The maze of hallways and chambers that was the Great Library had always been like a family member to Kaelen. He knew everything there was to know about the ancient building, had spent most of his life with it, and in it. And the building seemed to know him and his moods. He still remembered the first time he'd strolled through its elegant corridors, remembered the magical feeling that had radiated from every statue and pillar. It was more than a home to Kaelen — it was a part of him.

But this close connection was also what made Kaelen's heart ache when he saw the chaos that was raging throughout the Great Library. Where there had once been peace and harmony was now a violent murmur of screaming and fighting. The dead piled up on the intricately woven rugs that had lined these hallways for generations, and there were streams of blood running down well-trodden staircases, like the building itself was bleeding.

As Kaelen fought his way through the network of corridors, the constant terror he faced started to dull his mind. There was just too much pain, too much suffering — on both sides. He couldn't even tell who was winning this battle, and maybe it even was the Fateweavers, but no one could ever call the result of this brutal savageness a victory. No epic would be written about this day, no songs would be sung that told of heroics and valor. There would only be a crimson stain in the history records, and the few survivors would simply try to forget what they'd seen that night.

#

Evading the charge of a group of Fateless soldiers, Kaelen side-stepped onto a slim balcony that wrapped itself around the corner of the west wing building. The cold night air felt refreshing to his senses, but it also carried the stench of death. When he looked over the balustrade, his breathing went flat — the compound of the Great Library was dotted with fires, like dancing fireflies, and in the light of the flickering flames, he could see figures of orange and blue fighting for their lives. Every window, balcony, and patch of grass was sprawling with hectic movements, like a lively painting from one of the great artists of the past. Their screams echoed through the night, which was still dark and ominous, with a low-hanging cloud cover blocking out the stars and moon.

Kaelen had stood on this balcony many times before — but never had the commanding view it offered been so disturbing, so intense.

He took a deep breath and loosened his grip around the edge of the marble railing, just when two Fateless soldiers stumbled out of the chaos of the hallway and onto the narrow balcony Kaelen was standing on. They, too, were awestruck by the view — but when they noticed Kaelen a few feet away from them, they quickly took their eyes off the battlefield below and raised their weapons.

When he'd first joined the battle about an hour ago, he could see the malice in the eyes of every attacker that crossed his path. Their morale was high then, their bloodlust an expression of their long-nourished desire for revenge. Now, after what felt like an eternity of cruel fighting, with heavy casualties on both sides, their faces looked just as grim as those of the defending Fateweavers. Gone was the gleam in their eyes and the vigor in their stride. Their once-shiny helmets were now covered in grime, their dark blue robes stained by blood and sweat.

As the two Fateless soldiers hauled their tired bodies towards Kaelen, it almost felt like they were all in the same boat, suffering together at the hands of the one man who'd brought them here. But these two had chosen to join Malvorn, Kaelen reminded himself. They had known that this campaign could only end with the death of thousands of innocents. And earlier today, they sure didn't bat an eye when they cut down opponents that were like family to Kaelen. Their growing fatigue was no reason for sympathy, Kaelen decided. If anything, it was an opportunity — one that he would seize, just like they had pressed their advantage for as long as they could.

He lifted his staff in the air and lunged forward, ignoring the pain in several limbs and muscle groups. Within a split second, the end of his staff found its way through the sluggish defense of the first soldier, and when it connected with his jaw, it spawned a sharp crunching noise. The man grabbed his head, letting go of the bloody sword in his hand. His cramping fingers reached his face around the same time as the rear end of Kaelen's staff, as he swung around with a tight spin. The balcony didn't leave much room for spacious maneuvers, and sure didn't favor his choice of weapon. On his last attack, he almost got caught on the stone wall next to him, which would've created a serious opening for his opponents. Provided they still had the energy to act on it, that was.

As the first man went down hard, the second soldier took a step backward, giving Kaelen time to examine his foe. The man was probably younger than him, his hazel eyes wide open underneath a helmet that occluded most of his vision. The grip on his sword was unrefined, his stance prone to low attacks. He wouldn't pose a challenge, and Kaelen almost felt bad for him. The ignorance of youth had probably been what made him subscribe to Malvorn's cause, and now that he was confronted with the cruel reality of his choice, he was scared. Kaelen could see it in the way his hands were shaking, and how his upper body was tilted backward in a foolish attempt to create a safe distance to the Fateweaver in front of him.

Kaelen sighed, then stepped forward. The other man tightened the grip around his trembling sword while inching back towards the end of the balcony.

When Kaelen decided he didn't have time for this, he charged forward, his staff whirring through the air as he prepared to end this fight with one clean blow. To his surprise, the other man stumbled backwards, tripping over his own feet and crashing down onto the balustrade before Kaelen's staff could reach him. His armor screeched unpleasantly as his back absorbed the impact, and was followed by a metallic thud as the man's body met the solid floorboards of the balcony. Kaelen could hear wincing from within the large helmet, and rattled breathing.

"What are you even doing here?" he sighed.

The man didn't respond, but instead curled up on the cold floor, letting go of his weapon and dignity.

Kaelen shook his head, then turned to leave the balcony and join the fighting in the hallway once more, when an ear-shattering scream cut through the night, strident like a bird and heartbreaking like few things Kaelen had ever heard.

He swung around and glanced at the whimpering man on the floor, then leaned over the balustrade to see if he could spot the source of the scream. His eyes wandered across rooftops and down spiraling towers, scanning balconies, staircases, and courtyards. When he peered into the abyss directly below him, something caught his attention. In the middle of a large atrium was a gathering of tiny figures — and one that was not so tiny, with what seemed like golden fists and hair of black and silver.

Kaelen swallowed hard.

He had only seen the leader of the Fateless once, just before he slated them for execution, but it was enough to leave a memorable impression on him. So much so that he could recognize his massive frame even at this distance, and the group of blue-robed figures surrounding him only further strengthened his suspicion. But there were also two Fateweavers down there, from what he could tell.

His breathing almost stopped as he peered down onto the group of people below him, and his mind started racing. If this truly was Malvorn, then that's who he'd have to take out. Seeing the wavering morale of the Fateless soldiers up here told him that they would lose their footing without their leader.

Finally, he would have an opportunity to prove his worth as a Fateweaver, and in doing so, he might just be able to stop the slaughter of his brothers and sisters.

#

Kaelen weaved his way through multiple levels of intense fighting, landing and evading blows here and there, before finally reaching the main atrium following a trail of dead Fateless.

To his surprise, Malvorn and his guards had left, only leaving behind the two orange-robed Fateweavers. With the light of the torches gone, they were barely noticeable as they cowered in the middle of the courtyard next to the marble statue of Elder Nomenis. Thick night air engulfed them like a delicate curtain, its seam gently touching the muddy ground that had been furrowed by heavy boots. And even when a chill breeze blew through the courtyard and rustled their robes, the two figures remained perfectly still, seeking comfort in each other's embrace.

Kaelen sighed and tried to fight off his disappointment.

When it seemed like no enemies were close by, Kaelen broke away from the cover of the dark archway and approached the two students. One of them was resting on the ground, their upper body held up by the other Fateweaver, who was kneeling bent forward with their back towards Kaelen. The student on the floor appeared to be a woman, her body gently flowing from her comrade's arms onto the soft dirt underneath them.

"Are you guys okay?" Kaelen asked as he approached the duo, "Where did Malvorn go?"

His words still hung in the air when the moon broke through the thick cover of clouds and drowned the atrium in pale light. Its silvery rays fell onto the two Fateweavers on the ground, making their orange robes appear like they were made from chiseled quartz. Only now could he see that the one Fateweaver's arms were entirely limp, held up only by their companion. And when his squinting eyes could finally make out the woman's face, his body froze mid-stride.

With a stifled scream, he sank to the ground, his weak knees digging into the muddy soil. Now, only a few steps away from the pair, he could see Elara's lifeless face, covered in cuts and streaks of dried blood. She looked like she was sleeping, but the expanding dark stain that covered most of her upper body told a different story. He could see where the fabric of her robes had been sliced through, right next to her sternum, with a blade that ran deep and mercyless.

With blank eyes, he stared at his sister, unable to make sense of what he was seeing. Surely, a part of his mind kept screaming, she would just wake from her slumber any second now, spring back to life, only to make fun of him for being so dramatic. But the seconds passed, and the moonlight faded, and still Elara's body remained as inanimate as the statue towering above.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

"No," he whimpered helplessly, "no, no, no!"

The whisper turned into a shout, then a breathless scream. Only the echo of his trembling words responded, and so he was screaming with many voices.

Only when his lungs ran out of air he could push into the night sky did he stop, shaking his head like he could fight off what his mind was trying to tell him. But it was no use — and soon, he had to accept the cruel fact that his sister was dead. There had not been a proper farewell, no goodbye or last words. She'd left, just like that, and he would never see her again. Never again would her teasing go up against his levity, would her vast knowledge and cleverness drive him mad, but in a good way.

He sniveled and brushed away the tears that were streaming down his cheeks.

The Fateweavers saw each other as family, but she'd been his only real family. Ever since their parents chose to emotionally abandon them, they'd been each other's anchor and source of strength. Now, there was only him, alone and desperate in the middle of this gruesome battle.

Only, he wasn't quite alone.

In his grief, Kaelen had completely forgotten about the Fateweaver cowering next to his sister. Their frame was muscular, the rim of their hood pulled down deep, as if to hide their face.

"What happened?" Kaelen whispered with a cracking voice.

The other student twitched but remained quiet. He could hear them cry, and somehow it felt comforting not to be alone in his grief. But when they turned around to face Kaelen, his mind went into a state of shock.

"You!" he rasped, when Nyu's distorted face appeared underneath the cover of her orange hood. "What are you doing here?"

He spat out the words almost too fast for his mouth to process.

He'd been told Nyu had left after her betrayal was discovered, that she disappeared like a shadow in the night. Yet here she was, looming over his sister's dead body like a vulture.

When the stupor of surprise slowly subsided, he started to make sense of it. After fleeing the Great Library, Nyu sure would've joined Malvorn and his army. And seeing how she was a skilled fighter, it was only logical that she'd been part of the attack on the place she already knew well from the inside, maybe even coordinated part of the assault

Kaelen scowled when he examined her orange robes. They were clearly Fateweaver robes — yet another deception that she'd more than likely used to lure other students into ambushes, or to get information from them. It was despicable, but it was expected given her history.

When Nyu didn't respond, he slowly reached for his staff that was lying on the ground beside him.

"What are you doing here?" Kaelen repeated through gritted teeth.

The mud squelched under his knees when he slowly got up.

His eyes went back and forth between Nyu's sinister face and his sister's dead body, which the Fateless woman was still holding in her arms. Had Elara's death been related to Nyu's reappearance? Had she killed her?

"It was you, wasn't it?" Kaelen snapped.

He could feel cold anger rush through his veins, fastening his pulse and breathing. It felt like his staff was about to snap in two under the weight of his iron grip, and the air seemed to get thinner. He took a step towards Nyu, his heart racing, but the Fateless woman made no move to get up and fight.

"Answer me!" he yelled, and his voice was trembling from rage.

Nyu's short orange hair covered her eyes like a shield, but he could still see … sadness. It didn't make sense. Why was she mourning Elara's death if she herself had delivered the final blow? Why were her cheeks glossy from tears if she hated all of them so much?

When Nyu spoke, her voice was low and raspy.

"You're right," was all she said, and her head turned back to watch over Elara.

Kaelen stared at her kneeling body, unsure what to make of her confession.

"We trusted you," he hissed like a snake. "Elara trusted you. How could you do that to us? To her?"

He could feel his own tears running down the sides of his nose, taste the salt they carried when they dripped onto his dry lips. Nyu's body shuddered, and he could hear her snivel. Was this another trap? Was she trying to fool him yet again? If so, she should've picked acting over assassination as her profession.

"Kill me if you want," Nyu whispered, barely audible. "Just … don't send me away."

Kaelen's mind felt like it was on fire. He didn't know what to think or do anymore. Everything was so wrong, and nothing seemed to make sense anymore. Why was his sister dead? Why was Nyu grieving? And what was he supposed to do about it? He couldn't bring Elara back, but somehow it didn't feel just to strike down Nyu right there and then, either. It wouldn't have avenged Elara — if anything, it would've desecrated the site of her death.

As Kaelen lowered his staff and took another step closer towards Nyu and his sister's body, he muttered: "Why did you do it? Why cause so much pain?"

He brushed away his tears and sat down beside Elara, across from Nyu.

"We should've known, I guess," he whispered as he stared at his sister's pale cheeks. "You were never the trustworthy type."

He traced one of the cuts on Elara's forehead with the back of his finger. Her skin felt cold to the touch, like she was yet another marble statue.

"All this to protect the bringer of doom described in that tome?" he chuckled briefly, but without any joy. "Killing and deceiving just so we don't find out who you are truly protecting?"

Nyu yanked her head around.

"How can you be so incredibly blind?" she snarled, and for the first time her azure blue eyes stared directly into his.

Caught by surprise, Kaelen opened and closed his mouth. The outburst had been unexpected, and by all means, uncalled for. Even for someone as uncivilized as her, it was rich to hurl accusations his way only a few moments after she'd struck down his sister.

Nyu scoffed and inhaled sharply. "Do you really not see it? You, a student of fate? A becoming Fateweaver? What was all your training even for?"

When she saw Kaelen's perplexed gaze, Nyu shook her head in disbelief.

"What are you talking about?" he asked wearily.

Nyu sighed. "It was you, you all along. That fate tome is yours."

"What?" Kaelen breathed, when a sudden tightness took hold of his chest.

"You heard me," Nyu hissed. "You killed King Montis, and by the looks of it, you also killed this Master Oryn." Her expression soured. "And if I remember your rambling correctly, you will kill plenty more good people in your time."

"You're lying," Kaelen rasped breathlessly, "Why should I believe you? Deception is practically your job."

But with his own eyes, he could see that Nyu wasn't lying. It was the way her cold gaze was resting on him, and how her expression was one of someone who had nothing left to lose.

"We all have our burdens to carry," the Fateweaver woman said dryly. "Believe me, I have mine, and I'm the first to admit them. But that one is yours."

His fingers suddenly felt scalding hot, his skin like it was contracting all over his body. He released his staff from his sweaty palms and stared at Elara's stiff face, his mind turning into a dark abyss of unbearable thoughts.

Nyu was right. He had been blind, more so than he ever thought possible. The cocoon of lies he had wrapped his mind in was breaking apart like a cracking eggshell, revealing the ugly truth he'd been too scared to even consider.

He looked down at his prickling hands like they weren't his.

What had he done? What had fate forced him to do? And why could he not remember anything about it?

The night Montis died, Kaelen hadn't slept well. His mind had been haunted by vivid nightmares and agonized screams. Had they been the screams of his victims as his hollow shell murdered them like a puppet on a string? He still remembered how his entire body felt sore the very next morning, like he'd been pushing boulders up a hill the entire night. Had that just been the aftermath of his physical exhaustion from when his soulless body had scaled the palace walls and cut down the king's guard like an animal? At least that's how Beon had described it.

He shuddered and tried to steady his breathing.

Even when he was reading the tome, it never occurred to him that it was his own. But maybe it had cast a spell over him that made him too blind to see the truth. He could sense a memory of one of Zerath's lectures in the far reaches of his mind, about the risks of reading one's own fate tome — but he couldn't quite remember.

He gasped and tore at his own shaggy hair. The pain felt good, like it could root him in the present, keep his mind from falling apart.

But when Master Oryn died …

Kaelen frowned.

He had been tired that night, and he had slept long and deep. But his dreams had been his, with nothing strange about them. While he could sense that it had been his hand that drove a knife through Montis's chest, the thought of murdering Oryn felt entirely foreign.

There were words he wanted to say to Nyu, but they never left his mouth.

He wanted to mourn the death of his sister, but that never came to pass.

It was like a hot gust was rushing through his head, stimulating all his senses at once. He could feel his knees stretch and retract, see his hands push themselves off the ground. His head turned around even though he could not bear the thought of taking his eyes off his sister's corpse, and then his legs started moving.

He could hear Nyu shout something inaudible behind him, but he was already under the cover of the archway and beyond. His mind was focusing on a single goal, commanding his body with ruthless precision, while his soul was blissfully unaware of everything that was happening around it.

Like he was being pulled on a string, he ascended stairs and marched through hallways, ignoring everyone who stood in his path. It was like they all moved in slow motion, like their minds were too busy to even process who or what was charging at them. Their bodies brushed off of him like leaves in the wind as he carved through the crowded corridors, and their screams of terror were a sweet melody in his wake. No one could stop him, and no one dared to even try. Only, they couldn't escape his path fast enough, and so they had to be moved.

Feeling like a mere spectator to his own body, he watched as the figure that was Kaelen pushed open the doors to an archive he knew all too well, and came to a halt in front of a metal gate with thick bars and a dangling iron chain.

Before he understood what was even happening, darkness came at him from all sides at once, as his conscience was being evicted from his own mind.

The last thing he witnessed was his numb hand grabbing a torch from a nearby wall — and in its orange light, he could see glowing fate tomes just before he would set them ablaze.

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