= Amara =
The cabin was quiet in the way only Mikael’s place ever was—too quiet, almost reverent. The kind of silence that made every sound feel louder than it should be. The crackle of the fireplace. The soft rustle of pages turning. Even my own breathing felt intrusive, like I was disturbing something sacred.
I sat cross-legged on the rug near the hearth, a heavy tome balanced against my knees. The book was old—older than anything I’d ever touched before—its leather spine cracked and darkened with age. The pages smelled faintly of smoke and earth, as if they had lived their entire lives near fire and soil.
Veyrath: Origins and Bloodlines, the title read.
I’d already gone through half of it, though “gone through” was a generous term. Reading about Veyrath felt less like learning hist
