Chapter 54
It started with a single phrase.
Not in a book, not in a scroll—but carved into the underside of a study table in the farthest, dustiest corner of the Restricted Section.
“Balance is not a spell. It is a bond.”
I hadn’t meant to find it. I’d been cataloguing old tomes, half-distracted by the thread of magic still humming faintly in the air around me, when my fingers brushed a groove in the wood. I ducked underneath the table, squinting, and there it was—etched into the oak in a hand that trembled.
Something about it made my skin prickle.
I pressed my palm against the words, let my magic flare just slightly.
The wood responded.
It shifted.
And revealed a compartment I hadn’t known was there.
Inside was a leather-bound journal—cracked with age, its spine nearly falling apart. No protective spell. No locking charm. Just… waiting.
Like it had been waiting for me.
Solara landed gently on my shoulder, her wings tucked tight, her glow dim and solemn. She didn’t trill. She didn’t move.
She knew.
This was important.
The first page was blank. But the second—there it was. A name.
Aelric Vale & Seraphina DuMont.
A note below it, in faded ink:
Keepers of the Balance. Last recorded attempt, 1436.
My heart caught.
The last pair.
I sat down hard on the cold stone floor, the journal open in my lap, and began to read.
Their story was scattered across the pages in uneven handwriting, switches in voice and tone. Some entries were clipped and academic. Others—desperate. Afraid. Passionate.
But the thread was clear.
They had been like Draco and me—one born of light magic, the other of shadow. They had felt the shift, just as we had. They had discovered the same symbol. The same call. The same pull.
And they had tried.
They had come close—so close—to restoring the balance.
But something went wrong.
The last few entries were smudged. The writing grew erratic.
The magic must be carried in equal measure.
If one falters, the other falls.
We are stronger together. But if we separate—
That line ended in a blotch of ink and what looked like ash.
My fingers trembled as I traced the mark.
Solara pressed her head against my cheek, warm and steady.
They hadn’t made it.
Or perhaps, one of them had—and the cost had been too high.
I closed the book slowly, the weight of it heavy in my arms.
Draco and I weren’t the first.
But we might be the last.
And if we were going to succeed where they failed, I needed to understand not just how their bond worked—
But why it broke.
I stood slowly, cradling the journal to my chest.
And for the first time, I felt the weight of the choice before us—not just for me and Draco, but for the world.
Because balance wasn’t just about power.
It was about trust.
And that… terrified me more than any spell.
I didn’t go looking for him.
Not right away.
I spent hours with the journal first, curled beneath the glow of a hovering candle in the corner of the library the castle seemed to keep just for us now. My hands moved over the parchment with care, as if it might crumble with one breath too strong. Solara nestled into the crook of my neck, silent, flickering with a faint golden hum. Neither of us said a word. Not out loud.
When I finally closed the cover, something inside me had shifted.
Not just knowledge.
Grief.
And fear.
Because now I knew what we were trying to do—and what it had cost the last ones who dared.
Aelric Vale and Seraphina DuMont. A bond that stretched between dark and light. One had given too much. The other, not enough. And in the end, balance unraveled them both.
But even in their failure, they had left a map.
A warning.
And maybe… a hope.
I clutched the journal tighter to my chest as I stepped out of the library. The castle was quiet now, the stones cool underfoot, the torches flickering low as if holding their breath.
He wasn’t hard to find.
Draco always went to the Astronomy Tower when he wanted to be alone but not alone. The kind of silence where he could pretend the world didn’t expect anything of him. It had been his refuge since the war. I’d seen him there more times than I’d ever admitted.
Tonight, he stood with his back to the wind, silver-blond hair tousled and eyes set to the sky like it might offer answers.
He didn’t turn when I approached.
“I found something,” I said softly.
His voice was low. “Is it another book you expect me to read?”
I stepped beside him, lifting the journal so he could see the cracked leather. “No. It’s a story. One that’s already been written.”
That caught his attention.
He glanced at me, then down at the journal, then slowly took it from my hands. The wind tugged at the pages as he opened it, but he held them steady.
The first entry was short. He read it once. Then again. And then looked up at me.
“Aelric and Seraphina.”
I nodded. “They were the last ones.”
He turned back to the page, flipping slowly, pausing when the handwriting changed.
“What happened to them?”
My breath caught. “They tried to restore the Equilibrium. They were close. Closer than anyone had ever been.” I hesitated. “But they weren’t equal in the end. One fell out of sync. The balance cracked.”
“And it killed them?” he asked, voice flat.
“I don’t know. It… broke them. That much is clear. One survived. But they were never whole again.”
He closed the book, staring at the leather cover. His jaw worked, silent, before he said, “You brought this to me so I’d walk away?”
“What?” I frowned.
He held up the journal. “This is a warning, Granger. Not a guide.”
I shook my head, stepping closer. “It’s both.”
He laughed, bitter and sharp. “You’re asking me to tether myself to a magic that’s already tried to consume me once. To you. And then you hand me proof that the last time someone did that, it nearly destroyed them.”
“I’m asking you to trust me,” I said, quietly but firmly. “And to let me trust you.”
That silenced him.
The wind picked up, brushing cold across my cheeks.
He looked down at the journal again.
“I don’t want to lose control,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Not of my magic. Not of myself. And if this bond—this balance—depends on us staying in perfect sync, what happens when we disagree? When I fall too far into the dark or you burn too bright with the light? What then?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I don’t think it’s about perfection.”
I reached up, brushing my fingers over his, where they still held the journal.
“I think it’s about choosing each other anyway. Even when we’re uneven. Even when it’s hard.”
His eyes met mine.
Something flickered there.
Fear, yes.
But something else, too.
Hope.
The book pulsed faintly between us, as if it, too, recognized the shift.
Draco exhaled.
And then handed the journal back to me, fingers brushing mine a moment longer than they had to.
“When do we start?” he asked.
My heart beat louder than the wind.
“Tomorrow,” I said. “Together.”