Lilith wandered into a bookshop. She often gent to parchment, whether it be for studying or for exploring in the safety of the warm libraries, she always returned to books. The bookkeepers in and around the city know her fondly and answer the same way. Today, she looks for something new. She wandered around the rows of books, looking for something to spark her interest. She sighed dismally when everything failed to do so. She was on the verge of quitting her quest when the librarian came up to her.

“Lilith, I heard you came in for something new?” The old man said. He was slightly taller than Lilith, though much frailer. A pair of round spectacles were perched precariously on the bridge of his nose. She turned and smiled warmly at him, the expression of disappointment replaced by gratitude.

“Yes, Mr. Thame. I was hoping to find something intriguing, however these aisles contain many that I have read before. Pray, sir, do you have a book in mind for me?” She replied, turning away from the shelves to face the kindly man.

“Why yes, I do. It just arrived from across the seas, and it is in a very delicate state right now. I was waiting for my apprentice to arrive back from his voyages so he may copy it before I allow people to read it, but I believe I am correct in assuming are in greater need of it currently?” He inquired, a little twinkle in his eyes. Before she could answer him, he hobbled off. She followed him dutifully.

He led her down a few flights of stairs, their shoes clacking loudly against the wood in the silence of the basement. He grabbed a lantern from atop a wooden crate, pulled a match from his coat pocket, and lit it. Immediately, the room filled with a golden light that seemed to dance on the loose pages that covered the crates and floors.

Lilith gasped in amazement. The basement was nearly the size of the library, and the books stacked even higher. Thousands of stories had lied beneath her feet for years, waiting patiently to be brought to the surface.

“My, this is wonderful! Are all libraries like this?” She asked, running her hand along inscriptions she couldn’t decipher. She carefully picked up a worn leather book, the sides cracking ominously even when she handled it with extreme care.

“Very few, my dear, very few.” Mr. Thame replied, slightly behind her. He limped towards a stack taller than many of the others, with a leather trunk resting well above his head. He looked around the ground, searching for something.

“May I aid you, Mr. Thame?” Lilith asked, replacing the leather volume carefully. She eyed it wistfully before moving to the librarian.

“Ah, well, I am looking for a ladder that I placed down here, but it seems to be missing.” He said, his voice slightly muffled as he peered in between two dark wooden crates. As he straightened, he groaned and mumbled something. Lilith guessed it was complaints of old age, as many of the elderly she knew did similar actions.

“I could retrieve the trunk if you wish. I’m sure I could climb one of the crates, they look stable enough.” She said, appraising the stacks that accompanied the desired one on each side. She began moving towards them.

“Be extremely careful, my dear, many of those crates are very old.” Mr. Thame said, concern showing in his gaze. She nodded in agreement and climbed the first box. Her feet found purchase on the next one, and so it continued until the top of the stack. The boxes beneath her groaned ominously, threatening to topple over and potentially injure her. She shook her head to rid the thoughts and looked at the trunk. It was just out of arms reach, slightly too far for her in her current position.

“You should come down now, Lilith, neither you nor myself need this book more than your bones.” Mr. Thame called from below. She didn’t dare risk a glance down, for she was sure she would only gain terror.

“I’m almost there, sir, I’ll be careful.” She replied, then began reaching for the trunk. The stack shifted beneath her, creaking like a ship in a storm. She forced herself to reach further still, her fingertips brushing against the case. With one last lean she managed to grab ahold of the handle and gently eased back. After swaying slightly in the air, she carefully made her way back down, the case in hand.

“That was marvelous, Lilith, simply marvelous!” Mr. Thame exclaimed when her foot touched the floor. She smiled sheepishly and handed the trunk over to the librarian. He heaved it onto a nearby table and unclasped the locks.

From the trunk he withdrew an old leather book. The cover was a diagram Lilith didn’t recognize, with inscriptions of an ancient tongue. Her fingers brushed the cover, feeling the wear in the leather. This was extremely old, nay, practically older than this city. Ancient.

“Do you know what it contains?” Lilith asked, picking up the hefty volume. In felt welcoming in her hands, like it was waiting for her.

“I was told from the merchant that it was about voyages through magical lands, though I haven’t gone through it myself.” He said, already moving towards the stairs. Lilith caught up with him quickly, however, as his movements were extremely slow.

“Don’t you wish to read the book yourself, sir?” She asked, confusion showing on her expression. She couldn’t comprehend someone who works at a library without wanting to read a mysterious book. It seemed contradictory.

“I’ve read plenty in my life, my dear, I can wait a little longer for something like that. Maybe you could tell it to me after you complete it, who knows?” He chuckled slightly; a knowing chuckle Lilith had heard from many elderly people before. It usually left the other person feeling like they were lost in the dark, with the elder the only one with the match.

“If you wish, sir.” She sighed, perhaps imagining such a life where curiosity was so little. Or whether she would be like Mr. Thame in her old age. She slipped the book into her bag and wrote her name on the checkout list.

“I really must be going now, my mother will be worried as I never usually stay this long. Thank you for your help, Mr. Thame.” She added cheerily. The old man replied his welcome, but she was already out the door, the bell chiming her exit.

Ten years had passed since Lilith had wandered into Mr. Thame’s library and returned home with the old leather book tucked safely in her satchel.

Much had changed since then. Lilith was no longer a child wandering happily through the city in search of stories. She had grown taller, quieter, fairer, and far more careful than she had once been. Her soft little dresses had been traded for plain work gowns, and her hands, though still neat and graceful, had learned the stains of herbs, ink, and ground powders. Even her love of books had altered somewhat. Once, she had loved them for the places they took her. Now, she loved them also for what they could teach her to survive.

For when she had returned home that evening, she had not been met with supper or her mother’s voice calling from another room. Instead she had found the house in dreadful disorder. A chair had been knocked upon its side, a lamp lay shattered upon the floor, and dark stains marked the boards in a way she had never forgotten. Of her mother and father, there had been no sign at all.

Some said they had been murdered. Others whispered they had been taken. A few claimed it had something to do with magic, though none could agree on what sort or whose hand had wrought it. Lilith, being only six at the time, had been given no answers worth trusting. In the years that followed, she received fewer still.

Eventually she had come under the care of Master Vale, an alchemist known for his skill, his strict habits, and his very limited patience. Under his instruction Lilith had learned how to grind dried herbs into fine powder, how to measure tinctures without wasting a single drop, how to hold a flame steady beneath delicate glass, and how to copy long lists of ingredients in a hand even merchants found difficult to dispute. It was not an easy life, though neither was it unkind. Master Vale was not a warm man, but he valued diligence, and Lilith had no shortage of that.

It was through him, and through the years themselves, that she came to understand something she had not fully grasped as a child: magic was not hidden away in old trunks and ancient books, waiting for some fortunate soul to stumble upon it. It was already woven into the world.

Alchemists used it in draughts and powders. Magicians lit lamps and sealed shutters against winter winds. Healers coaxed fevers down and mended lesser hurts with careful spells. Charmwrights marked shop doors and windows with symbols meant to bless, guard, or preserve. Such things were common enough that most people scarcely remarked upon them unless something went wrong.

There were others, however, whose power was far greater.

Those with stronger gifts were often taken into the Stormguard, an order spoken of all across the city with equal parts admiration and unease. They were protectors, according to some. Necessary, according to many. Yet Lilith had seen enough in her years to suspect that any group made powerful enough to command the weather and the will of kings ought to be regarded with caution, no matter how noble their cause might sound.

She thought little of them this particular morning, however, for Master Vale had work to be done, and when Master Vale had work to be done, all else faded in importance.

Lilith was seated at the small desk in her room when the first pale light of dawn slipped through the window. Her room was narrow but tidy, tucked above the workshop with just enough space for a bed, a washstand, a wardrobe, and the desk where she studied late into most evenings. Scattered upon its surface were notes written in her careful hand, two stoppered vials, a bundle of dried lavender, and an old leather book she had not touched in ten years.

It rested where she had placed it on her first night in the room. Dust had gathered along its edges, softening the dark leather and the strange diagram pressed into the cover. She never moved it far, though neither did she ever open it. More than once she had considered hiding it away in a drawer or chest, yet she never quite brought herself to do so. It felt wrong, somehow. So it remained in plain sight, silent and waiting, like a memory she could not dismiss even when she wished to.

Her eyes passed over it only briefly before she looked back down at her notes.

Below her, she heard the workshop beginning to stir. Glass clinked. A cabinet door shut with more force than was strictly necessary. Then came Master Vale’s voice, muttering to himself in the sharp tone that usually meant either something had gone missing or someone else had failed him.

Lilith set down her pen and rose from the desk.

The air downstairs was warm and smelled strongly of rosemary, vinegar, ash, and something bitter that had likely been crushed within the last few minutes. The workshop was already lit, the golden glow catching on rows of jars and hanging bundles of herbs. Master Vale stood at the central table with his sleeves rolled and his attention fixed upon a mortar and pestle.

“You are awake at last,” he said without looking up.

Lilith paused by the stairs. “Sir, I have been awake for an hour.”

“Then you have spent that hour too quietly.”

She said nothing to that. In truth, there was rarely any use in disputing Master Vale when he had already chosen his mood for the morning.

“What would you have me do?” she asked instead, stepping closer.

That, at least, seemed to please him. He set aside the pestle and reached for a folded slip of parchment.

“I require an order from Harrow’s supply shop on East Row,” he said, handing it to her. “It should have been delivered yesterday. Since it was not, you may go and fetch it yourself before I am forced to abandon all hope in merchants entirely.”

Lilith unfolded the note and scanned the list. Refined chalk, sun-distilled oil, myrrh resin, and clear spirit. None of it unusual, though likely dearer than it had been last month.

“I shall go directly, sir,” she replied, folding it again.

“See that you do. And mind what he charges for the chalk. If he has raised the price once more, you may remind him that I am an alchemist, not a fool.”

A faint smile nearly reached her mouth, though she hid it before it could settle. “Yes, sir.”

She took up her satchel and cloak from their place by the door.

“And Lilith,” Master Vale added.

She turned back.

“Be swift.”

“I always am.”

“Yes,” he said, returning to his work, “but today I should like you to be swift without becoming distracted by any charming detours, mysterious windows, or dusty shelves of books.”

This time she did smile, however slightly. “I shall endeavor to resist them, sir.”

“You had best.”

With that, she stepped out into the chill of morning.

The city had not yet fully woken, though it was beginning to stretch. A faint wash of silver-blue lay over the rooftops, and the streets were occupied mostly by bakers, laborers, and those shopkeepers who liked to begin before the bells. A woman was unfastening the shutters of a dressmaker’s shop. A boy hurried past with a basket of bread balanced against one hip. Somewhere nearby a small ward-bell chimed as a store’s overnight protection was lifted for the day.

Lilith pulled her cloak more tightly about herself and began down the street.

She knew these roads well. Over the years she had walked them in all seasons and in nearly every sort of weather, carrying messages, collecting ingredients, and occasionally delivering orders when Master Vale trusted no one else to do it properly. It was a pleasant city in some places and a hard one in others. Its stone streets wound between old buildings full of merchants, craftsmen, scholars, healers, and magicians, all of whom brought their own sort of noise and energy to the waking day.

Magic, as ever, was woven quietly through it all.

A lamp near the corner still burned though no hand tended it. Symbols painted above an apothecary’s doorway glimmered faintly in the dim light. A laundress at the far end of the lane muttered over a line of wet cloth, and the fabric stirred as though a breeze had found it, though the morning air was still.

Lilith scarcely gave any of it more than a passing glance. Such things had long since become ordinary to her.

As she turned onto East Row, however, she slowed somewhat.

Two figures in gray-blue cloaks stood near the crossing, their silver fastenings catching what little light the dawn had offered. Even from a distance they were unmistakable. Stormguard.

They were not speaking loudly, nor doing anything alarming, yet the people passing by them seemed to shift ever so slightly, leaving more room than was truly necessary. Lilith lowered her gaze and continued walking. She had no desire to be noticed by them, nor much desire to notice them herself.

Presently she arrived at Harrow’s supply shop, a narrow establishment tucked between a cooper’s yard and a seller of maps and sea charts. The sign above the door had faded with time, though the lettering remained legible enough. She mounted the step and pushed the door open.

A small brass bell rang overhead.

The shop was warmer than the street and smelled of cedar, parchment, spice, and oil. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, filled with jars, packets, drawers, and carefully stacked boxes. Lilith had expected to find old Harrow shuffling behind the counter with his spectacles low upon his nose.

Instead, there stood a young man she had never seen before.

One hand rested upon a wrapped parcel, the other upon an open ledger. He looked up at once when the bell rang, and Lilith felt the curiosity and wonder she had strived to muffle as a child start to stir once more, along with the certainty that her promise to Master Vale of no detours was well out of her control.

The shop was warmer than the street outside, and smelled faintly of cedarwood, parchment, and spice. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, laden with glass bottles, folded packets, curious jars, and a dozen other things Lilith could not name at a glance. The early morning light slanted in through the front window, catching on bits of dust in the air and making the whole place seem quieter than it truly was. Somewhere in the back, she could hear the faint rustling of paper and the soft clink of glass.

Lilith paused just inside the doorway, allowing the bell overhead to finish its chime. She had expected to find old Master Harrow behind the counter, spectacles low upon his nose and ink upon his fingers as ever, and so she was somewhat startled to see a young man in his place.

He stood with one hand resting lightly upon the polished wood of the counter, and though there was nothing especially grand about his clothing, he wore it with an ease that made him seem almost out of place amongst the shelves and ledgers. When he looked up at the sound of the bell, his expression was open and pleasant, and his smile came so readily that Lilith felt, for a brief and foolish moment, as though she had interrupted a conversation already waiting for her.

“How do you do, madam?” the young man asked, his tone warm.

Lilith snapped out of her momentary reverie and curtsied as best she could, given the unwieldy outfit Master Vale had insisted was far more practical than graceful.

“Fine, thank you,” she replied quietly, drawing a slip of paper from her satchel and handing it to him. “I was sent by my master to see if his order has arrived.”

The young man took the slip and glanced over it, his eyes moving quickly across the page before he turned to the ledger beside him. “Master Vale,” he said, as though the name carried some old memory with it. “Why is a fair young lady such as you apprenticed to a grumpy old alchemist?”

Lilith started for a moment, but only a moment. It was plain enough that he had read the name from the paper, and so there was no true cause for alarm. Even so, the question felt oddly personal coming from a stranger.

“I was taken into his care when I was very young,” she said. “As I had no other place to go, and no inclination to leave, I have studied beneath him since.”

The young man looked up from the ledger with an expression of quiet sympathy, though Lilith had already turned her gaze towards the window. Outside, the street was beginning to wake in earnest. A cart rolled by at an uneven pace, and a woman farther down the lane was setting out buckets of flowers beneath the awning of her stall.

“I am sure a mind of your intellect will find success,” he said in a lower tone, “regardless of how irritable your master may be.”

Lilith turned back to face him, the corners of her mouth twitching despite herself.

“Do you know him well, then?” she asked, watching as he thumbed through a small stack of wrapped parcels behind the counter.

He looked towards her with an expression of such exasperation that she nearly smiled before he had spoken a word.

“Do I know him? He was my professor for years,” he said. “He was infamous for both his temper and his dedication. Once he took an entire class on a fortnight-long excursion to find a flower, all because one student informed him it was a myth.”

He rolled his eyes in a most theatrical manner before disappearing briefly into the back in search of the order, and Lilith, in spite of herself, smiled. There was something so easy in his manner that she found herself relaxing, which was unusual enough to make her notice it.

When he returned holding a mid-sized brown paper package, she asked, “And what is the name of one who has survived Master Vale’s instruction?”

The young man gave a small bow of his head as he accepted the coins from her hand.

“Rowen,” he replied. “And yours, milady?”

Lilith paused for only a moment. She could not have said why.

“Lilith.”

A flash of recognition passed over his face, but it vanished so quickly that she felt she must have imagined it.

“Well, Lilith,” he said smoothly, slipping the coins into the till, “I wish you a safe journey, free of pestering merchants and pilfering children.”

She placed the package into her satchel and bid him farewell, stepping once more into the street.

She had scarcely cleared the doorway when a sound behind her made her turn. In that same instant, a great rush of wind tore overhead.

Before she could so much as cry out, Rowen seized her arm and pulled her sharply back inside as chaos erupted in the street.

Wide-eyed, Lilith watched as a massive shadow descended over East Row, turning the morning bustle into terror. Another violent gust burst through the open doorway and windows alike, scattering loose papers in every direction and sending several glass bottles shattering upon the floor. Dust and the sharp scent of spilled tinctures filled the air at once, and Lilith shut her eyes against it, one hand clutching blindly at Rowen’s arm.

After a few long, dreadful heartbeats, the wind lessened. Lilith looked up to see the dragon spanning the street above them, its claws sunk deep into the rooftops on either side. Its great head lowered, and its eyes, bright and terrible, swept over the merchants below. When it snarled, rows of glistening teeth flashed in the morning light, and more than one cry rose up from the street in answer.

Then a figure leaped down from the dragon’s back, cloaked in something dark that shimmered strangely as it moved. Lilith felt, all at once, the uneasy certainty that she had seen the figure before, though where or when she could not have said. She strained to catch a clearer glimpse, but before she could do so Rowen was urging her towards the back door of the shop.

She resisted at once, craning to see past him. “Wait—”

“You must leave,” Rowen said, gently but firmly drawing her back. “I cannot keep you here with Stormguard about, and Master Harrow would not forgive me if I tried.”

Still Lilith hesitated, her gaze fixed upon the front of the shop and the shadowed figure in the street beyond. Something in her was certain that if she left now, she would lose something she ought to have seen.

“Please,” Rowen said, and this time his voice was lower. “I beg you.”

Lilith looked up at him then and saw, with sudden clarity, that whatever composure he had worn before was gone. Genuine fear was written plainly across his face.

At last, realizing how foolish it would be to remain, she turned and fled down the alley.

Lilith ran faster than she ever had before. Still, as the sounds of screaming and bells rang through the city, she felt she could not outrun the chaos behind her. As she climbed one of the stairways leading to the higher streets, she caught a glimpse of the road below. People ran in all directions, some rushing towards the scene, others fleeing from it; she could not tell which were wiser. She pressed onward, mounting the cobbled steps with none of her usual grace.

Then another great whoosh rolled over the city, far stronger than the first. Doors burst open. Windows shattered. People were thrown to the ground as though struck by an invisible hand. Lilith herself was flung sideways into a bush, narrowly escaping the sweep of a talon as the dragon launched once more into the sky.

For one dreadful moment she remained where she had fallen, tangled in branches and too stunned to move. Then she crawled free and looked up in time to see the dragon rising higher and higher, until it seemed nearly to vanish into the clouds. Those same clouds, which had been white and harmless only moments before, now flickered darkly with distant thunder.

Shaking from head to foot, Lilith forced herself onward as rain began to pour into the streets. Mud gathered quickly beneath her shoes, and when she stumbled and fell to one knee, it took only a single thought of the terror at Harrow’s shop to drive her back to her feet.

At last, after what felt like far too long, she reached the back door of Master Vale’s house and workshop. She scarcely paused to compose herself before pushing through it, breathless and dripping.

Master Vale turned at the sound and stared for a moment before recognizing her. Lilith stood before him soaked through, spattered with mud, leaves caught in her hair, and so thoroughly disordered that she scarcely looked like herself at all.

She shrank a little beneath his gaze, suddenly mortified by the state she must present. She opened her mouth to apologize, but before she could manage a word he crossed the room and pulled her into a swift, fierce embrace.

Lilith went perfectly still.

He drew back at once, as though only then realizing what he had done, and looked over her with an expression she had almost never seen upon his face.

“You are unharmed?” he asked, examining her for any sign of injury.

She nodded faintly, still too startled to speak at first. “I fled before the Stormguard noticed me,” she murmured at last. Then, remembering the errand, she fumbled with her satchel and drew out the parcel. He accepted it with barely a glance, his attention fixed far more upon her than upon the order.

Only after satisfying himself that she was not bleeding, limping, or otherwise half-dead did he ease back into something nearer his usual manner.

“You are released from work for the remainder of the day,” he said. “You must, however, make yourself presentable again. I will not have half the garden trailing through my workshop.”

In spite of everything, Lilith managed the faintest smile. Too exhausted to answer properly, she merely nodded and trudged upstairs to heat water for a bath.

After scrubbing off the mud, the rainwater, and perhaps more of her skin than was strictly necessary, she returned at last to her room. With a weary sigh, she hung her satchel upon the bedpost and collapsed across the mattress.

For a few blissful moments she did not move, letting the soft blankets nearly swallow her whole. Then, frowning slightly, she sat up again.

The satchel still looked too full.

Her tired mind almost assumed she had simply forgotten to hand Master Vale his package, before she remembered that she had already done so. With an exasperated groan, she rose from the bed and crossed to the soaked bag. Lifting the limp flap, she found another, smaller parcel tucked into the bottom of the satchel.

She drew it out and studied the brown paper with renewed curiosity. As she set it down upon the bed to open it, she noticed a small letter tied beneath the string that held the parcel shut.

Lilith undid the knot, and the paper fell away to reveal a rather plain-looking cloak. Yet upon closer inspection, it was plainer only in color. The cloth itself was rich and unfamiliar to her, and along the lining ran a strange thread that caught the candlelight in a way that made her uneasy. Hoping the letter would explain the mysterious gift, she broke the seal and unfolded the page.

Lilith,

Forgive the manner of this message, but I dared not trust the street, nor any eye that may have been upon us. You are in greater danger than you know. If you value your life, and the truth of what befell your parents, you must meet me tonight.

Wear the enclosed cloak and bring the old book from your desk. Tell no one, not even Master Vale. Trust no Stormguard, whatever they may say to you.

If you doubt me, know this: your parents did not vanish by chance on the night that book came into your keeping.

Come to the Enchanted Cathedral at midnight tonight.

Rowen

Lilith read the letter once, then again more slowly. It was not until the second reading that the words seemed to settle fully in her mind. Her hands began to shake.

Your parents did not vanish by chance on the night that book came into your keeping.

That line alone seemed to drive all else from the page. For a long moment she could do nothing but stare at it. Then, with slow and unsteady steps, she crossed the wooden floor to her desk, where the old leather-worn book lay as it had for the last ten years.

She stood over it in silence.

Dust had gathered in the grooves of the cover. The strange diagram upon it was as unreadable as ever, and yet now it seemed to look back at her with dreadful patience. She had not touched it since childhood. She had not wished to. To leave her room wearing a stranger’s cloak in the dead of night seemed madness enough; to take up that book as well felt very nearly like inviting the past itself to wake.

She glanced towards the window, where the moon already hung high in the night sky. Midnight could not be far off.

For one last moment she hesitated, uncertainty plain upon her face. Then, before she could lose her nerve, she snatched up the book and tucked it into her satchel.

Lilith drew the cloak over her shoulders. It settled more lightly than she had expected, though it carried an odd weight of its own, as though the cloth remembered other wearers. Taking up her satchel once more, she crossed to the door and eased it open as quietly as she could.

She slipped into the silent hallway and paused outside her master’s door, reassured only when she heard the familiar sound of his snoring within. Then, holding her breath as though the house itself might catch her at any moment, she stole away into the night.