The Mage

Chpt 9: A Truth

(Serenity’s POV)

Something was hidden inside the castle I had called home my entire life. The secret went deeper than the golden marble flooring beneath my feet, deeper than the darkness pressing against our kingdom from all sides. It wrapped itself around my family, weaving through generations like a shadow no one dared name.

I had lived here forever and never noticed. The paintings, tapestries, and quiet exchanges between my parents were just surface details — clues to a much larger deception. Things were being kept from me, buried by my parents.

My father had a sister, and he never told me anything about her — Morgan Magic: a name wiped from existence. No trace was left after her supposed death. No mourning. No remembrance. No whispered stories about who she had been. Our kingdom never spoke her name, neither in grief nor in reverence, not at all. I had never heard of her until now.

The mystery haunted my thoughts, swirling and intensifying until it consumed my entire mind. How could a whole kingdom forget a princess? How could my parents erase their own blood?

Magdalene’s words haunted me: The Black Book, a dangerous artifact, a vessel for something ancient and waiting. The fact that Peter was searching for it made my stomach twist. He had no idea what the book would reveal. He shouldn’t be touching things he didn’t understand.

“Peter,” I said, trying to steady my voice as we walked toward the castle, “searching for this book sounds like a bad idea. Even if my father lied, he must have had a reason.”

I wanted the book to decay wherever it was hidden, to remain untouched until the end of time. A bad feeling tightened in my gut, acting as a cold warning that whispered we shouldn’t be doing this.

Peter only quickened his pace, excitement lighting up his face. “You don’t understand, Serenity. If we find this book, it will be better in our hands than in the hands of someone who lied to you.” His words hit a nerve where fear and loyalty meet. Although I liked Peter, his curiosity might get us killed or worse.

“They may have lied,” I said louder than I intended, “but going after that book doesn’t seem wise. You know the evil it contains. It wouldn’t be safe for us to keep it.” My heart pounded. I felt trapped, stuck in a cage not meant for me. I wanted to be heard because Magdalene’s prophecy was clear: The Mage would be released. We had to stop that at all costs.

Peter moved closer, resting a warm hand on my shoulder. “I know. That’s why I want us to destroy it.” Destroy it. For a moment, he no longer looked like the brave, reckless boy who chased mysteries. In his eyes, I saw something else: determination and resolve — a quiet, steady fire that wasn’t just lamp light but something he carried inside.

“Destroy it?” I echoed. Peter was brave — yes, a warrior, a rare light wielder — but this wasn’t a battlefield. There would be no glorious fight, no enemy to strike down. This was older, darker, far more dangerous.

His gaze drifted toward the darkness beyond the lamps, the endless emptiness surrounding our kingdom. “What better way to get rid of it than throwing it into the abyss?” The abyss. The primordial nothingness. A place creation had never reached. It was an infinite void we barely understood, a hollow that responded only with silence. I had never wanted to go near it. Not once. But Peter’s voice was steady, confident. Deep down, I knew he was right.

I grabbed the large handle that led into the castle’s entryway. “Alright, Peter. I’m trusting you with this. If anyone is going to prevent the chaos in that prophecy, it’s you.”

We stepped inside. The vast corridor swallowed us; lanterns cast flickering circles of light that barely kept the darkness at bay. When the doors closed, the echo rolled through the hall like a distant warning.

We walked toward the throne room. Two seats sat atop a short staircase, one tall and one smaller — belonging to the king and queen. Now empty, heavy with memories. I pictured my parents there; their lies draped over their shoulders like royal cloaks. My fists clenched. My jaw tightened. Even if they lied for a good reason, I still wished they had told me. I am their daughter. Why didn’t they trust me? Tears slipped down my cheeks before I realized I was crying. The family was supposed to be honest, to share things, to protect each other.

Peter moved behind me and gently placed his hand on my shoulder. “It’s okay to feel angry at them. But later... You need to forgive them. You have to tell them.” His voice was gentle yet steady, a calming anchor in the darkness. Warmth filled my chest until it spilled over. I touched his hand, feeling grateful, and kept holding it longer, grounding myself in his stability.

When I looked up, a flicker crossed his face: a shadow of recognition, hesitation, and a knowing as if he understood my parents’ erasure better than I did. As if he had seen this before and forgotten it.

“Peter…” I started, but the words got stuck in my throat. He stepped back too quickly, as if he’d given away more than he intended. I wiped away my tears, calming myself. “Thank you, Peter. Now… let’s c***k this mystery.” He smiled, a crooked, playful smirk that made my stomach flip. Heat rushed to my face, and I hated how easily he could affect me.

He practically bounced toward the corridor beside the throne room. “Very well, let's get started.” His voice echoed down the hall, bright and lively, lifting the heaviness. But beneath his excitement, I sensed something else: tension, purpose. A thread pulling him forward — not just curiosity, but something more profound. Something personal.

I moved more slowly and carefully through the steps. The castle felt different tonight. The lanterns flickered as we passed, their glow trembling as if the darkness pressed down harder than usual. Shadows stretched long and thin across the walls, bending in unsettling ways that made my skin crawl. The paintings seemed to observe us—not just symbolically, but truly. The portrait of the prophesied one, in particular, had a newfound intensity; her golden eyes looked brighter than ever, almost alive. A cold shiver ran down my spine.

“Peter,” I whispered, “do you feel that?”

He paused mid-stride, not surprised but expecting it. “What do you feel?” he asked softly. The way he said it made my breath catch. He wasn’t asking out of confusion; he was asking for confirmation, as if he already knew.

“The darkness,” I said. “It feels… closer.”

Peter’s jaw tightened. “It’s reacting.”

“To what?” He didn’t answer. Instead, he turned down another corridor, quickening his pace. I hurried after him, heart pounding. The castle felt alive — breathing, shifting, remembering. Something in the dark was stirring.

“Peter,” I said again, breathless, “what aren’t you telling me?”

He paused and slowly turned to face me. His expression was hard to read: a mix of fear, determination, and something like sadness intertwined. “Serenity,” he said softly, “the prophecy isn’t waiting to begin. It already has.”

The words hit like a blow. “What do you mean?”

He moved closer, lowering his voice. “The prophecy Magdalene wrote about, the shadow magic, The Black Book, The Mage. It has already begun. I’ve felt it.”

My pulse roared. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because,” he said, voice trembling, “I didn’t want to scare you. Because I wasn’t sure until now.”

“Sure, of what?”

He swallowed. “That it’s reacting to you.” The lanterns flickered violently, their glow fading as if being pulled inward. The darkness pressed in closer, thick and heavy, swallowing the edges of the corridor.

“Me?” I whispered.

Peter nodded. “I understand it now, why you’re always staring at portraits like a lost memory. How your curiosity leads you to read prophecy itself. The darkness is calling you, it wants you to know something.” My breath hitched. My skin prickled. The lamp‑light felt thin.

“Princess,” Peter said, stepping closer, “I’m not just doing this for the kingdom. I’m doing it for you. Because whatever your parents hid... whatever Morgan was... whatever The Black Book wants..." He reached out and brushed his fingers against mine. “…you’re at the center of it.” The lanterns steadied. The darkness retreated, but only slightly. I stared at him, heart pounding, mind spinning.

“Peter,” I whispered, “who are you?”

His eyes softened with affection, fear, and something resembling destiny. “Someone who’s been waiting for this moment,” he said. “Someone who won’t let you face it alone.” I exhaled shakily. The castle no longer felt like a burden. It now seemed like a threshold, a doorway into a truth I had never imagined. I stepped toward him, toward the corridor, toward the mystery that had been waiting for me all my life.

“All right,” I said, voice steadying. “Let’s find the truth.” Peter’s smile was solemn now, prepared. We moved deeper into the castle, our footsteps echoing through the large, trembling halls. The darkness pressed in tightly, ancient and watchful. Somewhere inside it, something stirred — something that knew my name.