The storm lasted throughout the night.
Thunder rolled across the skies above Astryx Academy while rain hammered against ancient stone walls.
Most students slept peacefully.
Aren did not.
The discoveries from the previous day refused to leave his mind.
The Three Seals.
The appointed successor.
The Hall of Records Prime.
And perhaps most troubling of all—
The warning about the Throne.
Every clue pointed toward a hidden history that someone had spent centuries trying to erase.
Yet despite all the effort, fragments continued surfacing.
Like pieces of a puzzle determined to complete itself.
Aren stood by his dormitory window, watching rain streak down the glass.
Somewhere beneath the academy lay answers.
Real answers.
The problem was reaching them before someone else did.
Or before whatever slept beyond the seals awakened completely.
The next morning brought gray skies and cool air.
Classes continued as normal.
Students complained about assignments.
Professors delivered lectures.
Life at the academy moved forward.
Yet Aren noticed something strange.
Professor Selene seemed distracted.
Not outwardly.
Most students probably wouldn’t notice.
But Aren had spent enough time observing her.
Something was bothering her.
Several times during class, she paused unexpectedly.
Once, she appeared to lose her train of thought entirely.
A rare occurrence.
Very rare.
At the end of the lesson, she dismissed the class earlier than usual.
That alone confirmed something was wrong.
As students gathered their belongings, Mira leaned toward him.
“You noticed?”
Aren nodded.
“She’s worried.”
“About something.”
Neither knew what.
Yet both suspected it connected to the investigation.
Everything seemed connected lately.
That afternoon, they returned to the library.
The Hall of Records Prime dominated their thoughts.
Unfortunately, they possessed very little information.
Only a name.
A hidden notation on an ancient map.
Nothing more.
Their search began with archive indexes.
Old catalogues.
Library inventories.
Administrative records.
Anything mentioning the Hall of Records Prime.
Hours passed.
The results were disappointing.
Most references had been removed.
Others appeared intentionally censored.
Entire pages were missing.
The pattern had become familiar.
Whenever information approached something important, it vanished.
Someone had been extremely thorough.
Or at least they had tried to be.
Because one record survived.
A tiny reference buried inside an ancient inventory ledger.
Mira discovered it first.
“Aren.”
He immediately looked up.
“What is it?”
Her finger pointed toward a faded entry.
Most of the text had become unreadable.
Yet one line remained clear.
Transferred to Records Prime by order of A.
Valen.
Aren frowned.
“A.
Valen?”
Mira nodded.
“Apparently.”
The name meant nothing to either of them.
At least initially.
Their curiosity quickly turned into obsession.
Who was A.
Valen?
Why did the name appear in connection with Records Prime?
And why had they never encountered it before?
The search expanded.
Historical registries.
Professor records.
Ancient academy documents.
Anything containing the name.
The first result appeared thirty minutes later.
Then another.
Then another.
Soon a pattern emerged.
A disturbing pattern.
The name appeared everywhere.
Aren stared at the growing pile of references.
Every document seemed connected somehow. Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
Construction records.
Seal maintenance reports.
Archive inventories.
Restricted authorizations.
The same name appeared repeatedly.
A.
Valen.
Again.
And again.
And again.
It didn’t matter how old the document was.
The name was there.
Sometimes as a signature.
Sometimes as an authorization.
Sometimes merely mentioned in passing.
Yet always present.
The oldest document dated back nearly seven hundred years.
The newest dated less than fifty years ago.
Aren slowly looked up.
“That’s impossible.”
Mira nodded.
“Very.”
No ordinary person appeared in records spanning centuries.
Not unless something was very wrong.
Or very unusual.
The mystery deepened when they finally discovered the full name.
Aren nearly dropped the document.
Aurelius Valen.
The name appeared at the bottom of an ancient seal inspection report.
Beneath it was a title.
Keeper of Records Prime.
Silence filled their section of the archive.
Aren reread the line several times.
Then glanced toward Mira.
“You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Probably.”
“The old librarian.”
Mira nodded slowly.
Everything suddenly seemed to fit.
The hidden books.
The mysterious knowledge.
The impossible appearances.
The connection to forgotten records.
The old librarian had never given his name.
Yet Aurelius Valen sounded exactly like the kind of person who might become a legend hidden within the academy.
Or perhaps a ghost.
Aren wasn’t entirely ruling out ghosts anymore.
Not after everything else.
As evening approached, another discovery changed everything.
Aren found a damaged student registry.
Most entries had faded.
Many pages were missing.
One section, however, remained intact.
The list contained names of individuals granted special access to restricted archives.
Several familiar names appeared.
Ancient professors.
Headmasters.
Researchers.
Then Aren froze.
His eyes widened.
Slowly, he read the entry again.
And again.
And again.
Because it couldn’t possibly be correct.
Yet the words remained unchanged.
Aren.
His name.
Written clearly.
Perfectly.
Inside a document over four hundred years old.
For several seconds, he couldn’t breathe.
Mira immediately noticed his expression.
“What happened?”
Aren silently handed her the registry.
She read the page.
Then froze exactly as he had.
The name stared back at them.
Aren.
Not a similar name.
Not a partial match.
Aren.
Exactly.
A chill ran through the archive.
Neither spoke.
Because neither knew what to say.
Eventually Mira broke the silence.
“There has to be another explanation.”
Aren desperately wanted to agree.
Unfortunately, the evidence kept growing worse.
The entry listed no surname.
Only the first name.
Yet the timing felt impossible to ignore.
Four hundred years old.
Connected to restricted archives.
Connected to hidden records.
Connected to everything they were investigating.
No explanation felt satisfactory.
The rest of the evening passed in a haze.
And somehow the situation became even stranger.
The name appeared again.
Then again.
Then again.
A faded maintenance report.
A damaged visitor log.
An incomplete research index.
Always the same name.
Aren.
Sometimes accompanied by notes.
Sometimes standing alone.
Yet consistently present.
The frequency became disturbing.
At one point, Mira spread several documents across the table.
Seven separate records.
Different centuries.
Different handwriting.
Different contexts.
The same name.
Aren.
“This isn’t coincidence.”
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
Aren couldn’t disagree.
Coincidences had limits.
This surpassed them.
As darkness settled over the library, they uncovered the oldest reference yet.
A fragmented page recovered from the First Academy era.
The document appeared older than almost anything else they had examined.
Much of the text had been destroyed.
Only fragments survived.
Yet one passage remained readable.
Aren felt his blood run cold as he read it.
The successor shall remember.
The seals shall recognize him.
When Aren returns, the final age will begin.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
The world seemed to stop.
Mira slowly lowered the page.
Neither moved.
Neither spoke.
Because both understood the significance immediately.
The prophecy wasn’t mentioning someone named Aren.
Not generally.
Specifically.
The wording left little room for interpretation.
It referred to a person.
A future person.
And somehow—
That person shared his name.
Thunder rumbled outside.
Rain began falling once more.
The atmosphere inside the library felt heavier than ever.
Aren stared at the prophecy fragment.
Questions filled his mind.
Who wrote it?
When?
How?
Most importantly—
Why his name?
The logical explanation seemed obvious.
It was another Aren.
Someone from history.
Someone unrelated.
Yet deep down, he knew the truth wasn’t that simple.
Nothing about this mystery was simple.
The dreams.
The memories.
The throne.
The seals.
The hidden records.
Everything continued pulling him toward the same conclusion.
A conclusion he desperately wanted to reject.
Later that night, after returning to his dormitory, Aren sat alone beside the window.
The prophecy fragment rested in his hands.
Moonlight illuminated the faded words.
He read them one final time.
When Aren returns, the final age will begin.
A return.
Not an arrival.
A return.
The distinction mattered.
Terrified him, actually.
Because returns implied something had existed before.
Something lost.
Something forgotten.
And somewhere deep beneath Astryx Academy, beyond ancient gates and weakening seals, a presence stirred.
For the first time in centuries, it spoke.
Not loudly.
Not physically.
Only a whisper carried through forgotten darkness.
A single name.
A name repeated throughout ancient records.
A name written into prophecies.
A name that seemed woven into the academy’s hidden history itself.
“Aren.”
And far above, without knowing why, Aren suddenly felt as though something had called to him.