When Aeron stepped inside the house, a strange silence greeted him—one filled with memory and absence. He looked around, examining the furniture and the scattered objects that spoke of a life once lived. On the first floor, a large couch sat beneath a dim shaft of light, still covered in books with bookmarks tucked between pages. It was clear his mother, Elira, had spent hours reading there.
In front of the couch was a low table with half-melted scented candles, their fragrance faint but lingering—lavender and something older, like parchment and ink.
Aeron walked slowly up to the second floor. There were three rooms: a bathroom, a bedroom, and a locked room. He stepped into the bedroom first, his eyes immediately drawn to something odd.
Runes.
Ancient ones—etched into the walls, carved into special stones, stored in holders made from dark glass and old iron. He stepped closer, running his fingers lightly over one.
"Why are there so many runes here... in my mother's bedroom?" he whispered to himself. "Looks like she studied them before sleep…"
He turned toward the closet—full of robes and garments. He quietly opened it and stared at the old clothing.
"I guess this was my mother's closet…" he murmured. "I remember… back at the old house, she never wore anything with color. No red. No green. Just black, white, and grey."
As he stepped away from the closet, something caught his eye. A note, tucked beside a cluster of rune-stones.
It was addressed to him.
"For you, Aeron—my son."
Aeron's breath caught in his throat.
What...?
His eyes widened. "How…? How could she know I'd come here? She died when I was just a boy…"
Confused, heart pounding, he bent down beneath the dressing table. A small key rested there, tied to a parchment tag.
"For Aeron. This key unlocks what is hidden."
With trembling fingers, he took the key and stepped out of the bedroom. The only locked room in the house stood silent at the end of the hall. He slid the key into the lock, turned it, and the door creaked open.
Before him was a private library.
Books lined every shelf, stacked high and deep, their spines cracked with age. In the center of the room sat a simple table with a single book laid atop it.
He stepped forward.
Dust coated the cover. He gently blew it away.
"To Aeron, my dear son — from Elira."
His heart felt like it stopped. His hands trembled.
How could she know? How could she have written this for me—knowing I would be here, like this?
He sat down slowly, pulling the book toward him. The cover was worn, but the ink on the title still shimmered faintly with some kind of rune-magic.
"For Aeron, from your mother—Elira, of the past."
He opened the first page.
---
"My name is Elira Velorian. If you are reading this, my son, then the day I feared has come. I used the forbidden rune of foresight—rune Noz'Yareth—to peer forty years into the future. And in that vision, I saw you. My son. With Malik, the man I once loved.
But something was wrong. A shadow clung to my vision—a deep, unshakable dread. I saw Malik asking about the sealed runes of the city… asking too much. I do not know what future you have lived, but I know you will find this place. And I know you will need answers."
---
Aeron's hands gripped the edges of the pages. He read on—second page, third, fourth. The entire book.
He read until the sun had risen, casting golden beams through the tall windows of the library. Dust danced in the light like ancient spirits.
He had spent the whole night with her words.
Through them, he saw everything—his parents' love, their fears, their choices. The beginnings of Malik's descent. The way Elira tried to protect him from a fate she had foreseen, but could not prevent.
But what haunted him most…
Was not the tenderness in his mother's writing.
It was the question burning inside him:
How had Malik, once a man of laughter and love, become the High Priest of Ozrath?
What had driven him from the man who kissed Elira's brow and whispered poetry in the dark, to the monster who murdered Selene, betrayed Elira, and offered his own son to the god of hunger?
To Xal'zyrath.
Aeron clenched the book tightly, his knuckles white.
He remembered the night he lost control—the night the hunger consumed him. The night he had devoured his father like a beast.
And still, the last page of the book awaited him.
He turned to it slowly.
---
"Aeron," the final note read, "if you are reading this, then something terrible has happened. And if it has… I beg you. Do not hate your father. I know there is darkness in him. I know he was not the man I believed in, not anymore. But he was not always that monster. He carried many afflictions… wounds you may never see. If you can, my son—let go of revenge. Do not let it chain you."
---
Aeron's breath caught.
His fists tightened around the edges of the book, veins bulging in his arms.
"How can I forgive him?" he muttered through gritted teeth. "After everything he's done?"
His voice cracked.
"He killed Selene. He gave me to a god. He made me into a monster…"
He remembered it all—the screams, the fire, the blood. Villages wiped clean by his hunger. His lover's voice silenced forever in his mouth.
And yet…
His mother had asked for peace.
His soul twisted inside him. Hatred roared like fire, but her words... they were water.
Should I let go?
Or should I live with this hatred... forever?
He didn't know.
Not yet.
And so, he sat there, the book still open in his lap, the light of morning on his face, the battle inside him far from over.
---