Chapter 126: The Stillness After Light
The world didn't change when Eva woke up.
The sky outside her window was still the same pale peach, yawning into morning. The trees beyond stirred with the same kind wind, whispering through young spring leaves. A lone bird tapped against the pane, then flew off. The pale marble floors were cool beneath her feet as she slipped out of bed, her curls mussed from sleep.
And yet —
She knew.
She didn't know how she knew, only that the knowledge was there. Settled. Sleeping. Coiled like light in the corners of her mind.
The Archives were gone. The "Archives Codex Code." Not destroyed. Not erased. Just… absorbed.
They had spoken in a language older than speech, a code only de Mercière blood could decipher. When they vanished, they left behind no books, no sigils, no sound. Only something permanent and alive. They had made her memory into their cathedral.
Eva wadded to her desk, plucked a black pen from its holder, and opened her notebook. She flipped past the pages of her own childlike scrawl, line drawings, pretend signatures, and secret messages she used to leave herself. A blank page greeted her like a patient, open gate.
She began to write.
Her pen danced without effort — dates, dynasties, mottos of old families, coded metaphors woven through obscure allusions. Names she had never read now surfaced like familiar friends. Stories without beginnings spilled from her fingers as if they had always lived in her veins.
Halfway down the page, she paused, staring at the symbols.
"I didn't study this," she whispered.
And yet — she had. Somehow.
The de Mercière line had awakened. That was all.
There was no sudden transformation, no dramatic calling, no shining light. Their bloodline didn't work that way. It whispered. Waited. It poured its legacy into you like moonlight into still water — not overwhelming, not loud. Just there.
"Are you scribbling spells again?" Vivienne's voice floated up the stairs, warm with amusement.
Eva grinned. "Not spells. Not exactly."
She padded downstairs and met her mére — Aunt Vivienne in the kitchen, where morning sunlight fell in warm streaks across the long oak table. Vivienne wore her usual soft cashmere wrap over sleep - rumpled silk, sipping green tea as she flipped through the pages of a morning brief. Her hair was pinned loosely, and the domestic calm of the scene made something in Eva's chest go still, and safe.
"Cinnamon honey toast?" Vivienne asked, already reaching for the bread.
Eva nodded eagerly and climbed into her seat.
As Vivienne spread the golden paste across the slices, she asked, without looking up, "Did you dream last night?"
Eva hesitated. "Maybe. I think I forgot it."
"Mmm." Vivienne handed her the plate. "That might be for the best."
They ate in the kind of silence that never pressed too hard. Eva swung her legs beneath the chair, chewing thoughtfully.
Then she asked, "Do you think someone can change overnight… even if they still look the same in the mirror?"
Vivienne took a slow sip of tea, eyes distant. "I think that's how it begins most of the time. Quiet. Inward. Like roots pushing deeper before a tree grows taller."
Eva looked down at her toast. "Then maybe I'm a forest."
Vivienne reached over and brushed a crumb from her cheek, a smile tugging her lips. "You're certainly wild enough to be one."
Later that morning, a soft chime rang out from Eva's tablet. She ran upstairs, nearly tripping over her books as she scrambled onto the bed. The screen blinked to life and Seraphina's face appeared — slightly flushed from the cold, cheeks pink, eyes bright with delight.
"Evaaaaa," Seraphina crooned dramatically, dragging out the syllable. "It's about time."
"You're wearing three scarves," Eva teased.
Seraphina tugged at one. "That's because Langford is in N•••••. You are in G••••• people get spring. We get snow in April."
Eva tilted the tablet to show her the cherry blossoms blooming just outside the window.
"You're missing this."
Seraphina clutched her chest. "Torture."
"Want me to mail you a petal?"
"I want you to mail me you."
They giggled.
Then Seraphina leaned in, her tone suddenly more serious. "Okay. Real question. Did you have that dream again?"
Eva blinked. "What dream?"
"The one with the glass tunnels. And the music in that language that doesn't exist."
Her fingers tightened just slightly on the edge of the tablet. "No… not that dream. Something else. I think."
She didn't want to say too much. Not yet. Not while her own thoughts still felt like wet ink, fragile and unfinished. But Seraphina only tilted her head, her voice gentle.
"You've got that face. The one where something big happened and you haven't decided if it's good or bad."
Eva gave a tiny smile. "Maybe it's both."
They talked for nearly half an hour. About Seraphina's snowball war with her cousins ("There were casualties. Mostly pride."), Eva's failed lemon tart experiment ("The oven betrayed me"), and a dramatic toy car tournament Seraphina had engineered on her bedroom floor.
"Mine won," Seraphina declared.
"You weren't even there to see it!"
"I can feel it in my soul," she replied solemnly.
Their laughter sparkled across countries, bouncing through satellites and across spring and snow.
Before the call ended, Seraphina's voice softened.
"I miss you."
"I miss you too."
They stared at each other a little longer, smiling through the ache.
"I'll see you soon," Seraphina whispered.
"Promise?"
"Cross my heart."
With a soft beep, the call ended. The room felt quieter than before. Not empty. Just… waiting.
Downstairs, Evelyn stood by the front door, her travel coat folded neatly over one arm. Her suitcase was already packed. Vivienne hovered nearby, arms crossed, lips pressed into a tight line.
"You're sure?" Vivienne asked, quiet and firm.
"She's fine," Evelyn answered. "The de Mercière blood is quiet now. I think… it's feeding her. Without overwhelming her. As it should."
Vivienne looked unconvinced. "And if the others stir?"
"I'll know," Evelyn said.
"F••••• is dangerous."
Evelyn met her gaze, calm and unflinching. "So is standing still."
They had made the decision the night before, over ambient lighting and unfinished glasses of wine. Evelyn would return to the continent — to the shadowed vaults and decaying chateaux, to old names who remembered too much or far too little. There were predators circling, drawn to power they didn't understand. Clever men, patient ones.
Someone had to muddy the scent. Misdirect. Seal doors behind them. Burn bridges before they could be crossed.
"I'll keep her safe," Vivienne said.
"I know." Evelyn reached into her coat and pulled out a fine silver chain. At its end was a tiny sapphire, carved with the de Mercière crest. She pressed it into Vivienne's palm. "Only if you must. She'll understand."
Vivienne closed her hand around it, expression unreadable.
"I'll be back before summer."
"And if not?"
Evelyn gave a tired smile, fierce and absolute. "Then you'll tell her everything."
Vivienne said nothing. But her silence trembled.
That night, Eva stood at her window, her forehead pressed gently to the glass. The stars were coming out, one by one. The sky above was a vast velvet hush, studded with silver.
She didn't know her maman was leaving. Not yet.
But something inside her had changed.
Earlier that day, she had drawn — symbols and diagrams, intricate lines and impossible shapes. Her hand had moved without thought, sketching things she didn't recognize, yet knew with aching certainty. They were hers. And not hers. Familiar and forgotten.
She watched the stars now, and it no longer felt like watching from below. It felt like remembering something she had once belonged to.
Something vast. Something still.
A private archive/ knowledge in her mind. A quiet inheritance.
The silence within her was no longer loneliness.
It was legacy.
It was waiting.
It was hers.