This blueprint—the ancient design shrouded in secrecy and fiercely guarded by the enigmatic Guild—was more than a mere relic. It was a secret so potent that even a fleeting glimpse of it could seal one’s fate, leading to utter erasure. No trace would remain—no name, home, or existence.

  Such thoughts, like tendrils of a dark mist, curled through the deepest folds of Elira’s mind, engraving themselves into her very being. Once warm with determination, her hands went cold as the secret’s weight settled in, and she recalled the disturbing term: Erase? The word clamped around her ribs like iron. It wasn’t a warning. It was a death sentence.

  Aidan wasn’t the type to exaggerate. He meant exactly what he said.

  She forced herself to swallow. “You’re saying… if they catch me with this,

  they won’t just lock me up. They won’t just exile me.”

  Aidan’s jaw tightened.

  “They’ll make it like you were never here at all.”

  The room felt more minor, and the air was heavier. Elira’s pulse pounded. The Guild wasn’t just

  guarding secrets—they were erasing people to keep them buried.

  But why?

  What was so dangerous about this blueprint?

  Her mother’s voice rang in her head:

  “If you ever see this blueprint, run”.

  Elira’s gaze dropped to the parchment in her hands. The strange ink pulsed like a heartbeat, alive

  and watching.

  She should listen to Aidan. Burn it. Walk away.

  But she couldn’t.

  Because this wasn’t just a forbidden relic.

  This was what her mother had spent her life chasing.

  And now, Elira was closer than ever to understanding why.

  She looked up at Aidan. “You knew about this.”

  His expression flickered—hesitation, regret. He didn’t deny it.

  “How long?” she pressed.

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  Aidan exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. “Since my second year.

  I stumbled onto

  something I shouldn’t have.” His voice was quiet, careful. “And I saw what happened to the last

  person who asked too many questions.”

  A chill ran through her. “What happened?”

  Aidan hesitated. Then:

  “They disappeared. No exile. No execution. Just… gone.” His throat bobbed. “No records. No memories. Even their friends forgot they existed.”

  Elira’s breath hitched.

  She had heard whispers before—people vanishing overnight, names erased. But she had never

  believed them.

  Until now.

  She glanced down at the blueprint. If she was caught with it…

  Would she disappear, too?

  Aidan saw the fear in her face. He stepped closer. “You need to destroy it.”

  Elira hesitated.

  She wanted to. She could feel its weight in her hands, its sheer wrongness.

  But something deep inside her whispered: Not yet

  So, she did something reckless.

  She shoved the blueprint into her coat and turned for the door.

  Aidan grabbed her wrist. “Elira—”

  “I need to think.”

  “Elira, please—”

  She wrenched free and slipped into the dark corridors of the Academy, heart hammering.

  She had no plan. No answers.

  Just the creeping certainty that she had made herself a target.

  ??? ?? ???

  Later That Night…

  Elira sat at her desk, staring at the blueprint under flickering candlelight.

  She hadn’t been able to burn it. She couldn’t.

  Instead, she traced every line and symbol onto a separate parchment and returned the original to

  its vault.

  But something still felt wrong.

  Her mother’s journal lay open beside her, inked with frantic notes and half-finished thoughts.

  One sentence stood out, underlined three times:

  The Core Blueprint is more than a design. It is a prison.

  A prison? Elira frowned. The blueprint didn’t look like a prison.

  It looked like… a key.

  Her gaze locked onto the center of the parchment—the strange circular sigil that pulsed faintly.

  She hesitated.

  Then, before she could stop herself, she pressed her palm against it.

  Air rushed through the room.

  The candle sputtered. The ink shifted, twisting beneath her touch.

  Then—a whisper.

  Soft. Distant.

  But unmistakable.

  “Elira.”

  Her stomach dropped.

  She yanked her hand back. The whisper vanished.

  Her breath came fast and uneven. She stared at the parchment, waiting for it to move and reach

  for her.

  That wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

  But deep in her bones, she knew the truth.

  The blueprint had whispered her name.

  And worse?

  It knew who she was.

  And it was waiting.

  A shiver crept up Elira’s spine. The candlelight flickered, casting restless shadows along the walls. The blueprint lay motionless before her, ink on parchment. Harmless.

  But she could feel it. Watching. Listening.

  Her breath came shallow as she flipped through her mother’s journal, fingers unsteady. There had to be something. A warning. A way to stop this—

  Then, the whisper came again. Closer.

  “Elira.”

  Her chest tightened. The ink on the blueprint bled outward, shifting like veins beneath the paper. Lines unraveled, twisted. Her name appeared once, again, then again—too many times, blurring together in a frantic, unreadable mass.

  She jerked back, knocking over the candle. Wax dripped onto the parchment, but the ink didn’t stop moving.

  The walls seemed to press in. The air thickened.

  This wasn’t over.

  The blueprint wasn’t just a key. It wasn’t just a relic of the past.

  It was alive.

  And it had been waiting for her.

  To Be Continued…