Elias had never been particularly nosy.
He valued personal space. He respected privacy. He didn't read over people's shoulders or rummage through drawers or ask invasive questions.
Which was why it was so thoroughly unfair that the locket practically fell into his lap while he was trying to clean Revantra's half of their shared desk. One minute he was scooping parchment and discarded quills into some semblance of order, and the next—clink.
The locket bounced off the open drawer, rolled once, and came to a rest right at the edge of his palm. Innocuous. Silver. Unlocked.
It clicked open without protest.
"I didn't mean to look," Elias muttered to no one in particular, which was a classic sign of guilt.
Inside the oval locket, where he expected maybe a sketch or keepsake, was something far stranger—a sliver of folded parchment. It was impossibly small, tucked with near magical precision, and sealed with wax that shimmered faintly in the dim lamplight.
Curiosity wasn't a sin. But it definitely felt like one now.
Still... he unfolded it.
The handwriting was precise, looping, and old. Not antique. Ancient. Revantra's past life stared back at him in ink:
To the next vessel of my fire, should the day come when memory fades—
Seek the throne that drinks no light.
Beneath it lies my last spell. And my greatest mistake.
—V
Elias sat back in his chair.
"'The throne that drinks no light'?" he read aloud, frowning.
It sounded like a bad poem. Or a death metal band. Possibly both. It was vague, dramatic, and utterly Revantra.
Or rather, old Revantra.
He refolded the note with care, re-tucked it into the locket, and made the silent decision to never mention this unless absolutely necessary. But as he moved to set it back where he found it, the door creaked open.
Revantra entered mid-yawn, hair mussed from the wind, arms full of snack wrappers and what appeared to be a questionably acquired pie. She stopped cold.
Her eyes dropped to his hand. The locket.
Then slowly, to his face.
"...You opened it," she said.
Elias did what any sensible young man would do when caught with potentially ancient, soul-linked jewelry. He panicked.
"I was dusting!"
Revantra blinked. "You were what?"
"I didn't mean to! It just… fell out! Gravity's fault, really. If you think about it."
"You dusted my drawer."
"I got bored! You were gone for a while! I thought you died in the pastry line."
"I was gone for ten minutes."
"Ten very suspicious minutes."
She said nothing, just walked across the room, deposited her ill-gotten pie on the windowsill, and sat on the bed with a heavy sigh.
"So… you saw the message."
He nodded. "Yeah. And I wasn't going to tell you. But now you know I know, and now we both know, and I don't know what to do with that."
To his surprise, she didn't snap or make a sarcastic remark. She just… looked tired.
"'The throne that drinks no light,'" she echoed, voice soft. "I forgot about that. I forgot I even left myself anything."
"Do you know what it means?"
She shook her head. "Not anymore."
That was the part that scared her—he could see it. The past wasn't just a chapter closed; it was a language she no longer spoke. But somewhere beneath the surface, echoes of it still stirred, whispering riddles like this one.
"Was that really from… you?" he asked carefully.
She didn't answer for a long moment. Then: "It was from who I used to be. And that girl would've killed you just for touching the locket."
Elias cleared his throat. "Cool. Well, I feel incredibly reassured now."
Revantra cracked a half-smile. "Don't worry. You'd have made a very crispy warning to others. Something tasteful."
He smirked, then sat beside her, elbows on knees. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No."
She said it too quickly. Too firmly.
Which was exactly why, instead of pushing, Elias just nodded. "Okay."
Revantra blinked at him. "Okay?"
"I mean, I want to understand it. But I don't need to force it out of you. I figure you'll talk when you're ready."
She stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "That's... not how people usually respond."
"I'm not people," he said with a crooked grin. "I'm Elias. The towel-folding, book-organizing, locket-accidentally-opening anomaly."
Revantra leaned against him suddenly, forehead bumping his shoulder. It wasn't a dramatic gesture. Not romantic. Just… real. Familiar. Comforting.
"Thanks," she murmured. "For not asking too much."
"You're welcome," he said softly.
The pie on the windowsill began to smell suspiciously like someone had forgotten it was there.
Revantra sat back. "Okay, now I need sugar before I melt into a puddle of emotional goo."
"Classy transition."
She retrieved the pie like a sacred artifact and took a large bite, crumbs falling onto her lap.
"I'm still mad you opened the locket," she said through a mouthful.
"Still technically your fault for owning mysterious magical jewelry."
"Still technically your fault for having fidgety hands and no adult supervision."
Elias held up his hands. "I was dusting."
"I will haunt you with that word until the day you die."
They bickered for a few more minutes, the kind of silly, half-hearted arguing that felt more like a script they both knew by heart. Beneath it, though, something had shifted. Not broken. Not damaged. Just… opened.
Later that night, while Elias slept with a book over his face and a candle burning low, Revantra sat at the desk. The locket was open again, resting in her palm.
She traced the edge of the paper.
The throne that drinks no light.
Old magic. Deep magic. And whatever spell she'd left beneath it… she couldn't remember what it did. But she felt it. Stirring. Waiting.
A mistake, her past self had said.
But what kind?
She looked back at Elias, drooling slightly into his pillow.
"I hope I never have to find out," she whispered.
But deep down, she already knew.
To be continued…