Evaline:
I finished the last sip of my tea, letting the warmth settle in my chest before pushing myself off the stool.
Stepping out into the empty corridor, I made my way back to the elevator for fifth floor. rely monts later, I was pushing open the tall double doors of the archive hall.
The familiar scent of parchnt and wooden shelves washed over instantly - warm, earthy, and oddly comforting. The archive hall stretched across the entire fifth floor, vast enough that even after weeks of working here, the sight continued to make pause.
It was magnificent.
Columns carved with runic vines supported high ceilings, lanterns glowing with warm light floated lazily above each section. Rows upon rows of shelves ran endlessly in every direction, housing everything from ancient scrolls brittle enough to crumble at touch, to modern records neatly stacked in labeled folders.
And at the center stood the old tree... my favorite part of the entire place.
It was a towering, silver-barked elderwood that grew straight through the heart of the hall, its branches spreading across the ceiling like veins of light. Around its massive trunk spiraled a narrow stone staircase that led to the upper level - the restricted area. The place I was absolutely forbidden to enter. Naturally, the place that fascinated the most.
Every ti I walked past it, I felt the faintest tug in my chest... curiosity, intrigue, sothing else I couldn’t na. But I had long learned the wisdom of ignoring urges that tried to drag toward trouble.
Instead, I turned right... toward the disaster zone.
The final, unorganized ten percent of the archive hall.
It looked like a war between books and dust storms had taken place there. And the dust storms had won.
When I first arrived weeks ago, this area was deceptively innocent - just rows of empty shelves, desks, couches, and hundreds of sealed archive boxes. Now, with the boxes opened, contents spread, and each team mber taking on a stack of work... well.
Chaos was the only fitting word.
Parchnts lay half-sorted on tables. Ancient scrolls rested open beside scanning machines. Volus bound in cracked leather or embroidered silk were piled on desks. And amid it all was the one area that gave pride... the west wall.
Those shelves were clean, organized, full. Every scroll, every file, every book sat perfectly aligned... their digital versions already archived.
It was the result of our one month’s hard work and dedication.
And now that I only had four days left before returning to Silver Moon Academy, I wanted to finish one last piece. Sothing aningful.
I headed straight to the newest opened carton, barely touched as it was still heavily covered in dust. I brushed the particles off the top and looked inside.
Scrolls. Loose papers. Folders. A few old journals.
And then...
"Oh," I breathed.
My fingers landed on sothing heavy. Solid. Bound in thick, darkened leather, the cover etched with faded symbols I recognized instantly - healing crests.
Carefully, I lifted it out. The book felt ancient, its weight sinking into my palms with a sort of reverence, as though it carried centuries’ worth of knowledge and stories.
Turning it over, I read the handwritten script on the title page:
A Complete Compilation of Herbs, Elixirs, and Healing Concoctions - by High Healer Morrigan Varell
Three hundred and seventy-three years old.
A smile blood across my face before I could stop it.
A herb and potion book. As my last assignnt here.
Perfect.
Absolutely perfect.
I dusted off the cover tenderly, making sure not to disturb the delicate leather more than necessary. Then I turned toward the far corner of the area where my favorite desk sat - tucked between two tall shelves that created a cozy little nook. Quiet. Private.
My feet moved lightly, almost excitedly, across the room. I placed the book gently on the wooden table, my fingers trailing over the cover once again.
I still couldn’t believe I only had three days of work left.
Soon, I would return to the Academy for my third sester - second year already. The thought filled with a conflicting mix of joy and a sharp ache.
I loved learning. Loved the library, the professors, the lessons, the constant discoveries, being with my friends. But this ti... this ti I wasn’t returning as the sa girl who joined the Academy a year ago.
This ti I had a family.
A son.
Lioren was barely five months old, still small enough that his entire hand wrapped around just one of my fingers. Still soft and warm and slling like baby oil and wolf pup. Still wanting to be held every chance he got.
I blinked rapidly as the ache settled heavier in my chest.
I would have to spend weekdays away from him. Away from River and Draven too.
Five days a week without hearing River’s calm voice. Without Draven’s quiet, steady presence. Without the warmth of my little boy’s tiny body curled against .
But it was necessary.
So I would endure it.
Pushing the emotion aside gently, I pulled my chair closer and settled down, ready to open the old records and dive into its secrets.
The mont my fingertips reached for the leather cover.
"Miss Evaline?"
I blinked.
Turning slightly, I saw one of the junior archivists standing hesitantly a few steps away, shifting nervously from foot to foot.
"Yes?" I asked softly.
She swallowed. "You are being summoned."
"Summoned?" My brows dipped. "By whom?"
"Alpha Elion Grey," she replied quickly. "His beta left the ssage for you to stop by Alpha Grey’s office."
It took a mont to process the na.
Why was Alpha Grey summoning ?
I exhaled slowly, my eyes drifting once more to the ancient book waiting on my desk... the one I had been so excited to open.
Of course the universe wouldn’t let have nice things without interruption.
"All right," I murmured, standing up and moothing the front of my skirt. "I’ll go now."
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