Page 70 of The Book of Legends
This is not anger. It is not desperation.
It is fire. He's a warlock. That is the power he inherited.
I followher deeper into the forest, passing Newt’s cottage, and then I see it. A small cottage similar to Eryndor’s. It’s ancient and looks abandoned, but it must hold answers if it’s the only place that does.
There is life in the library.
Not in the way books rustle or lights flicker—this placebreathes. The walls are carved from polished crystal and ancient roots, veins of glowing runes etched into the bark like a pulse. Scrolls float midair, suspended in silence. Books murmur softly in languages I’ve never heard… and one that feels like it’s simply waiting for me to understand.
Newt brought me here earlier and told me the Queen had “granted permission.” But the way he said it sounded more like an execution than a gift.
I don’t know what I’m meant to find.
I only know that I’m beingpulled.
The deeper I walk, the darker it becomes. Not cold. Not frightening. Just… deeper. The light shifts from warm gold to flame-blue, illuminating a distant alcove where a single pedestal waits. A book rests on it—sealed, scorched, and yet somehow untouched.
Itstirsthe moment I arrive.
Holding my breath, I reach for it. The instant my fingertips brush the cover, the script ignites—first gold, then red, then a fierce, living orange. As if the words themselves areburning.
I open it.
The pages are inked in fire. Literal flame—letters that shimmer and twist, unreadable to the eye but not to the mind. They unravel in my thoughts not as language but asmemory.
And I understand.
The Prophecy of the Sundering Flame
The soul split in two.
One to break the realm, one to defend it.
Born in flame, crowned in grief, bound to brothers of war.
One will rise, one will fall. One will choose.
And the world will burn, either way.
My hands tremble.The book goes still, as if it has given me what it came to give.
I stare at the words, now seared into my mind. They’re more than prophecy—they feel liketruth. Like destiny wearing a crown of ash.
One is meant to save the world. One is meant to shatter it.
Is that why they all look at me like I’m a warning? Why the Queen won’t meet my eyes for long?
I close the book.
And for a moment, in the polished glass of the pedestal, I see my reflection…
And it flickers.
Two versions of myself.
One glowing with light.
One wreathed in flame.
