Beneath Dark Skies

Luminary

The world doesn't look the way the old books said it would. Once, there was a line between what could be done and what could not. It's been crossed so many times, no one even sees it anymore.

-Jeremiah Winters, year 2895

The library smelled like half-dried ink and maybe blood, depending on how nosy you felt that day

I was hanging around in the furthest corner, near the big-ass statue. If you looked long enough, you might think it was made for me.

Surprise... it wasn't.

It was Alisante Winters. My ancestor. One of the greatest scientists of her time, immortalized in stone, looming like she still owned the place.

In my hands, I held her journal, ancient-looking, the cover cracked like old bones. Strands of white threaded through my black hair like fractures in a mask, and my dark brown eyes moved over the faded text. 

As I opened the journal, the words seemed to leap off the page, pulling me into the past.

"Today, I am torn between right and wrong. This discovery could be groundbreaking, but are we ready for it? The uncertainty is ..."

I closed the journal and held it there a moment, like it might answer me if I stayed still enough.

My great-great — plus however many greats it takes to sound impressive, grandmother was a legend. If you asked the right people.
A monster, if you asked the rest.
Unshakable will. Brilliant mind. No brakes, no apologies.

And yet, somehow, she couldn't write a single clear note to save her life. I swear, at some point she must've thought, Hmm... how can I make this as irritating as possible for whoever comes after me? And then she went, Aha — riddles. Definitely riddles. Made sure every single page reads like a dare.

Still, I reread those pages over and over, chasing answers that never came. The words, half-smeared and fading, felt like they were laughing at me.

The paper crumbled at the edges, thin as breath. Fragile enough to fall apart in my hands.

But I couldn't let it go. Not when it might hold the one thing I needed most ,a reason.

Why Alisante did what she did.
Why I'm still expected to follow where she led.

I heard footsteps behind me, but I was too lost in thought to turn.

"Put it back, Skyleen" .

My father's voice, sharp enough to cut through the air, cut through me.

His stare pinned me in place. I straightened before I could stop myself , spine locked, breath caught halfway up like I might choke on it. Old habit. One I never quite managed to kill.

Tall. Sharp. Imposing. He was built to make people feel small. With me, he never had to try very hard.

Jeremiah Winters. A name people said with their teeth clenched. 

I swallowed the panic down like I was used to it. "Yes, Sir," I said, soft, automatic and slid the journal into its case,the one wrapped in wards to keep it untouched, unchanged, sealed shut like a coffin.

There was nothing left in the room worth staring at. So I turned toward the window.

Below, the university rose out of the bones of a city long dead. New York — or what was left of it. That's my best guess, anyway.

Now it's a graveyard. Towers stripped down to skeletons, metal ribs jutting into the sky. Nature clawing its way back through the cracks, slow and patient as a grudge.