The Light Beneath the Archives

The Journey Begins

The air inside the hut felt suffocating. Serenya threw her blanket aside and swung her legs over the edge of the cot. Her boots thudded softly against the floor as she pulled on her cloak and slipped outside.

The village was silent, save for the occasional creak of wood and the whisper of the wind weaving through the crooked huts. The moon hung low in the sky, casting pale silver light over the uneven dirt paths. Serenya walked aimlessly at first, letting the chill bite at her cheeks as she tried to steady her thoughts.

She passed the dyeing troughs, now still and dark. A forgotten bundle of cloth sat beside one of them, its edges frayed and damp. Everything in the Barrens felt worn down—faded by time, use, and neglect. The village wasn’t dead, but it wasn’t alive either. It lingered in that liminal space, surviving without truly thriving.

Serenya’s feet carried her to the ridge just beyond the village, where the land sloped downward before stretching into the endless plains. From here, the outline of the capital’s spires was just visible against the horizon, blurred by distance and haze.

She stared at them for a long moment, the cold wind tugging at her cloak. Thalina’s voice echoed in her mind:

“People who try to change things end up dead—or worse.”

Serenya swallowed hard. Was she ready to risk everything? Could she leave Thalina and Nyssa behind, knowing the danger ahead? She thought of Nyssa’s hopeful eyes, the way her younger sister still dreamed of more even in a world that offered so little. That was the answer. She couldn’t stay. Not when there was even a sliver of hope that she could make things better.

The decision came quietly, settling over her like the weight of a blanket. Serenya turned away from the ridge and headed back toward the hut. She moved quickly but silently, her resolve building with each step. When she slipped back inside, her sisters were still asleep, their breathing undisturbed.

She crouched beside her cot, pulling her pack from its hiding place beneath it. Inside, she packed the essentials: a canteen of water, a bundle of dried bread, and her father’s knife. It wasn’t much, but it would have to be enough.

For a moment, she hesitated, her eyes lingering on Thalina and Nyssa. Thalina’s face was relaxed in sleep, her sharp features softened in a way Serenya rarely saw. Nyssa had kicked off her blanket again, her arm outstretched as if reaching for something.

“I’ll come back,” Serenya whispered, though the words felt like a promise she wasn’t sure she could keep.

Wrapping her thin cloak tightly around her, she slipped out of the hut and into the night.

The Barrens stretched out before her, an expanse of gray and brown under the faint light of the moon. Jagged rocks jutted up like the bones of a long-dead beast, and dry grass hissed in the wind. Serenya kept her hood low and her steps quiet, her senses on high alert.

She thought of the Scavengers, the bands of desperate thieves who roamed the Barrens in search of easy prey. Every rustle of grass and every distant cry of a night creature made her pulse quicken. She kept one hand near the hilt of her knife, her fingers trembling as she gripped the leather-wrapped handle.

The first few hours passed uneventfully, the rhythm of her footsteps carrying her farther from the village and deeper into the Barrens. By the time dawn crept over the horizon, painting the sky in muted golds and purples, Serenya’s legs ached with every step. She paused beneath a gnarled tree to catch her breath, sliding her pack from her shoulder and pulling out her canteen. The water tasted of metal, but it eased the dryness in her throat.

As the sun rose higher, the wind began to die down, leaving an eerie stillness in its wake. Serenya scanned the horizon, her eyes narrowing as she spotted something in the distance—a faint plume of dust rising into the air.

Her breath caught. Scavengers.

The stories she’d heard came rushing back: travelers robbed and left for dead—or worse. Serenya’s hand went to her knife as her pulse raced. The dust cloud grew larger, moving steadily toward her.

Serenya ducked behind a cluster of rocks, crouching low as she listened. The sound of hooves reached her first, followed by the creak of wheels. She risked a glance around the edge of the boulder and saw a cart rattling along the path, its driver a middle-aged man with a weathered face. Two children sat beside him, their wide eyes scanning the horizon nervously.

Serenya let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Not Scavengers. Just another family trying to survive.

The cart passed without incident, and Serenya waited until it was out of sight before stepping back onto the path. Her grip on the knife loosened, but the tension in her shoulders didn’t ease. The capital was still far away, its spires barely visible against the haze of the horizon. But Serenya set her jaw and kept walking.

The first sign of the capital wasn’t the spires—it was the noise. Even from the outskirts, Serenya could hear the clamor of carts rattling over cobblestones, merchants shouting to hawk their wares, and the general hum of life in a place far busier than the Barrens could ever dream of being.

When she crested the final ridge, the sight stole her breath. The spires rose impossibly high, their dark surfaces etched with runes that glowed faintly even in daylight. Surrounding them was a sprawling city, its streets tangled and alive with movement. Smoke curled from dozens of chimneys, and the air buzzed with energy.

Serenya hesitated, pulling her hood lower as she approached the gates. Two guards flanked the massive entrance, their halberds gleaming and their expressions bored.

“Travel papers,” one of them barked, holding out a hand.

Serenya’s throat tightened. Papers. Of course they’d ask for papers.

“I… I don’t have papers,” she stammered. “I was sent to help prepare for the ball. A worker.”

The guard frowned, his hand drifting toward the sword at his hip. Serenya’s pulse quickened.

Before he could press further, another merchant’s cart trundled up behind her, the driver shouting about delays and cargo. The guards turned their attention to the commotion, waving Serenya through with a distracted grunt.

She slipped past them, her hands trembling as she clutched the edges of her cloak. The capital swallowed her whole.

After hours of wandering the labyrinth of alleys and markets, Serenya finally found it.

The Grand Library rose above the surrounding buildings, its pale stone shimmering faintly in the fading light. The columns supporting its high archways were carved with intricate patterns, their surfaces glowing with faint runes that seemed to ripple like liquid light. Above the main doors, etched in luminous Elvish script, was the library’s name: Cëllaurindon.

The sight filled her with both awe and unease. This was the place she had dreamed of, the place where the council kept their most guarded secrets. But standing here now, the enormity of what she was about to do settled heavily on her shoulders.

The journey had only just begun.