I Was His Luna Until He Forgot Me

THE ARCHIVES BENEATH THE CASTLE

ELARA VAYNE

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the photograph again. The restraints around his wrists, the pale mark below his elbow, and Kael's stunned expression when I asked him who had made me believe he was my mate.

Neither of us had an answer and that was the part that troubled me most.

I got up, pulled a dark shawl around my shoulders, and tiptoed out into the hallway barefoot. I didn't want my footsteps to attract attention. At this hour, the castle felt like a held breath except for the movement coming from the guards stationed at the main junctions.

Kael had warned me once, in passing, about a door near the western stair. The old archive, he had called it, described it as a place where the court kept records that were too dangerous or shameful to leave in the main library. He had warned me never to go there and at the time, I had nodded and thought nothing more of it. Tonight,nothing else mattered more than finding it.

I was able to locate the door and gently pushed it open. The smell of dust filled my nose. The old parchment had become dry and fragile with age, and the ink had faded to the color of dried blood.

I took the candle stub from my pocket and lit it, allowing its small flame barely brightened the room guide me as I moved between the shelves that towered over me, packed tightly with scrolls and old books. Some were so old that their spines had fallen apart, leaving dust on my fingers whenever I touched them.

I moved slowly, shielding the flame with my hand. I couldn't risk its light slipping beneath the door and catching the attention of a guard from outside. My heart pounded in my ears. It was the kind of fear that came from knowing you were doing something you shouldn't.

I searched shelf after shelf, reading the titles carved into cracked leather covers until I found a section that made me stop. The shelves in this section were marked with a symbol I knew too well. It was the same silver-black markings that had appeared on my arm the night the courtyard shook. The same symbol Lyra had pointed to when she called me a woman who should not exist.

Vorath.

I pulled out one book after another and placed them on the cold floor. The pages were brittle and some crumbled a bit whenever I turned them too fast. Most of the books contained family histories, ancient bloodlines charts, and names connected by faded lines that disappeared into torn pages. I kept searching even though my fingers were growing cold, and my knees hurt from kneeling on the stone floor.

Then I noticed a thin bundle of loose pages tucked behind a large book as if someone had placed them there on purpose out of easy reach. I pulled them out. The handwriting was small and hurried, written. I brought the candle closer and began reading, my lips moving silently.

It read;

The liminal crossing does not merely wound the soul. Under certain conditions, when the boundary between the living world and what lies beyond becomes thin, the crossing can divide a single soul. One half may enter the new vessel, while the other is left behind. Scholars of this court have long called such division a myth, and a tale meant to frighten young carriers away from liminal sites. Yet old tribunal records, before they were sealed, describe at least one confirmed case. A single soul, divided. One half was changed by the crossing, carrying memories of the original self but altered beyond recognition. The other half remained elsewhere, unchanged, waiting in the darkness for someone to find it.

My fingers had stopped moving and the candle shook in my hand. I thought of the photograph, the metal restraints, and the mark on his arm. A mark I would recognize anywhere, even in a blurry image. I thought of Kael.

What if he wasn't completely gone? What if only half of him had returned from the swamp? What if the other half had been left somewhere else the night he disappeared, waiting for someone to find him?

My throat tightened. I pressed my hand over the page as though I could somehow stop the words from being real.

The Blackveil Swamp was the same kind of threshold the passage described. A liminal crossing between the living world and whatever existed beyond it. If Kael had entered that place as the old texts warned against, If something had gone wrong, or worse, if someone had deliberately caused it because they knew more about the ritual than any of us...

Footsteps.

I froze. They were coming from the corridor outside. I blew out the candle instantly, plunging myself into the darkness. I pressed my back against the nearest shelf and held my breath. My heart was beating so loudly that I was certain whoever was approaching would hear it.

The archive door slowly creaked open and a thin line of light spilled across the floor. I flattened myself further into the narrow space between two tall shelves, praying the darkness would hide me. A figure slipped inside and quietly closed the door behind them. The person moved with the ease of someone who had done this before.

Then I saw the silver hair, the proud posture, and the calm, unhurried movements as though she owned every stone beneath her feet. Even in the dim light, I recognized her. Lyra.

She wasn't carrying a torch. Only a small glowing orb rested in her palm, giving off just enough light for her to see without illuminating the entire room. She walked through the archive without hesitation. She wasn't searching, like she already knew where she was going. She went straight to the section where I had been kneeling only moments ago, and straight to the shelf. She ran her fingers over the book spines.

My pulse quickened. I pressed myself farther into the shadows, thankful that I had put out the candle in time and thankful that the thick dust in the room would muffle the sound of my breathing.

Lyra pulled out a book and opened it. She scanned the page under the soft glow in her hand and let out a quiet, frustrated sound. She returned the book to its exact place. She seemed used to leaving no evidence of her visits.

Next, she reached toward the shelf below. My stomach dropped. She was moving to the spot where I had found the loose, unbound pages. The pages that explained how a soul could be divided. The same pages I was now clutching against my chest.

If she noticed they were gone, she would know someone had been here. She might already suspect it. She might even know I was only a few feet away, hiding in the darkness like a thief in the private archive of someone I once considered an ally.

She paused at the shelf. Her fingers hovered over the empty space where the pages should have been. She went completely still.

I watched her profile. My body had locked in place. I didn't dare move.

Lyra's head tilted slightly, then slowly, and deliberately, she turned towards the darkness where I was hiding.