Threshold

The bells tolled midnight.

Lucien slipped through the deserted corridors, boots soundless against the polished stone. Moonlight filtered through tall arched windows, pooling in silver patches that painted the academy in an otherworldly glow. Every step felt like trespassing, every shadow like a watching eye.

The letter’s words burned in his pocket.

If you seek Runerth, come to the old alchemy wing at midnight. Alone.

He kept his hand near his sleeve, where a small defensive charm glimmered faintly. It was no guarantee, but better than walking blind into the dark. His heart pounded harder with each turn. This could be a trap. Or worse—a cruel joke. And yet, even the faintest chance of Arian still breathing was enough to make him risk it.

The old alchemy wing stood apart from the main halls, half-forgotten, its walls cracked and ivy-threaded. The door creaked when he pushed it open, and the stale scent of dust and soot rolled out. The chamber beyond was cavernous, filled with abandoned tables, rusted cauldrons, and shattered glass. Candle stubs burned in uneven rows, though no hand had lit them. Their flickering glow clawed long shadows across the walls, bending reality into strange, shifting shapes.

Lucien swallowed. “I came. Now show yourself.”

For a heartbeat, only silence answered. Then—

“You shouldn’t have.”

The voice slipped out of the shadows, low and urgent. A figure stepped forward, cloaked in dark fabric that swallowed the candlelight. Their hood concealed most of their face, but Lucien caught the gleam of pale eyes.

“Who are you?” Lucien demanded, muscles coiled tight.

The figure ignored the question. “You’re the one tied to Runerth. The one who bears his shadow.”

Lucien stiffened. “If you know Arian—tell me where he is.”

The figure tilted their head. “Alive. For now.”

The words struck like a blade between Lucien’s ribs. His throat tightened. “Alive? You’ve seen him?”

“I’ve seen the path he walked,” the stranger said, voice hushed, as though every syllable strained against unseen chains. “He went where none of you should tread. Beyond the veil of sanctioned halls. Beyond even the maps your houses guard so jealously.”

“Where?” Lucien pressed, stepping forward. “Where did he go?”

The figure’s hand trembled at their side. “He sought a door. A place forbidden, where knowledge consumes the seeker. He believed he could bear it. Foolish… or desperate.”

Lucien’s breath caught. Aldwyn’s words echoed in his mind: Knowledge most would fear. Knowledge that devours.

“You have to tell me,” Lucien said fiercely. “I don’t care if it’s forbidden. If he’s alive, I’ll find him. Just tell me where—”

The figure stiffened suddenly, head snapping toward the corridor.

Footsteps. Voices. The clatter of armored boots echoing closer.

Lucien’s heart lurched. Academy patrols.

“Damn it,” the stranger hissed. They grabbed Lucien’s wrist, shoving something into his palm—a scrap of parchment, torn and smudged with soot. Symbols sprawled across it in hurried ink, half-burnt as if someone had tried to destroy it.

“What is this?” Lucien demanded.

“No time.” The stranger’s voice was sharp now, urgent. “Hide it. Keep it hidden. If they find you with it, you’ll share his fate.”

“Wait!” Lucien clutched the scrap. “Tell me where he went!”

The cloaked figure stepped back, already swallowed by shadows. “If you follow, you must be ready to lose everything—just as he was.”

The candles guttered violently, plunging the room into near-darkness. By the time Lucien blinked past the sudden black, the stranger was gone.

The door burst open.

Light flared as lanterns flooded the hall. Two guards strode in, their bronze-etched armor gleaming. “Who’s there?”

Lucien shoved the parchment into his sleeve, heart hammering. The air still trembled with the stranger’s presence, but now only the abandoned lab remained, dust and ruin and a scattering of candle wax.

“Veynar?” one of the guards barked, recognition flashing across his face. “What are you doing here at this hour?”

Lucien forced his voice steady. “Studying. I needed quiet.”

“In the condemned alchemy wing?” the second guard narrowed his eyes. “This place has been closed for years.”

Lucien straightened, mask firm across his features. “Do you accuse me of lying?”

The men exchanged uneasy glances. House Veynar’s name carried weight. Neither wished to risk offending him outright. Finally, the first guard muttered, “Return to your dormitory. Now. If you’re caught wandering again, we’ll inform the headmaster.”

Lucien gave a curt nod, pushing past them before his pulse betrayed him. Only when the echo of boots faded behind him did he let out the breath burning in his lungs.

He hurried down the shadowed corridors, every nerve taut. His hand pressed against his sleeve, fingers brushing the rough edge of the parchment.

Back in the safety of his dormitory, he lit a single lamp and laid the fragment on the desk.

It was worse than he’d feared.

The parchment bore fragments of a map—jagged lines, faded symbols, half-formed letters. Most had been charred, leaving only broken hints: a river that cut like a scar, a mark shaped like a crescent moon, and beneath it scrawled one surviving word:

“Threshold.”

Lucien traced the letters with trembling fingers. Threshold. A place? A door? Or something worse?

The hooded figure’s warning rang in his ears: If you follow, you must be ready to lose everything.

He leaned back in his chair, mind a whirlwind. He could take this to Rowan—or his father. But no. They would lock the clue away, chain him with their fear, just as they had before.

This was his chance. His only chance.

Arian had walked into the unknown alone. Lucien would not let him remain there.

“Threshold,” he whispered to himself, the word tasting like both hope and doom. “If that’s where you are, Arian… I’ll find you. Even if it swallows me too.”

The lamp guttered, shadows stretching long across the room. And in the silence, Lucien felt it—like a distant pull, faint and relentless, as though the word itself was a thread tugging at his soul.

A direction. A beginning.

And the first step on a road from which there might be no return.

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