Chiara DeLuca hated being distracted.
Especially during training.
The sword felt heavier than usual in her hands.
The flames danced along the blade as she swung.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The fourth strike nearly slipped.
Chiara cursed under her breath.
The fire sputtered.
Then surged unexpectedly.
A wave of heat exploded from the blade.
She immediately stepped back.
The training dummy burst into flames.
For a moment, the courtyard fell silent.
Chiara stared.
The dummy continued burning.
Behind her, slow applause echoed.
She didn’t need to turn around.
Martino.
Her father approached calmly.
Arms crossed.
One eyebrow raised.
“Trying to train or declare war on the courtyard?”
Chiara groaned.
“Neither.”
“Could have fooled me.”
With a flick of his wrist, the flames died.
Only smoke remained.
Martino studied her carefully.
Too carefully.
Chiara immediately looked away.
That was mistake number one.
Parents always noticed when you looked away.
“Something’s bothering you.”
“I’m fine.”
Mistake number two.
The phrase never worked.
Not once.
Not ever.
Martino sighed.
“Chiara.”
She remained silent.
The older man stepped beside her.
Watching the smoke drift into the morning air.
“You’ve missed three targets.”
“I know.”
“You almost dropped your sword.”
“I know.”
“The dummy is on fire.”
Chiara looked at the ashes.
“…I know.”
Martino laughed softly.
Then his expression became thoughtful.
“Some truths burn hotter than fire.”
Chiara frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“Depends on the truth.”
Before she could ask another question, he turned away.
Leaving her standing alone.
As usual.
With more questions than answers.
By midday, Chiara had made a decision.
A terrible one.
The kind that usually ended with trouble.
Which meant she was definitely going to do it.
The Council Archives sat beneath the Pillar Hall.
Few people visited anymore.
Most records had been copied into newer collections years ago.
The lower archives were considered outdated.
Unimportant.
Forgotten.
Exactly what Chiara needed.
The stone staircase spiraled downward beneath the building.
Cool air greeted her immediately.
Dust lingered everywhere.
Rows upon rows of shelves stretched through the dim chamber.
Old books.
Ledgers.
Records.
Centuries of Valdoro’s history.
Somewhere inside those shelves—
There had to be answers.
She started with the obvious.
Veraldi.
Nothing.
No family records.
No birth records.
No council records.
Nothing.
It was as though the family had never existed.
Chiara frowned.
That alone wasn’t surprising.
The Veraldi had supposedly been erased from history.
But something else caught her attention.
The catalog.
Several entries remained.
References.
Titles.
Records that should have existed.
Yet every corresponding file was gone.
Missing.
Removed.
Not lost.
Removed.
The realization sent a chill down her spine.
Someone had gone through considerable effort.
Someone had wanted those records gone.
Why?
She continued searching.
Hours passed.
Dust coated her sleeves.
Her fingers.
Her hair.
Eventually she found an old council ledger.
Its leather cover was cracked with age.
The pages nearly fell apart when she opened it.
Most entries were routine.
Trade agreements.
Festivals.
Harvest reports.
Then—
She froze.
A meeting.
Twenty years ago.
Shortly before the Veraldi disappeared.
Her eyes moved down the page.
DeLuca.
Bellandi.
Rossi.
Marino.
Veraldi.
Chiara read the names twice.
Then three times.
The entry made no mention of conflict.
No mention of betrayal.
No accusations.
No warnings.
Nothing.
The families appeared united.
Equal.
Partners.
Exactly as they should have been.
She stared at the page.
Confused.
Because that wasn’t what she’d been taught.
The Veraldi were supposed to have betrayed Valdoro.
Weren’t they?
Then why did none of the records mention it?
The question lingered.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Like a stone in her chest.
A floorboard creaked somewhere behind her.
Chiara immediately looked up.
Nothing.
The archive remained empty.
Silent.
Still.
Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling.
Someone was watching.
The sensation crawled along her spine.
She closed the ledger.
Quickly.
Perhaps too quickly.
The silence returned.
But the feeling remained.
Eventually she gathered her things and left.
Not because she was finished.
Because she suddenly didn’t want to be underground anymore.
The afternoon sun felt warmer than expected.
Chiara stepped into the streets of Valdoro.
Trying to organize her thoughts.
The ledger.
The missing records.
The portrait.
The estate.
Nothing made sense.
And the harder she searched for answers—
The more questions she found.
Typical.
She sighed.
Then nearly walked straight into someone.
“Sorry.”
The apology left her lips automatically.
The other person stepped back.
Chiara blinked.
Adriano.
Of course.
Because apparently the town had decided they would keep running into each other forever.
For a moment neither spoke.
Then both laughed softly.
Awkwardly.
The tension eased.
A little.
“You look tired,” Adriano said.
“So do you.”
“Fair.”
They started walking without really deciding to.
The streets were quieter now.
The market crowds had thinned.
For several moments neither spoke.
Then Adriano broke the silence.
“Do you ever feel like everyone knows something except you?”
Chiara looked at him.
Really looked.
The question wasn’t casual.
There was genuine frustration behind it.
Confusion.
Loneliness.
Something she understood surprisingly well.
A laugh escaped her.
Small.
Bitter.
“Constantly.”
Adriano smiled faintly.
The expression looked strange on him.
Rare.
Like something he wasn’t used to.
“My father keeps speaking in riddles.”
“You’re lucky.”
Chiara frowned.
“Why?”
“At least he speaks.”
The answer surprised her.
Neither continued immediately.
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable.
Just thoughtful.
Eventually they reached the crossroads where their paths separated.
Chiara stopped.
“So.”
“So.”
Another awkward pause.
Then Adriano smiled again.
Slightly.
“See you around.”
“Probably.”
The answer earned a laugh.
Then he left.
Disappearing into the crowd.
Chiara watched longer than she intended.
Only realizing it when he vanished from sight.
She immediately turned away.
Pretending she hadn’t been staring.
Night arrived quietly.
The ledger sat open on Chiara’s desk.
The same page.
The same names.
The same mystery.
A candle flickered beside her.
She rubbed her eyes.
Exhausted.
Then something slipped from between the pages.
A loose sheet.
Chiara frowned.
She didn’t remember seeing it before.
Carefully, she unfolded it.
The paper was old.
Much older than the ledger itself.
A note.
Handwritten.
Faded.
Only a single sentence remained visible.
The ink had nearly vanished with age.
But not completely.
Chiara’s breath caught.
She read the words once.
Then again.
And again.
The candlelight trembled beside her.
As if reacting.
The note contained only seven words.
Seven words that changed everything.
The Fifth Pillar did not fall alone.
The room fell silent.
And somewhere beyond her window—
The bells of Valdoro began to ring.