Semua Bab THE AUREUM TRIAL: BLOOD OATH: Bab 11 - Bab 20

A WEEK LATERI was sitting in the library all by myself. The library always held a certain quiet magic to it — not the kind woven from spells or enchantments, but something older, weightier. As if the very air had absorbed centuries of whispered secrets, bound and pressed between the spines of books that lined every wall. The hush wasn’t peaceful — not exactly — but it offered a kind of sanctuary, especially on days when the world beyond its walls felt too sharp, too loud, too suffocating.I sat nestled in the alcove between two arched windows, the afternoon light slanting in dusty beams across the parchment on my lap. Ink smudged at the corner of my notes, the quill in my hand idle for longer than it should’ve been. Concentration was a slippery thing today, evading my grasp no matter how tightly I tried to cling to it. My eyes scanned the same line of text for what had to be the fifth time, but the words refused to settle. Instead, my attention drifted to the low murmur of voices jus

For a long, breathless moment, I couldn’t quite process what I was seeing.Atlas Blackwood moved with the kind of unhurried confidence that suggested he belonged anywhere he chose to stand. The heavy wooden door of the bar groaned open before him, spilling a sliver of dim candlelight onto the deserted cobblestone street. He barely hesitated before stepping inside, disappearing into the shadows beyond.I stiffened, my pulse skipping in sharp surprise. Atlas Blackwood, here at this hour.The realization slithered through me, cold and unwelcome. Whatever business he had in town—especially in a place like this—was none of mine. And yet, as the door swung shut behind him, sealing him away from my view, unease coiled tight in my chest, leaving behind a distinct, inexplicable wrongness.“Did you see that?” Ingrid’s voice was hushed but urgent, her fingers still wrapped tightly around my wrist.I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. “Obviously.”She turned to me, her features illuminated by the

The morning arrived in slow, creeping tendrils of pale dawn light filtering through the heavy curtains of the dormitory, casting ghostly patterns along the stone floor. I surfaced from restless sleep with a start, my body stiff, my mind tangled in remnants of the night before—whispers in the dark, the sharp gleam of blue-green eyes, the suffocating press of fear in the depths of that wretched bar.For a long moment, I remained still beneath the weight of the blankets, listening to the faint rustling of branches against the glass, the distant echo of footsteps in the corridors beyond. The Academy was waking, slipping back into its orderly, seamless routine as though nothing had changed.But something had.I forced myself upright, wincing as my muscles protested. Every part of me felt wrung out, raw with exhaustion. My boots had been carelessly kicked off beside my bed, my coat draped haphazardly over the chair—a stark contrast to my usual neatness. The evidence of my hurried retreat fr

Later that evening,I stepped into the dormitory, feeling like I had just emerged from battle.The weight of the day pressed into my limbs, exhaustion curling at the edges of my mind like creeping shadows. My breath was slow, measured, but beneath it all was the steady hum of something deeper—relief, maybe, or the faintest thread of victory.And then I saw it.A box.It sat perfectly still atop my neatly made bed, as if it had been placed there with careful intention. The sight of it made me pause mid-step.It was pristine, the kind of white that seemed untouched, unmarred by dust or time. Its edges were razor-sharp, symmetrical, flawless—almost unnatural in its perfection. A single ribbon, deep crimson in color, was wrapped around it, tied into an immaculate bow at the center. The silk of it gleamed under the dim glow of the bedside lamp, catching the light as though dipped in liquid rubies.The ribbon looked impossibly smooth, not a wrinkle or imperfection in sight. It lay there lik

The walk to the rehearsal hall stretched out before us like some ceremonial march, silent but for the faint echo of our footsteps on polished stone. Ingrid strolled ahead with the practiced nonchalance of someone born to halls like these, her braid swaying with each step. Callum trailed at my side, shoulders hunched slightly inward, as though he hoped the architecture might somehow swallow him whole. I kept my gaze low, focusing on the ridges of the stone, the imperfections in the grout lines—anything but what was ahead.The rehearsal hall was nothing short of a spectacle. Double doors opened to reveal a space so vast it seemed to distort scale, swallowing sound and light alike. The floor was gleaming marble—veined and bone-white—while the walls were a sweeping parade of mirrors, each one tall enough to reflect the vaulted ceiling twice over. Chandeliers hung from above like jeweled ghosts, their crystals catching morning light and scattering it into fractured rainbows that danced acro