my family's fortress fell. The one legend says was protected by twin elemental guardians."
"Your ancestors," Lireya whispered. "They'd sealed an ancient wyrm there, using earth and wind magic in tandem."
Arin's throat tightened. "And now I—the first Dual-Core since that war—hold the same fragment that might have doomed them."
A weight settled on both of them. Lireya closed her journal. "We need answers—and fast. The exam is in three days. Drayven's watching you, Arin. He's testing you."
Arin rose, pacing the narrow space. "If he's testing me, he'll expect results. I can't go into the trial blind." He paused by the wall runes, tracing the stylized spiral they'd seen in the indigo tome. "There might be clues in the Archives—records of the Council's decisions. Or… in Drayven's own chambers."
Lireya frowned. "Breaking into the Headmaster's study is… risky. But if anyone keeps a record of those events, it's him."
Arin shook his head. "He trusts me—enough to send me after the fragment. Maybe he intends to guide me, covertly." He met her gaze. "We confront him. We ask him about the ridge of Whispering Pines. About what happened to the guardians."
Lireya studied him. "And if he lies?"
He squared his shoulders. "Then we'll know he has another agenda. Either way, we'll learn more." He crouched to lift the fragment, cradling it protectively. It pulsed once, like a sigh of approval.
"I'll guard the sigil," Lireya said. "If we need to get back in here, I'll reset the wards." She tucked her journal and a quill into her robes. "Lead the way."
Arin tucked the fragment into the inner pocket of his robes—hidden against his chest—and slid out of the alcove. Lireya followed, carrying the lantern. The corridors were silent, save for the distant drip of water in the stone cisterns. Torches guttered in their sconces, throwing wavering light over banners of the Academy's crest.
At the end of the hall, two statues of winged lions flanked a heavy oak door: Drayven's private study. Arin halted. His pulse thundered in his ears.
"Remember," Lireya whispered. "If we're discovered—"
He raised a finger. "We're not getting discovered." He slid a hand inside his robes, calling a fingernail-sized breeze that coiled around the door's lock. The metal clicked, and the door swung inward on silent hinges.
Inside, the study was immaculate. Shelves of leather-bound volumes lined every wall; globes of celestial silver and earthen bronze spun on pedestals; a long desk of dark yew stood at the room's center, papers neatly stacked.
Arin approached the desk, lantern light kissing the polished wood. His gaze fell on a small mahogany box engraved with the same spiral motif. With a breath, he opened it—and found a single parchment inside.
He drew it out. The parchment was brittle, its ink faded:
"To the one who wields both wind and earth: the price of power is memory. Seek the Lament of the Second Wind in the Archives of Forgotten Truths."
Arin's heart clenched. "The Lament of the Second Wind… that's a codex said to record every Dual-Core's fate." He looked at Lireya. "If we find it, we'll know what happened to the guardians—and what Drayven regrets."
Lireya closed the door softly. "Then that's where we go next. But first, this exam—"
Arin folded the parchment, slipping it into his pocket. "I'll ace it. Better to show him I'm worthy. Then we dive into the Archives."
She smiled, a flicker of relief in her eyes. "Together."
He nodded. "Together." Outside the study, the Academy's night-watch resumed its patrol. Inside, Arin felt the fragment's pulse in his chest—a steady reminder that the secrets of the past were now in his hands, and that every choice he made would echo across the fate of the Dual-Core legacy.