The silence in the library was a physical weight, thick with the intoxicating perfume of aging paper and forgotten ink. It was a tangible magic, a spell of stillness woven between towering shelves that clawed at the vaulted ceiling. Sunlight, heavy with gilded columns of dust, spilled from grand arched windows to pool around vacant armchairs, ghosts of a time when this hall had echoed with the murmur of elves. Now, it was a mausoleum of knowledge, and we were its sole trespassers.

My gaze found Cassius. He stood as a statue in the cathedral of books, his eyes sweeping the grand expanse. For a breathtaking second, the millennia he had witnessed carved their sorrow into the lines around his eyes, a profound grief that tightened his jaw before the stoic mask of neutrality slid back into place. A familiar ache of curiosity bloomed in my chest. I yearned for the day he might trust me with the histories locked behind that guarded gaze.

As if feeling the weight of my stare, he turned his head, his blue eyes finding mine in the gloom. “Where shall we begin our search?” His voice was a low murmur, careful not to disturb the sacred quiet.

I considered the vastness around us. “Ancient magic,” I decided. “It feels right.”

The barest hint of a smile touched his lips. “An excellent choice. Allow me, then, to be your guide.”

“Thank you, Cassius,” I replied, my own smile feeling small in the immense space.

“This way.” He gestured, and the spell of stillness broke as he led me deeper into the labyrinth. He moved with an easy grace, a phantom in his own lost world. “Here,” he said, stopping before an aisle that seemed to stretch into infinity. “This entire row. Both sides.”

My breath caught. The sheer volume was staggering. “They would have rivaled this, you know,” I mused, half to myself. “Our own libraries, if we’d had the time, the peace. If knowledge had been shared, not hoarded.”

“They would have surpassed it,” Cassius said, his voice laced with a strange mixture of pride and sorrow. His attention was already on the spines of the ancient tomes, his long fingers hovering near the worn leather.

I reached out, my own fingers brushing against the cool, supple cover of the nearest book. The elegant, flowing script of the elven tongue coiled across its surface like silver thread. “Cassius, I can’t read most of these. Perhaps you could take the elven texts, and I’ll focus on what I can, the ones in human languages?”

“An efficient division of labor,” he agreed, his gaze distant. “I will trail a shelf behind you.”

“Perfect.” I turned back to the colossal task. While the majority were indeed in Elven, a substantial collection of human texts was interspersed among them, secrets bound in familiar words.

Time frayed and dissolved. The only sounds were the soft, brittle whisper of a turning page and the quiet rhythm of our breathing. We searched for an eternity contained in an afternoon, until a single title snagged my eye: The Sundering of Oakhaven. I eased the heavy volume from its place, its leather cover cool and smooth beneath my fingertips.

The pages told a story, a myth given flesh. It spoke of a great mage who challenged a creature of shadow and ruin named K’tthar, a being who had laid waste to entire landscapes in its devastating rampage. The tale praised the courage of the city’s heroes who ultimately sealed the dark entity away, but it was a poet’s account, not a scholar’s. The prose was beautiful, the narrative heroic, but it was a song, not a schematic. It offered no names, no incantations, no specifics of the magic they wielded to achieve the impossible. With a sigh of profound frustration, I closed the book and slid it back into its dusty home.

The mystery of it lingered, a splinter in my mind. “Cassius,” I called softly. “Have you ever heard of a city called Oakhaven?”

He paused his own search, looking over at me. His gaze went far away, sifting through the sands of centuries. “Oakhaven,” he murmured, the name an echo on his tongue. “Yes. Famed for one thing: the sealing of K’tthar. It happened long ago, before even my time. But the knowledge of how they did it was never shared. They guarded their secrets as humans hoard gold, and then… they simply vanished from the world.”

Worth remembering, I thought, the name of the city now seared into my memory.

We continued, but the rest of the section was a wasteland. We found epic poems and children’s primers on the very magic we sought to understand from a different, more desperate perspective. It was Cassius who finally broke the silence, his voice pulling me from my daze.

“Perhaps we should consult the section on Forbidden Arts and Curses.”

A cold thrill, equal parts fear and hope, traced a path down my spine. “Forbidden? I’m still amazed your people would keep such texts at all, let alone where someone could simply find them.”

“Knowledge itself is not a danger,” he said, his voice calm and resolute. “It is the intent of the wielder that gives it teeth. And no elf, in their right mind, would ever wish to use these arts.” He paused, a shadow crossing his features. “Although… one did. She was banished for her transgressions.”

This seized my full attention. “What happened to her?”

“I do not know,” he admitted, a rare vulnerability in his tone. “It was before my memory is clear. I was only a child.”

“So she could still be alive?” The question hung in the air between us.

“It is possible,” he conceded. “Elven lives are long, but not eternal.”

My mind raced as he led us to a darker, more foreboding aisle. The very titles seemed to whisper warnings from their spines. “Do you know anything else about her? A name?”

“Her name is lost to me.” He stopped, his brow furrowing as he delved deep into his memory. “Ah,” he said, a flicker of recollection in his eyes. “There were rumors, after her exile. That she had settled in a town near the ocean. The name…”

A jolt of electricity shot through me. “There’s only one significant port town. Most settlements cluster inland, fearing the Abyssal Mists that haunt the coast. Do you mean Coral Bluffs?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, his gaze sharpening with the recovered memory. “That is the name.”

“Then we have to try,” I insisted, my voice ringing with a newfound strength. “Even for a day. It’s the best lead we’ve had.”

Cassius considered it for a long moment, then gave a firm, decisive nod. “Very well. Once we are finished here, we will travel to Coral Bluffs.”

“Okay,” I breathed, a fragile hope taking root in my chest. Maybe she has the answers. “It feels like this library has given all it will for now.” I turned to him, my next thought already taking shape. “Cassius, before we leave the city, there’s one more place we must check. The king’s quarters. If your people left anything behind, any clue to where they went, I have to know.”

“I agree.” A new authority resonated in his voice, the sound echoing in the vast, empty library. He seemed to stand taller, his shoulders squared with a sudden, unshakeable resolve. “We must find the elves. I will lead you.”

He turned and strode from the library, his long, graceful steps eating up the silent corridors. He navigated the labyrinthine halls with an unerring confidence, turning left, then right, as if he had walked them only yesterday. The absolute certainty of his path was so jarring that I slowed, my own feet faltering to a stop.

He sensed my absence and turned, a silhouette against the gloom. His expression was unreadable.

“How?” The word was barely a whisper, stolen by the silence. “How do you know this place so well?” My eyes pleaded with him for an honest answer, just this once.

The sorrow I’d seen earlier returned, a fleeting shadow that haunted his face before it was gone. “I have walked these halls many times,” he said, his gaze drifting past me, as if seeing the ghosts I could only imagine. “Even after all this time… I remember every one.”

I gave a slow, deliberate nod, my throat tight. “Okay,” I said softly. “Let’s keep moving.”

He turned without another word, and I fell into step behind him. The rhythmic tap of our boots on stone was the only sound in the profound silence. My mind swirled with a storm of questions, but the rigid line of his shoulders was a wall I dared not breach. When will you let me in? The question was a painful ache in my chest, a stark reminder of the chasm of centuries that still lay between us.

I forced the thought down. Now was not the time. For now, I had to focus.

Find a clue.

Then, make for Coral Bluffs.

One step at a time.