The Great Hall loomed before them in the stillness of early evening, its towering stone walls bathed in the cold light of the moon. Ada and Marin quickened their pace, breaths coming in shallow puffs, eager to reach the doors before the adults.

As they arrived Ada’s heart pounded in her chest as she glanced nervously at Marin beside her. They were early—too early. By ancient custom, no child was to be present. Not even those who were nearly grown, like them.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Marin whispered, his voice low and tight as they crept up the stone steps. He kept glancing back, as if expecting someone to shout their names and haul them back home.

“It’s not a good idea,” Ada murmured back, eyes sharp as she scanned the empty square around them. “But we need to know what’s going on. After everything… after your father—” She hesitated, biting her lip. “We can’t just sit back and do nothing.”

Marin swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the ground. “Alright. But if we get caught—”

“We won’t,” she said firmly, though her own heart was hammering against her ribs. “Just… follow my lead.”

Ada and Marin slowed as they reached the grand doors, each of them catching their breath. Ada paused, her hand hovering just inches from the door handle, feeling the weight of the hall’s silence pressing down.

She cast a quick glance at Marin, then took a steadying breath and reached out, fingers curling around the cold iron handle. She gave it a firm tug—and nothing happened.

Ada froze, a rush of panic setting in as she realized the doors were locked. She hadn’t planned for this; she had been hoping to convince the attendant to let them in again. “They’re… locked?” she whispered; her voice edged with frustration.

Marin stifled a grin, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Didn’t think of that, did you?” he said, an amused gleam in his eyes. “Well, guess we’ll just have to go home now. Such a shame.”

She shot him an exasperated look. “Marin, this is important. We’re running out of time!”

“I know,” he replied calmly, watching her with that maddening grin.

She took a deep breath, trying to suppress her impatience. “Then what should we do? I wasn’t planning for the doors to be locked.”

Without a word, Marin reached into his pocket, drawing out a key with a dramatic flourish. Ada’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Oh, so this was part of the plan?” she whispered, crossing her arms with a smirk. “When did you start carrying keys to mysterious places in your pockets all the time, Golden Boy?”

Marin grinned, holding the key up to the moonlight as if it were a prize. “Only for when you forget yours,” he shot back, slipping it into the lock. He turned it slowly, each soft click of the tumblers making Ada’s heart pound with anticipation.

As the door swung open, revealing the dim, silent hall beyond, Ada leaned closer and murmured, “I’ll admit it, Marin. You’ve officially saved the day.”

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Stick with me, and you’ll be sneaking into all sorts of places.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her grin as they slipped inside, the faint echoes of their footsteps swallowed by the vast emptiness of the hall. The hallway lay deserted, and the attendant was nowhere to be seen. Sensing their chance, they exchanged a quick, thrilled glance and moved deeper into the shadows.

The hall was cloaked in silence, broken only by the faint sound of distant footsteps. They moved cautiously, keeping to the shadows as they approached the edge of the antechamber.

From their vantage point, they spotted the attendant by the ritual pool, his back turned as he poured the last of the contents from an empty barrel. Ada’s gaze lingered on the other barrels lined up nearby, all empty. She glanced at Marin, who raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

Taking advantage of the distraction, they crept toward the northern pillar, hiding in its shadow. They held their breaths as the attendant finished his task, setting the barrel on a nearby cart and wheeling it toward the southwestern pillar. With the hall silent again, Ada and Marin exchanged a look, the thrill of discovery flashing in their eyes.

“Marin, what did we just see?” Ada whispered, her voice barely audible, a tremor of shock lacing her words.

“I’m… not sure,” Marin replied slowly, his brow furrowed as he strained to understand.

They fell silent, each searching the other’s expression for answers. Shadows danced around them, thickening the tension. The quiet hum of uncertainty pressed down as they struggled to process what lay before them.

Suddenly, the faint sound of footsteps snapped their attention back to the entrance. The attendant ascended the stairs toward the doors, his hand reaching out. He paused, muttering to himself, “Huh… I thought I locked the doors.”

Before he could investigate further, the doors opened, and Orla stepped in, catching him completely off guard.

“Is something wrong?” she asked sharply, her voice like ice.

The attendant stiffened, his face draining of colour as he turned to face her. “N-No, ma’am!” he stammered, his voice cracking under her gaze. “Just… checking the lanterns, that’s all.”

Orla’s expression remained stony as she scrutinized him, but with a slight nod, she brushed past him, her authority filling the hall. “Very well. Ensure everything is in order. We can’t afford any slip-ups tonight.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbled, his head ducking as he scurried away, shoulders hunched under the weight of her disapproval.

Ada and Marin held their breaths, pressing deeper into the shadows as Orla’s sharp gaze scanned the room. For a heart-stopping moment, her eyes hovered near where they hid, and Ada could feel the air thicken as she willed herself to blend into the dark.

Orla’s gaze drifted toward the centre of the hall, where the stone seats lay waiting, and she continued her approach.

“Your mother?” Ada whispered, almost inaudibly, once Orla was out of earshot. “Is she always this early?”

“Always,” Marin replied, the single word carrying both pride and resignation.

“They’ll start arriving soon,” Ada breathed, her voice trembling. “We need to be completely still. Not a sound. Not even a breath.”

Marin nodded, his wide eyes mirroring her own urgency.

“Then,” Ada murmured softly, her gaze fixed on the great stone seats that encircled the centre of the hall, “we’ll see what they’re really planning.”

Orla descended the stone staircase and quietly sat in her seat. Even seated, she exuded a commanding presence, her posture stiff and her hands folded neatly in her lap.

“Your mother is… waiting,” Ada whispered, casting a sidelong glance at Marin.

“Of course she is,” Marin muttered, his voice tight. “Probably wants to make sure no one gets up to anything before the meeting starts.”

Ada bit her lip, recalling how curtly Orla had dismissed her the night before, sending her home alone in the cold. “She… doesn’t seem to like me much.”

Marin shook his head slightly, his gaze fixed on the floor. “She doesn’t really like anyone. Except when they’re useful to her.” His voice was low, a whisper. “She’s always… working. Always focused on something bigger.”

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Ada glanced back at Orla’s stern profile, imagining what it must have been like for Marin to grow up under her critical eye, constantly striving to meet her standards. She shivered slightly, feeling a flicker of sympathy for him.

“She’s… intimidating,” Ada murmured softly.

Marin let out a humourless laugh. “Yeah. That’s one way to put it.”

The heavy wooden doors of the Great Hall creaked open again, drawing their attention. Daithi entered, his broad shoulders and steady stride commanding quiet respect. His dark robes were simple yet dignified, marking him as a man of importance.

“There’s Daithi,” Marin whispered, his tone softening.

Ada nodded, recalling their encounter with Daithi and the way he’d spoken of the town’s struggles. “He’s… kind, isn’t he.”

“Yeah. Kind. But… worried, too.” Marin’s brow creased as he watched Daithi. “Look at his face.”

Indeed, even as Daithi settled into his seat, his gaze lingered on the empty chairs, and he tapped his fingers lightly against his thigh, lost in thought.

“What do you think he’s worried about?” Ada asked softly.

“Probably… the town. The lake. Everything.” Marin hesitated, his gaze darkening. “Maybe he’s worried about what will happen tonight.”

The doors opened once more, and a bright presence swept into the hall—a woman with a riot of auburn curls and a mischievous grin that seemed out of place in the solemn room. Leora, the stable master, sauntered inside.

“Oh, look—it’s her,” Ada whispered, eyes widening as Leora entered.

“Leora,” Marin murmured, suppressing a smile.

Ada nodded, her gaze following Leora as she strolled into the hall, hands on her hips, clearly unfazed by the solemn atmosphere.

Leora stopped near the council seats, casting a quick grin at Daithi. “Oh, don’t mind me!” she called, giving an exaggerated wink to her fellow council members. “Just here to keep you lot from taking things too seriously.”

Ada caught the faintest twitch of amusement on Daithi’s face, though he quickly concealed it. Leora took her seat with a satisfied smile, her posture relaxed among the other council members.

The hall quieted again as the heavy doors opened once more, and two figures stepped inside: a tall, and a smaller older man cloaked in crimson robes. Finnian, the tavern keeper, moved confidently, his eyes sweeping the room, while Selis shuffled beside him, clutching a gnarled staff.

Ada felt Marin tense beside her, his eyes widening as he watched them. “That’s… that’s him, isn’t it?” she breathed. “That’s Selis.”

Marin nodded slowly, his gaze fixed. “Yeah. That’s him.”

But it was Finnian who drew Ada’s attention, his easy smile somehow unsettling.

“What’s… what’s happening?” Ada whispered, barely able to keep her voice steady.

“I… I don’t know,” Marin replied, his gaze never leaving the two men as they took their places among the council. “But whatever it is… it’s starting.”

Selis and Finnian settled into their seats. The attendant, now finished with his preparations, slipped quietly from the room. Ada and Marin exchanged a glance. Tonight, something momentous was about to unfold.

The townsfolk, filed in, taking their seats with murmured greetings and nods to one another. Ada’s gaze darted over the faces, trying to place each one—neighbours, traders, farmers, and crafters—all united in curiosity and concern.

“We shouldn’t be here,” Marin whispered, his voice trembling slightly. He edged closer to her, his shoulder brushing against hers. “Ada, we should—”

“We have to stay,” she whispered back.

What had they gotten themselves into?

The pressure was almost unbearable, her heart thundering against her ribs. Every instinct screamed at her to get out, to leave before anyone noticed them. But she couldn’t—wouldn’t—leave now. Not when they were so close to finding out the truth.

And then, without thinking, she looked up.

A gasp escaped her lips.

There, across the hall, a figure stood at the edge of the crowd, half-hidden in the shadows.

A man.

And he was staring directly at them.

“Who... who is that?” Marin whispered, his voice trembling. “Do you... do you know him?”

Ada shook her head slowly, her eyes never leaving the man’s face. “No,” she breathed. “I—I’ve never seen him before.”

But there was something... familiar about him. Something in the way he stood. And then there was the tome at his side, tucked neatly into a leather strap that crisscrossed his chest. A thick, ancient book.

Just like hers.

A shiver ran through her, a strange, dizzying mix of fear and... something else. Something like hope. For the first time in her life, Ada felt a flicker of recognition—like a puzzle piece clicking into place.

The man’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, then shifted away, his expression smooth and impassive. It was as if he had never noticed them at all.

But Ada knew what she had seen. Who she had seen.

And whoever he was... he was like her.

“We’re ok,” Marin murmured, his voice tight with relief. “Thank the gods, he didn’t—”

But Ada barely heard him. Her gaze was still locked on the man, her mind racing.

Who was he?

What was he doing here?

And why did she feel like, for the first time in her life...

She wasn’t alone?

“This isn’t right,” Marin murmured, his voice a thin, strained thread of sound. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against Ada’s ear. “What are they planning, Ada? What’s going on in our town?”

The entire room—the whole world—seemed to narrow to a single point, the questions swirling in her mind almost too much to bear.

“Who is he?” she breathed, half to herself. “Why is he here?” Thorn’s piercing gaze, the strange familiarity she’d felt when their eyes met—it all buzzed in her mind like a half-remembered dream. “He’s not like the others. There’s… there’s something about him…”

Marin’s brow furrowed. “Who? The outsider?” He glanced sharply in Thorn’s direction, his expression darkening. “What’s so special about him?”

She shook her head slowly, more to herself than in answer to Marin’s question. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “But… that book. The tome he’s carrying.” Her fingers twitched as if holding a phantom quill, the sensation of drawing runes still tingling along her skin. “Did you see it?”

Marin blinked, his expression blank. “A… book?”

“Yes!” she hissed, struggling to keep her voice down. “It—it looked like… like…” Her voice faltered, the words slipping away as her thoughts tumbled over each other. “Like something I’ve seen before. Or something I should have seen.”

“What do you mean?” Marin’s gaze darted back and forth between Ada and the hall, his confusion deepening. “Ada, what are you talking about? What book? What runes?” His voice caught on the last word, his eyes widening as he stared at her.

Ada froze, a chill creeping down her spine. Runes.

The same symbols she had drawn and redrawn over the past few weeks, the same patterns that had appeared in her sketches without her even realizing.

“I—” She swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. “I don’t know what’s happening, Marin. I—I don’t understand.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, “And now, he’s here, with a book that looks—ancient. Like… like what I’ve been drawing.”

Marin’s gaze darted back to Thorn’s shadowy figure, his jaw tightening. “You think he knows something?”

“I don’t know!” Ada clenched her fists. “I—maybe. Or… or maybe he’s just like me.” She paused, her breath catching. “Maybe… I’m not the only one.”

For a heartbeat, Marin stared at her, his face pale. Then he shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered, his voice low and intense. “Whoever he is—whatever’s going on with you—it doesn’t change what’s happening here. The council’s meeting tonight because something’s wrong, Ada. Something’s happening to the town. And we need to know what.”

His words jolted her back to the present. He was right. She couldn’t let herself get distracted—not now, not when they were so close to answers.

But even as she nodded, forcing herself to focus, her gaze kept drifting back to Thorn.

The way his hand rested on the spine of his tome, the leather cracked and worn, the runes etched into its surface faint but unmistakable.

“What are you?” she whispered softly, the question meant for no one but herself. “And… what am I?”

Marin reached out, gently gripping her arm. “Ada,” he murmured, his tone urgent. “Ada, stop. You’re—”

But whatever he was going to say was cut off by a sudden, blaring sound—a long, deep note that reverberated through the hall, shaking the very air around them.

The Great Hall fell silent.

At the entrance to the room, the old attendant stood, a strange, curved horn pressed to his lips. The sound seemed to linger, hanging in the air long after he had lowered the instrument.

Ada and Marin exchanged a wide-eyed look, their hearts pounding in unison.

“It’s starting,” Marin breathed, his grip on her arm tightening.

The attendant stepped forward, his voice ringing out in the heavy silence. “The council of Halrest is now in session. All are welcome to witness the deliberations and decisions of this gathering. Praise be to the gods for their guidance.”

A low murmur rippled through the crowd. The council members straightened in their seats, their expressions sombre and intent.

Ada held her breath, her gaze darting around the hall. This was it. This was what they had come for—the moment when everything would be revealed.

And yet… her thoughts kept drifting back to Thorn. To the strange, almost electric feeling that had crackled through her when their eyes met.

Marin’s hand slipped from her arm, and she glanced at him, startled by the expression on his face.

“Ada,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. “What’s happening to you?”

Then, slowly, like the surface of a still pond rippling under the first touch of a storm, the far wall of the hall began to move.

The audience stared as the great stone doors—doors that looked more like a part of the wall itself than an entrance—began to part. It was a seamless transformation, the carvings of the lake and its depths sliding away with a soft, grinding sound that reverberated through the room.

The carving itself was a masterpiece—an intricate mural that seemed almost alive in the flickering torchlight.

To the untrained eye, the door was just another part of the great mural—a flawless blend of stone and artistry. But now, as the centre of the carving split and slid apart, the illusion broke. The lake parted, its depths opening to reveal a yawning darkness beyond.

And from that darkness, something emerged.

The change in the room was instantaneous. Every murmur, every whispered breath, every flicker of movement ceased as all eyes turned to the figure standing in the doorway.

The figure stepped forward slowly, their movements deliberate and unhurried, as if they had all the time in the world.

Ada shifted beside him, her eyes wide. “That’s... that’s?” she breathed, her voice barely a whisper. “That’s the Shorewalker?”

Marin could only nod, his gaze fixed on the figure slowly making his way toward the circle of council seats.

It was like staring at a piece of the lake itself, a fragment of some ancient, unknowable power.