A couple of hours had passed since Zerath tasked Kaelen with retrieving the stolen tome. Amplified by a complete lack of sleep, Kaelen's mind and body were restless, his nerves tense like a taut bow. Once the gravity of the situation had fully hit him and the tall order he was given unfolded itself in front of him like a lotus flower, Kaelen's initial optimism had quickly faded. He talked to the Fateweavers who were tending to the damages in the wake of the theft, asking if they had noticed anything unusual, anything even close to being a clue about the assailant's identity, origin, or whereabouts. Unfortunately, none of them had noticed anything out of the ordinary.

The thief had been a skilled lock picker and swift on their feet, that much Kaelen knew. But the broken glass did not show any traces of blood or torn cloth, footprints in the mud had been washed away by rain, and no lock-picking instruments were left behind at the scene of the crime. It was a clean theft. And whoever the thief was, they knew what they were doing.

Elara was trying hard to keep her composure. She took pride in being on top of most situations she was put in, but this one was a lot to handle, even by her standards.

They had been walking in silence for some time, both of them in deep thought, when they turned left into a large corridor flanked with sculptures on either side. Kaelen realized that it was one of the corridors he had been chasing down mere hours ago, and he could feel the burden weighing on his shoulders like marble boulders. His stomach was in knots, which was just perfect timing, he thought, because they were about to have lunch.

A few moments later, they arrived in the dining hall. They headed to the serving counter, walling off the kitchen area, and filled their plates with various meats and vegetables, then sat down at one of the large round tables near the entrance. Other members of the library were passing by without paying them much attention, and the clinking of glasses and silverware filled the air. It was fairly early for lunch, and most chairs were still empty.

"So," Elara asked overly casually in between bites, "do you have any leads?"

She was gesturing with a piece of broccoli that was impaled on her fork.

Kaelen massaged his temples and stared at his plate. He had barely taken a bite, and he didn't feel like he could stomach another.

"You know perfectly well that I don't have anything," he growled.

Elara slowly put down her fork, cleaned the corners of her mouth with a napkin, and turned to him. Her green eyes were beaming at the prospect of participating in solving this mystery.

"Maybe you just have to approach it differently," she said, and looked at him like she had just offered the perfect solution to his problems. Kaelen had not asked her for help in this matter yet, but his resolve was slowly fading. He knew that she would be a valuable asset — but a part of him, most likely pride, insisted on figuring out this puzzle by himself.

"That easy, hm?" he snorted and started poking his chicken steak with a knife.

"Look," Elara said patiently and leaned forward, "if there was no evidence left behind at the scene, you have to think outside the box."

"There isn't exactly much to go on."

"Maybe there is more than meets the eye." She gave him a knowing look and lowered her voice.

"Master Zerath told us the thief is most likely Fateless, right?" she continued conspiratorially. "Maybe that is the lead you need."

Kaelen had moved on from listlessly playing with his chicken steak to impaling single peas with the tip of his knife.

"I fail to see how that is going to help me find that thief," he muttered.

Elara sighed loudly, and a few people from the neighboring table glanced over to them.

"For Lord's sake, Kaelen, ask me for help already," she hissed at him.

He was surprised at her bluntness, but also slightly embarrassed. When he looked into her eyes, he could see the spark of passion, paired with clear signs of annoyance.

Kaelen didn't respond right away. He took his time putting his silverware back on the table and then pushed his plate a few inches away from him.

"I assume you already have some great idea?" he asked and tried hard to hide his curiosity. He knew deep down that it had only ever been a matter of time before he would've asked Elara for help, and so he swallowed his pride and embraced the offer — without being too vocal about his gratefulness, of course, or he would never hear the end of it.

Elara smiled. Apparently, this had been easier than she expected.

"Oh, well, yes," she sputtered, "I mean, I don't know any specifics yet, but I have an idea on where to look."

Kaelen raised an eyebrow.

"And?" he prompted.

Elara seemed to hesitate for a moment. "The thing is, it's a bit complicated."

He sighed. Things were usually complicated with his sister.

"Do you want to help or not?" he asked more harshly than he intended.

"Fine, yes, I do. But you have to give me some time. I have to … read up on something."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"Save your mockery," she growled. "You will thank me later. And by later, I mean in about one hour. You just go back to your room, I will meet you there."

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Kaelen was about to protest when Elara raised her hand.

"Do you want my help or not?" she asked impatiently.

"Fine," Kaelen murmured reluctantly. He didn't like the thought of just waiting around while Elara was solving a task assigned to him, but he could tell his sister was not open to discussion.

"Just … don't take too long," he added, but his words were lacking resolve.

Elara did, in fact, not waste any time. She got up and left the dining hall without even taking back her plate. Kaelen sat there for another minute, debating whether he should eat more of his now cold food, but then decided against it. On the way back to his room, he couldn't shake the feeling of giving in too easily. But then again, he was glad there was finally some progress in the matter of the stolen tome — even if it wouldn't be thanks to him.

When he arrived at his room, restlessness overcame him once more. Time was moving painfully slow, like a river of molasses, making every moment linger endlessly. More than once, he caught himself pacing through the room, like a wild cat in a cage.

Where is she? He kept asking himself while impatiently waiting for Elara's return.

When it knocked at the door, Kaelen immediately yanked open the door and pulled Elara in. His rashness did not put a damper on her seemingly superb mood.

"I found something," she fluted, filled with glee.

"Yes?" he prompted. Elara seemed to enjoy this.

"Please?" she rebuked.

"Please and thank you, now spit it out. Please."

Elara scoffed, and her grin turned into a frown. "Fine, spoilsport." She walked a few steps further into the room, turned around, and crossed her arms.

"I found the records Master Zerath was talking about."

"What records?"

Elara raised her eyebrows. "What do you mean, what records? The ones he was talking about this morning, when he told us about the few encounters the Fateweavers and the Fateless had. That ring a bell?" With her hand, she was imitating the tolling of a bell.

Kaelen struggled to find the right balance between annoyance and thankfulness.

"Right, sure," he growled. "Except — how on earth did you find those records? And most of all: where?"

Elara let her tongue click. "About that," she began, looking uncomfortable all of a sudden. "Well, it's a bit awkward." She gave an apologetic smile.

Kaelen's eyes narrowed. "How so?" His words were slow and wary. When Elara didn't respond right away, Kaelen cleared his throat, prompting his sister to explain herself.

"Alright," she uttered, "I found them in an old chronicle in the restricted section next to Master Aldrin's study."

Kaelen looked at her in confusion.

"But," he gasped, "we are strictly forbidden from going in there. Why would you risk —". He paused mid-sentence. Elara never did anything she wasn't allowed to. It started to dawn on him that this was no exception.

As his demeanor changed from dismay to disbelief, Elara's eyebrows formed a gentle arch.

"Sorry," she whispered gingerly, "you had to find out eventually."

"Are you telling me," Kaelen began, once he'd collected his thoughts, "that you are actually allowed to enter the restricted sections of the library?"

Her left hand started fidgeting with a strand of dark hair. "Only some," she murmured apologetically. "Most of them are still off-limits."

After so many years of standing in Elara's shadow, Kaelen thought he'd be used to it by now. But it always hurt, learning of the many ways in which she was more successful, more competent, and, worst of all, more privileged.

He sighed. "I assume Master Zerath gave you permission?" His momentary anger turned into resignation.

"He did," Elara said, and her gaze met his. "But if it makes you feel better, he only did so a couple of weeks ago."

"So that's where you've been spending most of your afternoons lately?" Kaelen had noticed her absence, but never bothered to ask.

She nodded. "They truly keep some fascinating books in the restricted sections."

"Is that also supposed to make me feel better?" he scoffed.

"No," she shrugged, "but what should make you feel better is that I know where we can start looking for our thief."

As it turned out, there had been more encounters between Fateweavers and Fateless than Zerath had indicated. Not all of them had led to major disaster — most of them were insignificant and petty, and most took place in distant lands. Only a select few had played out right in front of their doorstep. As such, it was mentioned in some recent chronicles that roughly 60 years ago, there had been a confrontation between Fateweavers and Fateless in a fishing village named Tavira just east of the Great Library. The records spoke of an uprising, instigated by members of the Fateless, though it did not mention the reasons behind it. The riot was shut down by force, though it was believed that not all Fateless were caught. Eventually, the Fateweavers had decided not to press the matter any further, as they relied on the village's fishing produce.

Kaelen had come through Tavira a couple of times on his way to Cylion, the region's capital — and home to the Dor family for generations.

Kaelen and Elara had spent most of their childhood in Cylion's labyrinth of narrow streets and pastel colored houses. Rarely had their parents taken them outside the city walls — that was, until Kaelen's tenth birthday, when his mother and father brought him to the Great Library to take the inauguration test of the Fateweavers. To no one's surprise, Kaelen passed the test. It consisted of simple questions with seemingly simple answers — only later had he realized they were the fundamental teachings of the art of Fateweaving. And so he began his apprenticeship that very winter, starting his training to eventually become a Fateweaver. He remembered his mom crying when he left. To this day, he wasn't sure if it was sorrow or pride — or relief. His father hadn't said much then.

When Elara followed in his footsteps only two years later, the contact with their parents would soon start to cool down. Their apprenticeship didn't leave much room for family visits, and their parents hadn't been the warmest people to begin with. Both Kaelen and Elara started to embrace the new family they found among the Fateweavers — and each other. Their relationship had always been complicated, with ups and downs and the occasional argument. They could always lean on one another — while driving each other crazy at the same time. A dynamic that was ever so apparent today, Kaelen thought.

"If what you say is true," he concluded impatiently after Elara had finished explaining her findings, "we should not waste any more time and head to Tavira. After all, it's our only lead."

"Don't you think we should first talk to Master Zerath?"

"Master Zerath made it clear that he trusts us. Besides, we can't ask for help already. We haven't done anything yet." Kaelen started grabbing things and stuffing them in his leather backpack.

Elara did not seem happy with his response. "Should we at least ask for … I don't know, an escort?"

Kaelen laughed briefly. "An escort? What do you think we are going to find in that village?"

"Trouble," Elara said with a foreboding voice.

"Even if that's the case — I'm pretty sure we can defend ourselves," he said as he grabbed his long wooden staff that was leaning against the wall.

Elara sighed. "Fine. Let's do it."

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