The mirror in the grand hall of Aethermoor Academy’s east wing shimmered with an otherworldly glow, casting soft rose gold light onto the marble floor. Amara stood before it, her sharp ocean eyes fixed on the reflected image of the Ashford estate. The sight of its blackened spires and firelit windows tugged at something deep within her, home. Behind her, Aurelia leaned against the wall, absently twisting a strand of her chestnut hair.
“Any day now, Amara,” Aurelia said with a calm sigh. “Dinner’s at six, remember? Father’s going to have an aneurysm if we’re late.”
Amara smirked, drawing a small ruby charm from her jacket pocket. The Ashford crest, a flame encircled by a gilded sigil, gleamed faintly in her palm. She held it against the mirror’s cool surface, and the glass rippled like molten fire, a low magical hum filling the air. “Relax, Aurelia. Mirror Walking only takes seconds, even if you’re chronically impatient.”
Aurelia shot her a glare but didn’t respond, stepping closer as the hum grew louder. The shimmering image in the mirror sharpened, revealing the sprawling Ashford manor’s foyer in vivid detail. With a deep breath, Amara stepped into the reflection, her body swallowed by warmth and light. For a moment, the world spun, weightless and shimmering, before she landed firmly on the polished oak floors of the estate.
Aurelia emerged a moment later, brushing herself off as if the journey had left her ruffled. “You’d think they’d have perfected Mirror Walking by now. My stomach always feels like it’s on a rollercoaster.”
The Ashford estate was as grand as ever. Firelit sconces lined the mahogany-paneled walls, casting golden light over rich tapestries and towering archways. The scent of cinnamon and woodsmoke drifted through the air, mingling with the faint warmth of the enchanted flames that burned in every corner. It was a comforting familiarity, though Amara couldn’t help but feel the weight of the place pressing down on her.
“Home sweet home,” Aurelia murmured, dropping her pink travel bag onto the floor with a soft thud.
“We’ve got two hours before dinner,” Amara said, glancing at the ornate black grandfather clock in the corner. The hands rested at four o’clock, its enchanted mechanism ticking quietly. “Plenty of time to settle in before Father starts his lectures.”
“Or before Mother starts asking how we’ve been eating at school,” Aurelia added with a smirk.
Amara shook her head, picking up her own bag. “Come on. I’m not risking being late and hearing about it for the rest of the weekend.”
As they made their way up the grand staircase, the familiar rhythm of the house began to settle around them. The hum of distant magic, the soft crackle of enchanted flames, the muffled voices of staff preparing for dinner. It all felt like a world away from Aethermoor’s structured chaos.
The sisters parted ways at the top of the stairs, each heading to her respective room to unpack. Amara’s chambers were just as she’d left them: warm and elegant, with crimson drapes and a bed large enough to get lost in. She set her bag on the chair by the window, pausing to look out at the sprawling gardens below.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft chime echoing through the halls, a magical reminder that dinner was in one hour. Amara sighed, brushing her hair back from her face. It wasn’t just dinner she was preparing for; it was the unspoken tension that always accompanied being under her father’s watchful eye.
As she straightened her scarlet tea dress and turned toward the door, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the next few days would bring more than just celebration.
The dining room of the Ashford estate was as grand as the rest of the manor, its vaulted ceiling adorned with intricate carvings of flames and stars. A massive chandelier of enchanted fire floated above the long mahogany table, its golden light casting a warm glow over the polished surface. Amara and Aurelia entered together, their footsteps echoing softly on the oak floor.
Leo Ashford was already seated at the head of the table, his posture as rigid as ever, the epitome of discipline and authority. His dark hair was streaked with silver, and his sharp eyes looking through his glasses darted to the clock as the sisters entered. “Six o’clock sharp,” he said, his tone approving but devoid of warmth. “I expect no less.”
Amelia Ashford, seated at the other end, greeted her daughters with a radiant smile. Her presence was a stark contrast to Leo’s, her dark brown hair and soft features exuding warmth. “Oh, my girls,” she said, rising gracefully to embrace them. “It’s so good to have you both home again.”
“Good to be back, Mother,” Amara said, leaning into her mother’s embrace.
Aurelia grinned, pulling away from Amelia and gesturing toward the table. “Father, I see you’ve started without us.”
Leo raised an eyebrow, his hand resting lightly on the goblet before him. “Punctuality is a virtue, Aurelia. If you’d arrived a moment later, I would have.”
Amelia shot him a quick, playful glance. “Leo, they’re here on time, aren’t they? Let them sit before you start issuing orders.”
Amara and Aurelia took their seats on either side of the table, with Amara closest to her father and Aurelia near their mother. The table was set with an array of dishes: roasted meats, buttered vegetables, freshly baked rolls, and a centerpiece of glowing, emberfruit tart, a delicacy exclusive to fire families. Amara reached for a roll as the dishes began to serve themselves with a flick of Amelia’s hand.
“So,” Leo began, cutting into his roast. His voice was steady and measured, but it carried the weight of unspoken expectations. “How are your studies this term? Any notable progress in your elemental training?”
Amara met his gaze evenly. “Defense hexology is challenging, but I’m excelling in elemental focus. Professor Grimward says I’m one of the strongest in my class.”
“Good,” Leo replied with a curt nod. “Strength is what defines the Ashfords. I trust you’re working to keep it that way.”
Aurelia rolled her eyes, earning a sharp glance from her father. “Don’t worry, Father. Amara’s the perfect student, as always. I’m sure she’ll make us all proud at the festival.”
Amelia intervened with a light laugh. “Aurelia, don’t tease your sister. We’re proud of both of you, no matter what. Now, tell me how is Professor Langdon this year? Still assigning those outrageous magical beast essays?”
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The conversation shifted, with Amelia steering it toward lighter topics: amusing stories from Aethermoor, news from the magical community, and updates on the festival preparations. The tension at the table softened slightly, though Leo’s stern presence remained a constant.
As the meal progressed, Amara caught her father watching her closely. His gaze was assessing, as though he were weighing her every word and movement. She wondered if it had always been like this or if the impending festival heightened his scrutiny.
When the dessert plates vanished and the emberfruit tart appeared, Amelia smiled warmly at her daughters. “The festival will be a wonderful time for you both to reconnect with the other families,” she said, her voice carrying an almost wistful note. “It’s not just a celebration of the elements, you know. It’s about unity.”
Leo’s gaze hardened slightly. “Unity is earned through strength, Amelia, not sentimentality. Remember that.”
Amara exchanged a glance with Aurelia, her sister’s expression unreadable but tinged with quiet defiance. The weight of the evening pressed on them both, as though the festival wasn’t just a celebration but a test they had yet to understand fully.
The Ashford estate was quieter at night, the flicker of enchanted flames casting long shadows across the hallways. Amara walked alone, her soft slippered footsteps barely audible against the polished floors. The familiar warmth of the manor surrounded her, but it wasn’t suffocating, it was comforting, like an ember glowing steadily in the dark.
Ascending the grand staircase, she trailed her hand along the polished banister, her gaze flickering to the stained-glass window at the landing. It depicted a roaring fire encircled by golden vines, the Ashford crest gleaming faintly in the moonlight that spilled through the glass. Her father’s words at dinner lingered in her mind, their weight heavier than she wanted to admit.
Reaching the third floor, she turned left down a wide corridor lined with portraits of Ashford ancestors. Their painted eyes seemed to follow her, stern and silent. At the end of the hall, she pushed open the double doors to the grand library.
The air inside was cool and faintly perfumed with old parchment and leather. Towering shelves stretched up to the vaulted ceiling, their contents gleaming faintly with enchantments to preserve the fragile tomes. At the center of the room, a grand crystal chandelier floated, its firelit glow flickering softly. Amara’s eyes sought the plush crimson couch near the tall, arched window, a favorite spot she had claimed as her own since childhood.
She settled into the couch with a contented sigh, the cushions soft and inviting beneath her. A delicate silver tray materialized on the small table beside her, bearing a steaming cup of cinnamon tea, a house enchantment that always seemed to know what she needed. Cradling the cup in her hands, she glanced toward the glowing bronze pedestal near the shelves. It was the library’s magical indexing system, a gift from her great-grandfather, who believed no Ashford should have to search for books the mundane way.
Rising briefly, she approached the pedestal and laid her hand on its smooth surface. The enchantment hummed to life, a faint orange glow illuminating the engraved flame crest. “Light reading,” she said softly, her voice carrying into the enchantment. “Historical fiction… and maybe a mystery.”
The pedestal pulsed once before faintly glowing lines of light shot out toward the shelves. Books began floating free of their places, their spines glinting as they wove through the air toward her. She returned to the couch, watching as three books hovered in front of her before gently setting themselves down on the table.
She picked up the top book, its title glowing faintly on the leather cover: The Embered Crown: A Tale of the Flameborn. Amara smiled faintly; she’d read ect for tonight. She opened the book, letting the familiar words pull her in, the worries of the day slipping away like smoke dissipating into the air.
Above her, the chandelier flickered slightly, as though the manor itself were settling into the quiet of the night. The world beyond the library felt far away, and for the first time that day.
Amara closed The Embered Crown with a soft thud, setting it atop the other two books on the table. She stretched, feeling the weight of the day settle into her muscles, and decided it was time to put the books back. Though the library’s enchantments could return them with a simple command, she preferred doing it herself, it gave her a sense of connection to the place.
The first two books were returned easily enough, sliding back into their places with satisfying clicks. As she approached the far corner of the library to return the last book, she paused. This section of the shelves was seldom touched, its contents covered in a thin layer of dust. Amara frowned; even the house enchantments didn’t seem to keep up with this area.
Her fingers brushed the book’s spine, but her attention was drawn to something else: a slight divot in the wood of the bookcase, barely visible in the dim light. It was small, no larger than a coin, and tucked between two thick, ancient tomes. Amara tilted her head, studying it. She was certain no one in the family frequented this section, at least not in hundreds of years.
Curiosity prickled at her as she ran her fingers over the divot. The moment her fingertips touched the smooth surface, it pulsed faintly, glowing with a fiery orange light. Amara stepped back, startled. The glow intensified, forming the shape of the Ashford family crest, the flame encircled in gold.
Her heart raced as the crest shimmered expectantly. Slowly, she extended her hand, pressing her palm against the glowing symbol. A warmth spread through her fingers and up her arm, not unpleasant but intense, as though the library itself recognized her.
The divot slid inward with a soft click, and a narrow panel in the bookcase shifted open. Dust spilled from the hidden compartment, and the scent of old parchment and something faintly metallic filled the air. Amara hesitated, glancing around the empty library, before leaning forward to peer inside.
The first thing she noticed was a slim, leather bound book with faded gold lettering on the cover. She pulled it out carefully, the brittle leather creaking under her touch. The title was embossed in elegant script: The Diary of Cassilana Ashford.
Amara’s breath caught. Cassilana Ashford, the name was etched in Ashford family history as the tragic ancestor whose ill-fated wedding to Titus Beaufort sparked the infamous feud between their families. She had been brutally murdered on her wedding day, and Titus had disappeared without a trace. The details of the event were shrouded in mystery, often left unspoken at family gatherings.
Setting the diary aside, Amara reached back into the compartment and pulled out a second item: a heavy tome bound in dark, cracked leather. It bore no title or markings, but its cover was inlaid with strange runes that seemed to shift and glimmer in the low light. She ran her fingers over them, but the symbols were unfamiliar, unlike any she had seen in her studies.
Nestled beside the tome were several loose pages, yellowed with age and covered in hurried scrawls. Amara skimmed them, noting fragmented translations of spells, spells written in the same strange runes as the book. The translations were incomplete, but three stood out clearly: “The Breath of Renewal,” a powerful healing spell capable of restoring life-threatening wounds; “The Veil of Death,” a spell to fake one’s death and mask life signatures; and “The Gate Between,” an advanced portal spell for travel across vast distances.
Her pulse quickened as she pieced it together. These notes were someone’s attempt to decode the spellbook’s secrets, but the work was far from finished. Why had this been hidden? And why here, in a section of the library no one used?
She glanced back at the diary, her fingers itching to open it. Cassilana’s story was infamous, but much of it was lost to time. What secrets could her words hold? Could they explain the feud’s origin, or why this spellbook and notes had been buried away?
Amara’s gaze flickered to the spellbook. The runes seemed to glow faintly, as though responding to her presence. She couldn’t make out the language, but the aura of power around the tome was unmistakable. A chill ran down her spine at the thought of what the completed translations might reveal.
Gathering the diary, spellbook, and loose pages, Amara rose from her crouch, her mind racing. She couldn’t leave these in the library, not tonight. Her curiosity burned too brightly to ignore.
She headed for the door, the items cradled carefully in her arms. Whatever secrets Cassilana had left behind, Amara was determined to uncover them. She decided to devote the rest of the night to reading and unraveling the mysteries in her bedroom. Sleep could wait, this couldn’t.