Beneath Valaroth's ancient library, hidden corridors curled downward like roots gnawing into the earth. Candles lined the passage, flames jittery and thin, casting weak halos over stone carved centuries before my first breath. This was my sanctuary—shielded by runes and guarded by silence. Even Vostyr did not know the full depth of the wards wrapped around my chambers. Yet tonight, two scrolls lay on my desk, defying that secrecy.
One bore the stark seal of General Vostyr—black wax etched with a wolf's jaws. A curt demand: tighter control, harsher oversight. Mages across Valaroth were to have their every incantation logged, their every movement tracked. Paranoia dripped from every letter of his heavy hand.
But the second scroll…
Its seal shimmered silver in candlelight, bearing a crescent moon. I turned it in my fingers, feeling the faint pulse of magic embedded in the parchment itself. My breath frosted lightly as I broke the seal.
