The halls of the academy felt strangely deserted after midnight. Torch sconces flickered faintly, casting dancing shadows across ancient stone walls. Each step Nathan took sounded impossibly loud in the hush, as though the air itself were warning him to turn back. Despite the chill prickling his arms, he pressed on, heart rattling with a mix of excitement and dread.
A gentle hand caught his elbow. “Slow,” whispered Krit, voice barely above a breath. “You’re tapping loud enough to wake half the professors.”
“Sorry,” Nathan mouthed, cheeks flushing. He forced himself onto the balls of his feet, easing his stride. The last thing they needed was a patrolling caretaker or a late-working professor stumbling upon them.
It was Krit’s idea to come here at this hour, just as much as Nathan’s. Over the past week, Nathan had been feeling on edge, the stress of his dreams coupled with the supposed over-channeling. He desperately wanted to get to the bottom of it, so one night, Krit had quietly revealed knowledge of a place that might hold real answers.
They reached a heavy oak door at the end of a narrow corridor. Across it, in thick black letters, read: Restricted Collection – Faculty Authorization Only. Above the door’s frame, a brass glyph glittered faintly, humming with protective wards. Krit produced a tiny shard of etched crystal from a satchel, gesturing for Nathan to stand back.
Nathan swallowed. “You’re sure that’ll work?” he asked softly.
Krit nodded, sliding the crystal shard gently into the glyph. “All wards have an anchor. I borrowed this from an old friend in Alchemy. It should disrupt the alarm for a short window—long enough for us to slip inside.”
A faint glow rose from the glyph. For a heartbeat, it crackled in protest, sparks tracing lines across the door’s surface. Nathan tensed, half-expecting an alarm to blast through the corridor. Instead, the sparks fizzled away, leaving only a faint swirl of bluish smoke.
Krit shot Nathan a small, tight-lipped grin. “We’re in.”
Heart drumming, Nathan pushed the door open. The smell of dust and old parchment billowed out, thick as fog. Inside lay dim rows of towering shelves, stuffed with books older than any he’d seen in the main library. The corridor of the restricted wing stretched on, lit only by a few spaced torches, flickering gloom across venerable tomes. The hush felt deeper here, as though centuries of secrets pressed in from every side.
Krit signaled to keep quiet, and they moved between the shelves. Nathan’s eyes roamed spines bound in faded leather, titles in archaic scripts, half of which he couldn’t even parse. One shelf bore entire volumes on “Blood Magic—Prohibited.” Another on “Lost High Tier Affinities.” His chest tightened reading that.
He traced a fingertip over the spine of a heavy tome labeled Of Convergence and Fractured Realms. Dust smeared his skin. He suppressed a sneeze.
Krit’s steady voice came in a hush near his ear. “We should be systematic. Start with anything referencing ‘over-channeling’ or ‘illusions.’ The old librarians kept a partial index to the right.”
They rounded a corner to find a cramped desk with drawers, one handle snapped. Krit tugged open the top drawer with care. Inside lay disorganized slips of parchment with scribbled references. They scanned them rapidly, searching for the keywords that had brought them here.
“Well this seems interesting.” Krit’s finger tapped a slip that read:
#4076 – Lost Convergence Cases.
Twin Compatibility Archives – Vault B.
Nathan’s pulse leapt. He still remembered that cipher that only he could read during their first History lesson. “Where’s Vault B?”
Krit rummaged further, pulling out a yellowed map of the restricted wing. “Down that row, then left. If it’s still accurate.”
They moved on, deeper into the labyrinth of shelves. The overhead torches grew sparse, leaving them to rely on their own flicker-lantern that Krit produced from a satchel. Its gentle glow revealed battered crates, locked cabinets, and side passages caked in cobwebs. The sheer scale of the place unnerved Nathan; he’d had no idea the restricted wing was this big.
At last, they found a wooden door stamped with a crudely painted B. The lock was more complex here, bearing multiple wards. Krit frowned, rummaging in the satchel for a second crystal shard—larger and etched with more complicated lines. “This might take a moment.”
Nathan hovered anxiously, keeping watch. Minutes ticked by, the only sound their quiet breathing and the scratchy hum of wards resisting. He imagined robed caretakers bursting in, or wards reactivating, or some ancient guardian stirring. But at length, a final spark of bluish light signaled success, and the door groaned open.
Inside lay a cramped archive room, dusty shelves lined with battered scroll tubes and precariously stacked books. The stale air clung to Nathan’s nose. In the flickering lantern light, roaches scurried across the floor, vanishing into shadows. A single battered desk stood in the corner, buried under ancient files.
They split up, rummaging carefully among the shelves. Titled scrolls read: Of the Crimson Tide, Eternal Boundaries, Moon Eclipsed… Each scroll more ominous than the last, stuffed with dire warnings or half-legible commentary. He found a binder with Compatibilities: Failed Trials scrawled on the front, flipping through pages that told horrifying tales of forced experimentation centuries ago. It left a sick feeling in his stomach.
Minutes stretched into half an hour. Nathan grew increasingly discouraged. Then, a muffled exclamation from Krit near the desk made him rush over. Krit held a file folder bound with a cracked leather strap, eyes wide. “Look at this.”
Nathan peered at the label:
Convergence – Child Reaper Studies
Sealed – Highest Restriction
His mouth went dry. “Open it.”
Carefully, Krit undid the leather strap. Inside were clipped pages, old sketches, references to a malevolent figure known only as “The Child Reaper.” Nathan’s skin crawled reading scraps of eyewitness accounts describing a robed phantom who stole children at random—especially rumored twins of unusual elemental potential. Each time, no bodies were found, just missing records and horrifying rumors. Centuries of scattered sightings culminating in a final wave of abductions that ended abruptly some 350 years ago.
Krit flipped pages, scanning quickly. “This… it’s monstrous. He targeted elemental prodigies, or rumored twin pairs. The texts hint at ‘unlocking forced convergence’ to gain unstoppable magic.” Krit’s voice trembled. “He was never confirmed dead. He just vanished, leaving entire families broken.”
A dryness parched Nathan’s throat. “Wait, here—look.” He pointed at an underlined note: Twin Compatibility Phenomenon: Rare. Documented only thrice in the last two centuries.
The references that followed mentioned a link to dream walking, lines about “moon-lost scion” and “sun-crowned heir,” but the text was heavily censored, large sections blacked out.
Then, near the bottom of the file, a single typed card:
Case File: ‘Narcis Quinn – Status Unknown.’
Potential twin subject.
Affinities unverified.
Presumed abducted or hidden.
Nathan felt his heart slam in his chest. Narcis. Quinn. He reread the lines multiple times, shock fueling a surge of adrenaline that made his hands shake. The name matched his own surname. Could Narcis be… a lost relative? A brother?
Krit shot him a worried glance. “Nathan. The same last name. This can’t be coincidence.”
Swallowing the dryness in his mouth, Nathan forced words out. “But I’m adopted, my family never mentioned a twin… or any sibling. I— I had no clue.”
His mind flashed back to the painting they’d glimpsed in the corridor, a half-faded depiction of two boys: one crowned in gold, the other cloaked in silver. Suddenly the rumor of “twin compatibilities” no longer felt hypothetical. Could it be that he was one half of something bigger, hidden from him all these years?
He sank onto the desk’s edge, head spinning. “Why hide it? Why bury records?”
Krit gently laid a hand on his shoulder, voice hushed with sympathy. “Maybe your parents or guardians wanted to protect you. If the Reaper hunts pairs… you might have been separated for safety.”
If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
Nathan started to shake. "Who even are my parents, what happened to them?" Nathan’s vision blurred with a swirl of emotions. Anger, betrayal, confusion. “All these years… if he’s alive, where is he? Did the Reaper..?”
He couldn’t finish the thought.
Krit’s eyes shone with empathy. “We don’t know. This file is incomplete. It just says ‘Status Unknown.’ That could mean anything.”
Nathan clenched the page, tears threatening. Narcis Quinn. The name rang in his head like a distant bell calling him from across time. If his twin brother existed, if he was still out there…
He inhaled sharply, standing tall. “We keep looking. Maybe there’s more.”
Before they could continue, a faint glow at the door made them freeze. They extinguished the lantern, pressing themselves into the shadows. Footsteps approached outside. A caretaker or staff member checking the halls? They couldn’t risk it. Krit hastily returned the files as best they could, strapping the folder closed.
“Time’s up,” Krit whispered.
Nathan’s body trembled with frustration—he wanted more, needed to see if other references existed. But the risk was too high. Krit pulled him along, and they crept out of Vault B, hearts hammering, re-locking the door. The caretaker’s light drifted away down the corridor, giving them a narrow window to slip back to the main hall.
Ten minutes later, they emerged into the academy’s deserted foyer, adrenaline still pumping. Only then did Nathan realize he was clutching a single slip of parchment with a scrawled note: “Narcis Quinn – potential twin, affinity unknown, possible dream link.” He must have yanked it out in his panic.
Once safe behind the relative seclusion of a statue, he stared at the slip, blood pounding in his ears. “What if he’s—?”
Krit placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “Don’t jump to conclusions. We’ll figure this out together. If he’s alive, we’ll find him.”
Nathan slowly nodded, though his heart churned with fear, hope, and an overpowering sense that everything he knew about his life was about to change.
Twin brother. A possible dream link. The Reaper. Convergence.
Those words mingled in his mind like shards of a puzzle that threatened to rearrange his entire sense of self.
Carefully, they slipped out into the night air. Noctisolar hovered nearby, gazing with its calm golden eyes. Nathan paused, slipping the note into his pocket, a flicker of determination pushing away dread.
He might not have all the answers, but at least he had a name—and a path. And that would have to be enough, for now.
Nathan barely slept. After slipping back into the dorm with Krit’s help—hearts racing, minds churning—he lay awake until the sky began to lighten, the ominous slip of parchment tucked under his pillow. Each time he closed his eyes, he saw the name Narcis Quinn scrawled in shaky ink, conjuring a torrent of questions. The faintest trace of dawn was emerging by the time exhaustion claimed him for a couple of fitful hours.
When he woke, Lissandre was already gone to morning drills, and Noctisolar perched on the balcony, staring out at the campus below. The dragon’s presence radiated quiet reassurance, as if sensing the storm in Nathan’s heart. He sat up, pressing a hand to his throbbing temples, recollections of the restricted wing swirling in his mind:
The crumbling documents referencing dream walking and twin phenomenon.
The dire warnings about the Child Reaper.
The sealed mention of Narcis Quinn—Status Unknown.
He still couldn’t entirely believe it. Could Narcis be a sibling? A cousin, maybe? Something else? The short lines had been maddeningly vague, but the significance was impossible to ignore. No matter how he turned it over in his mind, he kept returning to the chilling conclusion that someone with the same surname had disappeared or been hidden away, possibly due to twin affinity with him.
A soft knock on the door startled him. He hastily shoved the slip of parchment deeper under his pillow. Then, realizing it might be Lissandre or Krit, he called a hesitant “Come in.”
Krit stepped inside quietly, their eyes scanning the room as though checking for eavesdroppers. “You look about as rested as I feel,” they murmured, offering a wry smile.
Nathan exhaled shakily, gesturing for Krit to close the door. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”
Krit nodded, crossing the small space to stand near Noctisolar, who dipped its head politely in acknowledgment. “Same. I spent half the night re-checking references in my own notes. There’s nothing else on Narcis Quinn in the standard library. Everything about twin phenomenon is either rumor or sealed in that restricted wing.”
Nathan pressed a hand to his temple. “What do we do now?”
Krit’s expression softened. “We weigh the risks carefully. We can’t keep sneaking around the restricted files—if we’re caught again, the consequences could be severe. The professors might suspect we’re meddling with dangerous magic, or worse.”
“But…” Nathan’s voice trembled. “If Narcis is my sibling, if we truly share some lost twin compatibility, doesn’t that matter? The Child Reaper myths, the forced convergence talk… I can’t just pretend I didn’t see that file.”
“I’m not suggesting forgetting,” Krit said gently. “But maybe we gather clues from other sources, talk to those who might know something. There are older staff who lived here decades, who might recall rumors or glimpses of what happened with twin research.”
Nathan’s eyes flickered with anxious hope. “Do we ask the professors directly?”
Krit frowned thoughtfully. “Some might help, but the official stance is that twin phenomenon, especially linked to hidden or lost records presents a risk. They might clamp down, wanting to ‘protect’ you.”
A heaviness settled in Nathan’s chest. “So it’s more secrecy, more half-truths.”
“For now,” Krit said softly, resting a hand on Nathan’s arm. “At least until we piece together more. This is about your life. Rushing in could make the academy see you as a threat.”
Nathan swallowed. “Alright. We’ll be careful. But if we find an opening to learn more…”
Krit nodded firmly. “We take it.”
That afternoon, in History class, Nathan struggled to stay composed. Professor Caelinn’s lecture on ‘Ancient Conflicts and the Fate of Blood Affinity’ rang hollow in his ears, overshadowed by the swirl of personal revelations pounding in his mind. When the professor displayed a battered tapestry depicting two children, one figure painted in warm gold, the other in cool silver, Nathan almost stopped breathing. The image matched descriptions from the sealed scrolls. Sun and Moon. Opposing elements, rumored to be unstoppable if united.
His heart hammered. Is that me? Or us? But the tapestry’s text had been partially burned centuries ago, leaving only vague lines about “two crowned in day and night, forging power no mortal should hold.”
He felt eyes on him from across the classroom. Roremand was watching, brow creased, as though sensing Nathan’s turmoil. Trying to mask his shaking hands, Nathan gripped his quill tight, forcing himself to take scattered notes. He wanted to run from the room, to demand Caelinn explain everything she might know. But he didn’t dare draw attention to the swirling panic inside him.
When class ended, Lissandre bounded up, gleaning instantly that something was off. “You look like you swallowed a cactus,” she joked, then her grin faded. “Hey, everything okay?”
Nathan forced a shaky smile. “Just tired. I was up studying too late.”
She studied him, suspicious but not pushing. “Alright, well, if you need a break, we’re gonna meet up at the courtyard later. Roremand and I are practicing runic combos. You can watch or join.”
He nodded absently, feeling guilty about lying, but he couldn’t drop this bombshell without proof or clarity. Could Lissandre even help with missing twin conspiracies? She’d try, but it might risk the entire academy turning on them. He mumbled a half-promise to meet them later and slipped off before she could press more.
He found a deserted alcove near the upper floors of the main library, sinking onto a stone bench beneath a stained-glass window. The sunlight cast shifting patterns of color on the floor, but the warmth couldn’t chase away the chill swirling inside him.
Pulling out the parchment slip, he re-read those lines about Narcis Quinn. Status Unknown. Presumed abducted or hidden due to twin risk. The raw dryness in his mouth wouldn’t leave. Why had no one told him? Did the academy know? Did the caretakers who’d raised him hide it for fear the Child Reaper might come for them both?
He realized with a jolt of horror: If the Reaper or his followers discovered I exist, they might still come. The Reaper was rumored to vanish centuries ago, but who knew if he had successors or lingering shadows?
Despite the fear, an odd longing welled up. He could not, would not, abandon the possibility he had a twin, someone who shared a bond of Sun and Moon. If there was any chance Narcis was alive, Nathan had to find the truth.
Overhead, a hush fell. Only the wind stirring the window’s colored glass broke the silence. Nathan closed his eyes, summoning every shred of calm he could. He pictured Noctisolar’s watchful presence, the unwavering loyalty he felt in the dragon’s golden gaze. With that reassurance, he gathered himself. I won’t let this stay hidden.
That night, he retreated to his dorm earlier than usual, skipping the courtyard practice with Roremand and Lissandre. Guilt gnawed at him, but the urgency to read more about dream walking overshadowed everything. He rummaged through notes he’d taken from the restricted texts, scanning references to crossing the boundary in sleep, forging links with lost souls or suppressed memories. Could he use such a method to locate Narcis if he was indeed in hiding or forcibly displaced?
Noctisolar perched close, as though sensing his agitation. Nathan gently stroked the dragon’s scales, words tumbling from his lips in a whisper. “If Narcis is real, if he’s in trouble, maybe I can reach him this way. The texts said dream walking can find those who share a tether. If we truly share blood, an affinity bond, maybe I can follow that thread.”
The dragon rumbled quietly, not in protest but in silent agreement, or perhaps caution. Nathan took a trembling breath. The notion of stepping beyond normal magic into the realm of half-formed nightmares both thrilled and terrified him. But the memory of the twin phenomenon, the painting of day and night… it compelled him. If he did nothing, he’d remain half of a broken secret forever.
He rummaged further, retrieving a short candle and a small matchbox. According to the old notes, dream walking required a flickering anchor in the physical world, plus a simple incantation. He’d attempt it carefully tonight, once the dorm was silent. If it led nowhere, at least he’d tried. If it led to glimpses of an impossible brother, then maybe everything changed.
Around midnight, the dorm quieted. Lissandre, exhausted from a day of flame-casting, was dead to the world. Gently lighting the candle, Nathan knelt by the bed, controlling his breath. His heart pounded so loudly, he feared it’d wake the entire corridor. With one last glance at Noctisolar, who hovered near the window, he let the words form on his tongue:
“Between shadows and silent breath, I open the gate to realms of half-death.”
The flame flickered. An electric thrill coursed up Nathan’s spine. Darkness pressed at the edges of his sight, and a swirl of color enveloped him. Something deep in his mind felt a tug, a gentle, inexorable pull.
He closed his eyes, letting the pull drag him downward, into dream.
