Evernight — the name of a family woven into legend. A family not just of magicians, but of something far older, far darker.
John Evernight was only fourteen when everything changed.
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The Evernight library, ancient and vast, stood silent, a world of dust and forgotten knowledge. Shelves groaned beneath the weight of books no one dared open. The air was thick with the scent of old paper, a stillness that seemed to stretch back centuries. But on that night, everything shifted. The dust stirred. Pages fluttered without a breeze. And from the shadows between the shelves, something whispered his name.
The book was waiting.
It was bound in silver thread, its cover worn and ancient, the symbols on its surface unfamiliar, like a language from another time. When John touched it, a chill ran through him. The air seemed to grow colder, and the walls around him felt alive, as though the very house itself was watching. Somewhere beyond the veil of night, something old, something dangerous, stirred.
John opened the book.
And somewhere, far away, Esme opened her eyes.
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"I'm John Evernight… and we are the family of magicians."
John stood alone in the Evernight hall, surrounded by the silent, faded portraits of his ancestors. His father, Aerion Evernight; his mother, Liora Evernight; and the shadowed faces of those long gone — their features obscured by time, as if their very presence was fading into memory. They all faced forward, unmoving, watching, judging, protecting.
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The Evernight library was like a maze. The shelves twisted and turned, a labyrinth of ancient tomes and whispered secrets. Each book felt like a piece of history, a fragment of power waiting to be claimed. John wandered between the aisles, fingers brushing against the leather-bound spines, until one book called to him.
It was old — ragged, yet strangely alive. Bound in silver thread, its symbols pulsed under his touch, and as soon as his fingers brushed the cover, the room seemed to breathe. John opened it, and the pages whispered to him, secrets of a time long past.
"John?"
His mother's voice broke the library's silence, soft but laced with concern. The sound of her footsteps echoed, a quiet rhythm in the vastness of the room. "Where are you?"
John didn't respond. His gaze remained fixed on the book, his lips moving silently as if the words themselves were speaking to him. He didn't flinch when a warm hand playfully ruffled the back of his head.
"Mom!" John yelped, turning with a pout. "That hurt!"
Liora Evernight's laugh filled the room. She smiled at him, her eyes soft with affection, and pulled at his cheek in playful admonishment. "Let me see what you're up to," she said, her voice a mixture of warmth and warning.
She took the book from his hands, her fingers brushing against the pages. She turned a few pages, her smile slowly fading as her eyes widened. The air in the room seemed to still, as if the very atmosphere was holding its breath.
John noticed the change in her. "What happened, Mom?"
Liora took a deep breath, regaining her composure, and smiled again — this time more carefully, like a mother protecting a fragile secret.
"John… this book, it's not something you're ready for."
John opened his mouth to protest, but she raised a hand, silencing him with a gentleness only a mother could wield.
"No arguments. I'll hold onto it for now," she said softly.
John huffed, his cheeks puffing out in frustration. "Fine…"
Liora placed the book on the desk with deliberate care. She wrapped her arms around him from behind, her lips pressing soft kisses to his cheeks, each one filled with warmth and affection.
"No, Mom, stop! Ouch!"
She paused for a moment, her eyebrow raised playfully. "No?"
John smirked, enjoying the little game. "Yes."
"Oh? Yes?"
He grinned mischievously. "No."
Her voice dropped, mock-threatening. "What did you say, little monster?"
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The silence lingered for a moment longer, thick and strange, before his mother's voice broke it — calm, but laced with a softness only a mother could manage.
"John, dinner's ready. Come on."
He blinked, as if waking from a trance. The book lay still on the table now, quiet and harmless under the settling dust.
"…Yeah," he said, voice barely above a whisper.
His mother offered a small smile, brushing a speck of dust from his shoulder without a word. Then, turning on her heel, she stepped out into the dimly lit hallway.
John followed.
As the heavy library doors creaked shut behind them, the warmth of the house greeted them — faint lights, the distant clatter of cutlery, and the scent of something roasted in the air.
But behind those doors, deep in the silence of the Evernight library, the book waited.
And in the stillness, it pulsed once — just once.
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