Madalena Antares
The Dark Paladin of Chaos
Late at night
The doors didn't creak.
A place like this should have wailed when disturbed. It should have hissed or whispered, should have summoned the ghosts bound to its wards or wept shadows from its archways. But no. The great stone doors of the House Derriphan Library opened in absolute silence, their weightless obedience more unsettling than any scream.
Madalena Antares stepped through, her silhouette framed in the flickering torchlight of the outer corridor.
No escort. No announcement. No need.
She walked like someone who'd earned her right to trespass.
The air within was heavy. Not stale, but old, layered with unspoken vows and forgotten incantations, with the kind of knowledge no curriculum would ever admit to housing. This was not the library for beginners. It was a tomb of understanding, and every book on the shelves was a gravestone.
And yet… the shelves did not reject her. The wards did not burn. Some even pulsed softly in response to her passing, like an old scar aching at the change in weather.
Her boots made no sound as she crossed the long carpeted aisle, her steps deliberate. She wasn't here to browse. She wasn't here for nostalgia, either, though the past clung to her like static. She came for one reason only: to balance the ledger.
A familiar table waited for her near the heart of the library, where the blacklight torches flickered low. The furniture here was older than most of the faculty, carved by hand, marked by time, scarred with use… And this one bore a name along the side, half-buried in dust and worn lacquer. Her hand found it instinctively.
She didn't smile.
She remembered.
A professor. A bond. A deal that hadn't aged well.
And now?
Now they taught here, behind walls and sigils, while the galaxy turned and old sins hardened like stone.
Madalena didn't need to summon them. She knew they'd come. House Derriphan never let debts go unpaid. Not truly.
So she waited. Alone. Calm.
Madalena Antares had returned. And tonight, the past would answer her.
The doors didn't creak.
A place like this should have wailed when disturbed. It should have hissed or whispered, should have summoned the ghosts bound to its wards or wept shadows from its archways. But no. The great stone doors of the House Derriphan Library opened in absolute silence, their weightless obedience more unsettling than any scream.
Madalena Antares stepped through, her silhouette framed in the flickering torchlight of the outer corridor.
No escort. No announcement. No need.
She walked like someone who'd earned her right to trespass.
The air within was heavy. Not stale, but old, layered with unspoken vows and forgotten incantations, with the kind of knowledge no curriculum would ever admit to housing. This was not the library for beginners. It was a tomb of understanding, and every book on the shelves was a gravestone.
And yet… the shelves did not reject her. The wards did not burn. Some even pulsed softly in response to her passing, like an old scar aching at the change in weather.
Her boots made no sound as she crossed the long carpeted aisle, her steps deliberate. She wasn't here to browse. She wasn't here for nostalgia, either, though the past clung to her like static. She came for one reason only: to balance the ledger.
A familiar table waited for her near the heart of the library, where the blacklight torches flickered low. The furniture here was older than most of the faculty, carved by hand, marked by time, scarred with use… And this one bore a name along the side, half-buried in dust and worn lacquer. Her hand found it instinctively.
She didn't smile.
She remembered.
A professor. A bond. A deal that hadn't aged well.
And now?
Now they taught here, behind walls and sigils, while the galaxy turned and old sins hardened like stone.
Madalena didn't need to summon them. She knew they'd come. House Derriphan never let debts go unpaid. Not truly.
So she waited. Alone. Calm.
Madalena Antares had returned. And tonight, the past would answer her.