Chapter 21 THE LIBRARY
LYRA
Sleep would not come.
I lay in the narrow dorm bed for what felt like hours, staring at the wooden beams overhead while the Academy grounds outside grew quieter and quieter.
The faint glow of enchanted lanterns filtered through the window, casting long shadows across the room. Yvaine’s soft, rhythmic snoring drifted from the other bed, steady and peaceful. Every time I closed my eyes, flashes returned: the thunder during drills, Kai’s green eyes in Zephyr’s roost. My mind refused to settle.
Finally, I gave up. I slipped out of bed as quietly as I could, pulling on my uniform trousers and a light tunic over my nightshirt. The leather was cool against my skin.
I left my violet hair loose, the curls tumbling down my back in wild waves. With one last glance at Yvaine, still snoring softly, I eased the door shut behind me and stepped into the dimly lit corridor.
The Academy at night felt different. The stone halls were colder, the air heavier with the faint metallic tang of latent magic. My bare feet made almost no sound as I padded toward the central library wing. Studying would help. The more I understood Tempest and these new powers surging through me, the better I could control them.
There had to be books on storm dragons, on weather manipulation, on whatever gifts I now carried. Knowledge felt like the only thing I could grasp onto right now so I wouldn't go summoning hale when I frowned.
The library doors creaked open under my push. Inside, the vast space was empty and hushed, the kind of quiet that pressed against your ears. Tall arched windows lined one wall, offering a perfect view of the moonlit training grounds and distant dragon roosts.
Rows upon rows of shelves stretched into shadow, filled with leather-bound tomes, scrolls, and ancient texts that smelled of dust, ink, and old storms. A few lanterns glowed softly on reading tables, their light warm and inviting.
I picked up one from a nearby table, the metal base cool in my palm, and made my way deeper into the stacks. My fingers trailed along the spines, reading titles in the flickering light: Aerial Formations Through the Ages, Bonding Rituals of the Elder Dragons, Weather Weaving for Wind Riders. Then my hand stopped on a thick, heavy volume titled 'Dragon Gifts: Abilities and Legacies'
It was exactly what I needed. I pulled it out with both hands, the book was surprisingly heavy and carried it to a nearby table tucked in a quiet alcove. The wooden chair scraped softly as I sat. The quiet pressed in around me.
I had expected at least a few dedicated riders burning the midnight oil, hunched over texts like me. But the library was deserted. Just me and the shadows.
I set the lantern close, its warm glow illuminating the yellowed pages. The book smelled of aged parchment and faint ozone. I flipped through the early sections, skimming descriptions of the four common dragon types.
Wind dragons: swift, graceful, masters of speed and precision.
Fire dragons: fierce, passionate, capable of intense heat and controlled flames.
Earth dragons: solid, enduring, with strength in stone and growth.
Water dragons: fluid, adaptive, commanding tides and mists.
Then I reached the Storm Dragons section. My breath caught as I turned page after page of detailed illustrations, dragons wreathed in lightning, riders channeling tempests, warnings about emotional bleed and uncontrolled power.
The text was dense, fascinating. I read hungrily, absorbing everything I could about weather sense, lightning manipulation, and the rare ability to share visions.
But when I flipped past the Water Dragons chapter, the rest of the book changed.
The pages after that looked… wrong. Torn. Jagged edges remained where whole sections had been ripped out.
I ran my fingers along the ruined spine, feeling the rough remains of what had once been detailed entries on Storm Dragons. Several pages were missing entirely, leaving only ragged stubs.
“Huh?” I whispered into the silence. “Who would vandalize a library book and how did no one notice?”
The quiet suddenly felt heavier. A chill crawled up my spine. I turned back to the intact pages, trying to make sense of it, when—
A loud, ear-splitting cry shattered the night.
It wasn’t quite a dragon’s roar, higher-pitched, unnatural, filled with rage. The tall windows beside me cracked with a deafening snap. Glass exploded inward in a glittering shower. I screamed, throwing myself to the floor as shards rained down around me.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
I lifted my head just in time to see it: a massive tornado hurtling toward the library from the darkened grounds outside. It twisted violently, streaks of sickly red lightning crackling through its dark funnel.
The wind howled through the broken windows, gusting violently and nearly lifting me off the ground. Papers and books flew off tables. Thunder rumbled so deeply it shook the stone walls.
Terror flooded me. This wasn’t normal. The tornado felt wrong, evil, corrupted, like something that didn’t belong in our world. Red light pulsed inside it, unnatural and hungry.
A roar of flame suddenly erupted from within the vortex, hurtling straight toward me.
I screamed again, throwing my arms up and jolted awake. I sat bolt upright in bed, chest heaving, sweat beading on my forehead and trickling down my back.
My nightshirt clung to my skin. Yvaine was already at my side, her short black curls messy from sleep, brows creased with worry.
“Lyra? Hey, you’re okay. You’re safe,” she said gently, one hand on my shoulder. “You were screaming in your sleep. Sounded terrified.”
My heart still thrashed wildly. I looked around frantically, the familiar wooden beams, Yvaine’s concerned face, the soft light through the window. No broken glass, no tornado nor flames.