Ashford Library

The Ashford Keep library was a different world from the main campus library.

No students dozing at desks. No stacks of romance novels or textbooks on economics. Just shelves upon shelves of leather-bound volumes, their spines cracked with age, their pages smelling of dust and secrets. The lighting was dim—deliberately so, to preserve the older texts—and the only sounds were the soft rustle of turning pages and the distant hum of the preservation wards.

Lucian sat at a table near the back, a stack of tournament records in front of him. The Silver Falcons had won the inter-academy championship for three years running. Their tactics were solid, their coordination precise, their individual skills polished. But there were gaps. Patterns. Weaknesses that could be exploited.

Cora was across from him, scrolling through a tablet, her brow furrowed. "They change formation depending on the opponent. Fast against ranged teams, heavy against melee. The pivot is always their leader—Dorian. If we take him out early, they crumble."

Mason was a few seats away, reading about defensive strategies. Sera had her phone out, but she was using it to cross-reference monster registries.

Derek was at a different table, surrounded by books he’d pulled from a section marked "Restricted Access—Senior Hunters Only." He’d used his new clearance to get in, claiming he needed to research tournament opponents. But his eyes weren’t on the tournament. They were on something else.

"Lucian," he said quietly.

Lucian looked up.

Derek pushed a book across the table. It was old—the cover was cracked leather, the title handwritten in a script that predated modern Verland. "The Old Bloods," Derek said. "I found a reference to something."

Cora leaned over. "Old Bloods?"

"Races that existed before the Veil. Before the First Crossers. Some say they were here when the world was young." Derek pointed to a passage. "It mentions a few. Atlanteans. Fae. Jotunn—giants. And others."

Sera looked up from her phone. "I’ve heard of the Fae. They’re still around, aren’t they? In the courts?"

"They’re supposed to be," Derek said. "But no one’s seen them in centuries. The text says they retreated to hidden domains after the First Crossers invaded."

Lucian’s eyes moved across the page.

The Old Bloods are not of the Veil, nor of the Crossers. They are of the world itself—ancient, powerful, and proud. The Atlanteans sank beneath the waves rather than bow to the invaders. The Fae retreated to their courts beyond the mortal realm. The Jotunn buried themselves in mountains and ice. The Lycae—the true wolves—fled to forests that exist between worlds. The Amazonians raised their shields and swore never to kneel.

Some say they still exist. Some say they watch from the edges of the Veil, waiting for a time when the world needs them again. Others say they are myth, stories told by hunters to scare rookies.

But the bones are real. The ruins are real. And every few centuries, someone claims to have seen one.

Lucian’s heart beat slower, steadier. He didn’t show it, but something had clicked into place.

His father.

Could he be one of these Old Bloods? An Atlantean? A Fae? Something else entirely? The text didn’t mention his father’s kind—didn’t mention anything like him—but it was the first confirmation he’d seen that non-human races had existed in this world long before the demons, witches, beastkins, revenants came.

He looked at the passage again.

The Amazonians raised their shields and swore never to kneel.

Margaret had spoken of them. Had even considered training Margie with them. So they weren’t just stories. They were real. And if they were real, maybe the others were too.

Cora was watching him. "Lucian?"

He looked up. "What?"

"You’re staring at that page like it owes you money."

He closed the book. "Just interesting. We should know about potential threats. If these Old Bloods exist—"

"They’re not threats," Derek said. "The text says they’re neutral. They don’t involve themselves in human affairs. They just... exist."

"Until they don’t."

Derek frowned. "That’s paranoid."

"That’s survival."

The table fell silent.

Lucian picked up the book and walked to the copy machine in the corner. The machine was old, its glass cracked, but it worked. He placed the open page face-down, pressed the button, and watched the light scan across the text. The copy slid out, warm and crisp.

He folded it into his pocket.

Cora was watching him again.

He didn’t meet her eyes.

The rest of the session passed without incident. Derek found more references—fragments, mostly, nothing concrete. The Fae had courts in the Twilit Realms. The Jotunn slept in mountains. The Atlanteans had cities beneath the waves. The Lycae ran with the moon. The Amazonians sharpened their spears.

Sera yawned. "This is giving me a headache."

Mason closed his book. "We have enough for now. The tournament is our focus."

"Agreed," Cora said. She stood, stretched, and looked at Lucian. "Coming?"

"In a minute."

The others filed out. Derek lingered, his eyes on Lucian, but Dr. Blackwood’s voice drifted through the air and pulled him away.

"You’re doing it again," Cora said from the doorway.

"Doing what?"

"Thinking too hard." She walked back to the table, sat on the edge, and crossed her arms. "You copied that page. You’re onto something."

Lucian didn’t deny it.

"You want to talk about it?"

"No."

She nodded, unsurprised. "When you do, I’m here."

She left.

Lucian sat alone in the dim library, the weight of the folded page pressing against his chest. He pulled it out, unfolded it, and read the words again.

The Old Bloods are not of the Veil, nor of the Crossers. They are of the world itself.

His father.

His missing half.

Was he an Old Blood? Or something else entirely?

He folded the page again and stood. The library was silent, the shelves full of secrets he hadn’t begun to unravel. But this—this was a thread. A thin one, frayed at the edges, but a thread nonetheless.

He’d follow it.

Wherever it led.

The lights dimmed as he walked out, and the shadows in the corners seemed to shift, as if something had been watching and had finally looked away.

Lucian didn’t notice.

But if he had, he might have wondered how many eyes were really on him. And how many of them belonged to things that weren’t human.