Swan Year

The Call of the Convergence

The night had stretched long and silent when Iris finally found herself alone in her dorm. Her roommate, Ashley, was out with her usual crowd, leaving Iris to the peaceful quiet. The black swan dagger rested on her desk, its gleaming blade catching the pale light from the window. The moment with Tristan earlier lingered in her mind, a knot of confusion and frustration tightening in her chest.

Her mother had always been a guarded woman. Lana Dawn was a figure shrouded in mystery, her departure from Iris’s life sudden and inexplicable. The dagger, with its intricate design and unsettling aura, was the only thing she had left of her.

Iris traced her fingers over the black swan carved into the hilt. The metal was oddly warm, as if alive. A flicker of doubt crossed her mind. Why had she been drawn to it in the first place? And why did it seem to resonate so deeply when Tristan’s matching dagger appeared?

A sharp knock interrupted her thoughts.

Her eyes snapped to the door, her instincts immediately on edge. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Slowly, she stood, her hand instinctively reaching for the dagger.

“Darkling?” a voice called, low and familiar.

Tristan.

Iris sighed but didn’t lower her guard. She crossed the room and opened the door just enough to meet his gaze.

“What do you want now, Alore?” she asked, her voice cold.

He raised an eyebrow, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Relax, Darkling. I’m not here to fight. I have information.”

“Why would I trust you?”

“Because,” he said, his tone uncharacteristically serious, “I think we’re both in over our heads.”

She hesitated, then opened the door wider. “Fine. But make it quick.”

Tristan stepped inside, his usual smug demeanor tempered by something heavier. He pulled a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket and handed it to her.

“I found this in my father’s study,” he explained. “It’s a map. Or at least part of one.”

Iris unfolded the paper, her brow furrowing as she examined it. The lines were faint, the markings cryptic, but the shape of the terrain was unmistakable—a dense forest with a small clearing marked by an X.

“What is this supposed to lead to?”

“I don’t know,” Tristan admitted. “But it’s connected to the daggers. My father used to talk about a place—‘𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝘾𝙤𝙣𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚.’ I didn’t think much of it until now.”

Iris glanced up at him, searching his face for any sign of deception. To her surprise, he looked as lost as she felt.

“The Convergence,” she repeated. “What else did he say?”

Tristan hesitated. “He said it was where it all began. Whatever ‘𝙞𝙩’ is.”

A chill ran down Iris’s spine. This was too much. Too fast. She wasn’t ready for answers, not like this.

“I’m not going on some treasure hunt with you, Alore,” she said firmly, folding the map and tossing it back to him.

Tristan caught it, smirking faintly. “You’ll change your mind, Darkling.”

“Get out.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine. But when you’re ready, you know where to find me darkling.”

Tristan left without another word, and Iris locked the door behind him. She leaned against it, her mind racing.

The Convergence.