The library's upper alcoves were almost always deserted after dusk. That made them perfect for secrets—and for silence. Kaelen had come here expecting neither comfort nor company. Which made it all the stranger when Selene sat waiting by the arched window, eyes half-closed, a weathered book in her lap.
"I figured you'd be at the training hall," she said, not looking at him. "Or chasing your ghost of a glyph again."
He hesitated at the top of the stairs. "Didn't expect you here."
"I could say the same," she murmured.
The tension that followed wasn't sharp—it was weary. Familiar. The kind that built up over shared days and words left unsaid.
Kaelen stepped closer, quiet over the creaking wood. She looked tired. Not in the way one looked after a duel, but something deeper—exhaustion of the soul. Her coat was draped over the back of the chair, her posture relaxed in a way he rarely saw. Open. Vulnerable.
"I had another vision," he admitted. "The glyph… it's changing again. Faster."
Selene looked up this time, and their eyes met.
"What did you see?" she asked, voice soft.
"A place. Not here, but… familiar. Stone arches. Burning sky. And your voice, calling a name I didn't know." He paused. "You were crying."
Selene's breath caught. Not dramatically—just a hitch. But enough to say: he was right.
Kaelen sat beside her, careful not to close the space too quickly.
"I think it was you," he added. "A past you. Or a future one. I'm not sure anymore."
She didn't answer right away. The silence stretched again, this time more fragile. When she finally spoke, her voice was laced with something old.
"They say Veritas glyphs echo through time," she said. "They don't just see truth—they remember it. Even if you don't."
Kaelen frowned. "How do you know that?"
"I read," she replied quickly.
Too quickly.
"You read a lot, Selene," he said. "But that sounded like memory."
Her hands clenched the edge of the book.
"Do you remember something too?" he asked.
"I don't know," she said. "But I… feel something, when you use your glyph. Like part of me is being called to answer."
His throat tightened. "Then why do you keep running from it?"
That made her finally look at him—really look. And in that moment, her expression cracked.
"Because the last time I followed that feeling… I died."
Kaelen didn't breathe.
She blinked fast and stood, as if that confession had slipped past her defenses. As if saying it made it real.
"I shouldn't have said that," she whispered.
"Selene."
She was already halfway to the stairs, but stopped when he stood.
"You're not alone in this," he said. "Even if the glyph remembers, even if we're repeating something… I'm still me."
Selene's shoulders shook faintly. Her hands trembled at her sides.
He crossed the space between them slowly, gently. No sudden movements.
When he reached her, he didn't touch her—just stood beside her, close enough to be felt. Warmth without demand.
"Whatever happened before," he said, "let's not let it decide what happens now."
She turned her head slightly, and her voice was almost too quiet to hear.
"You sound like someone who's falling in love with a ghost."
He smiled, sad and crooked. "Maybe I'm just trying to love someone who keeps forgetting she's real."
Her breath caught again.
Then—slowly, cautiously—Selene leaned her forehead against his shoulder. She didn't cry. She didn't speak. She just stood there, letting herself exist without armor.
And Kaelen stayed still, holding the moment like it might break.
Neither of them noticed the faint shimmer that drifted through the open window—the watching flicker of a distant glyph, etched in unfamiliar color.
Something was listening.