The moment the man's body went limp, Revan and Cassie exchanged a quick glance—no time to mourn, no time to hesitate.
"We need to get out of here before whoever brought him finds us," she whispered urgently.
Revan rubbed his sore wrists, still feeling the sting but nodding. "Agreed. This place reeks of trouble."
They slipped into the shadows, moving silently through the narrow corridors of the abandoned chapel.
Outside, the night air was cool and sharp, a relief after the stale darkness inside.
Cassie scanned the quiet streets, eyes sharp. "We can't go back to the Golden Pig yet—not until we know what we're dealing with."
Revan pulled the stolen pouch from his pocket, the faint clink of coins a small comfort.
"We need allies. Someone who understands magic beyond what we've seen."
Cassie's brow furrowed. "He mentioned ancient forces… maybe there's someone in the old library. They say the librarian knows things no one else does."
Revan nodded. "Then that's our next stop."
As they melted into the night, shadows stretched long around them, whispering of dangers yet to come.
But Revan and Cassie walked forward—two lost souls bound by fate and fire, ready to face whatever darkness awaited.
The old library sat at the edge of the city, half-forgotten and swallowed by ivy and mist. Locals called it Cindral Hollow, though few dared visit. It wasn't just the ruinous architecture that kept people away—it was the silence.
Not quiet. Silence.
As Revan and Cassie approached, the city's noise faded behind them—no voices, no wind, not even the sound of their own footsteps on the moss-covered stone.
Cassie swallowed hard. "This place feels... wrong."
Revan nodded. "Which probably means it's exactly the right place."
They pushed open the massive oak doors.
Inside, the smell of dust and old parchment filled their lungs. Shelves stretched to the high, vaulted ceiling—curved like ribs around a hollow heart.
And at the center of it, seated behind a carved obsidian desk, was a figure draped in deep gray robes.
He didn't look up.
"Revan The old library sat at the edge of the city, half-forgotten and swallowed by ivy and mist. Locals called it Cindral Hollow, though few dared visit. It wasn't just the ruinous architecture that kept people away—it was the silence.
Not quiet. Silence.
As Revan and Cassie approached, the city's noise faded behind them—no voices, no wind, not even the sound of their own footsteps on the moss-covered stone.
Cassie swallowed hard. "This place feels... wrong."
Revan nodded. "Which probably means it's exactly the right place."
They pushed open the massive oak doors.
Inside, the smell of dust and old parchment filled their lungs. Shelves stretched to the high, vaulted ceiling—curved like ribs around a hollow heart.
And at the center of it, seated behind a carved obsidian desk, was a figure draped in deep gray robes.
He didn't look up.
"Revan Sorna," the figure said quietly. "And Cassie Orlen."
Cassie froze. "How do you—"
"You come seeking answers," the man continued, rising slowly. His face was pale, lined, and unreadable. His eyes, a glowing silver-white. "But answers demand sacrifice."
Revan stepped forward, cautious. "We need to know about the shadows. The book. The magic."
The man's gaze flicked toward a tall black tome chained to the wall behind him.
"You seek knowledge not meant for the living."
Revan didn't move.
Cassie held her frost crystal high, ready to release a spell, but something in the librarian's eyes stopped her cold.
"Run?" Revan said, voice low. "No."
The librarian's glowing gaze narrowed. "You'd rather die here, in darkness you can't comprehend?"
Revan's voice was steady. "I'd rather understand it. Even if it kills me."
Cassie shot him a look—half disbelief, half worry. "Revan—"
He raised a hand. "No. If anyone takes the mark, it's me."
"You've already been carrying that magic ," Cassie argued. "It's eating at you—"
"Then better me than you," he snapped, softer than it sounded. "This is my burden."
The librarian tilted his head. "So be it. Kneel."
Revan stepped forward and dropped to one knee. As he did, a tendril of shadow slithered from the librarian's hand—thick and slow, like smoke underwater—and wrapped itself around Revan's wrist.
The sensation was cold, but familiar, like slipping into old nightmares. The mark burned as it etched itself into his skin, spiraling inward like a brand carved by darkness itself.
He didn't cry out.
When it was done, he stood—face pale, eyes sharp.
Cassie stepped toward him, concern etched in her features. "Revan?"
"I'm fine," he lied.
But he wasn't. He could feel it already—the whisper in his mind. The hunger.
The librarian nodded solemnly. "You'll dream of things that were buried for a reason. Things that will try to own you. Do not let them."
Then he turned to the chained black tome on the wall. With a gesture, the chains crumbled to dust.
"Now," he said, "ask your questions. But be ready. Some truths cannot be unlearned."
Revan approached the tome, drawn like a moth to fire. As his fingers touched the cover, it opened on its own—pages flipping rapidly until they stopped on a single image:
A twisted gate made of bone and shadow.
Cassie stepped beside him. "What is it?"
Revan's voice was tight. "A lock. But not one you open with a key."
The mark on his wrist pulsed. The whisper grew louder.
"It opens with blood… and memory."
The librarian spoke again, his voice low. "The Shadow Gate is real. And someone—or something—is trying to open it from the other side."
Cassie stared at the page. "What happens if they succeed?"
The librarian's gaze dimmed. "The world forgets the sun."