A/N: In the image from left to right; Quill the Scriptwing Pagefinder, Quorra the Lumin-Moth Archivist, Whispen the Scribe-Moth and Somnus the Dream Weaver Moth
The Silverthorne library was not a place one simply entered.
It breathed.
That was the only way Mavis could describe it, even at eight years old. The towering shelves of dark enchanted wood seemed to shift subtly when no one was looking, the air always warm with old magic and ink and pressed leaves. Sunlight filtered through arched windows high above, catching motes of dust that glimmered like stars suspended in amber.
Mavis loved it more than any other room in the manor.
She sat cross-legged on the thick carpet that afternoon, a stack of books around her and Sakari the Pastel Nymfox perched contentedly on her shoulder, tail flicking lazily. Outside, she could hear distant wingbeats—Aurelion circling the upper towers, perhaps—but inside the library, everything felt hushed and attentive, as though the room itself were watching her.
She had been reading about ancient spell matrices when she felt it.
A tug.
Not on her sleeve. Not on her magic.
On her attention.
Mavis frowned, lowering the book. "Do you feel that?" she whispered.
Sakari's ears twitched. Her pastel eyes narrowed, and she let out a soft chime-like sound—alert, curious.
Mavis stood.
The feeling came again, stronger now, like the sensation of being observed kindly. She followed it between the shelves, bare feet silent against the carpet. The farther she went, the older the books became—leather-bound tomes, rune-etched spines, scroll cases older than Hogwarts itself.
And then she heard it.
A flutter.
Not wings like a bird's. Not the buzzing of a fairy.
Paper.
She turned sharply.
Hovering between two shelves was a creature she had never seen before.
It was small—no larger than a housecat—but unmistakably alive. Its wings looked like gilded parchment pages folded into elegant arcs, etched with glowing symbols. Its body was mothlike, but its eyes were keen and intelligent, and its long tail ended in a ribbon of script that slowly wrote and rewrote itself in midair.
The creature froze when it saw her.
They stared at one another.
"Oh," Mavis breathed. "You're beautiful."
The creature tilted its head.
Then—very deliberately—it fluttered closer and landed on an open book beside her, placing one delicate talon on the page. The text shimmered, reorganizing itself, margins aligning, footnotes appearing where none had been before.
Mavis's eyes went wide.
"You... you organize," she whispered in awe.
From behind her came another flutter—lighter, more melodic. She spun around just in time to see a second creature emerge from the shadows. This one glowed softly, its wings translucent and pale, etched with luminous runes that pulsed gently as if breathing. It moved with absolute precision, hovering near a stack of spellbooks and adjusting them—one inch to the left, perfectly aligned.
Then a third presence drifted down from above.
This one was gentler, slower, its wings soft and pearlescent. As it passed over an old parchment lying forgotten on a desk, glowing words appeared upon it—Don't forget the binding rune on page 73. The letters shimmered, then faded, leaving the parchment warm to the touch.
Mavis gasped. "You wrote that."
The creature's wings fluttered shyly.
And then the temperature changed.
The air cooled—not unpleasantly, but deeply. A fourth shape emerged from behind a towering globe of the night sky, larger than the others, its wings dark and patterned like shifting dreams. Symbols moved across them in slow, hypnotic patterns. Mavis felt a brush against her thoughts—not invasive, not frightening—but protective, like a ward settling gently around her mind.
Sakari bristled, then relaxed.
Safe, the feeling whispered.
Mavis stood very still.
"There are four of you," she said softly. "You've been hiding."
The first creature—the parchment-winged one—fluttered higher, projecting a small constellation of floating symbols into the air. They rearranged themselves into a clear meaning she somehow understood without reading.
We observe. We preserve. We protect.
Her heart pounded—not with fear, but with recognition.
"You're familiars," she whispered. "You were waiting."
The dream-winged moth dipped its head.
Mavis knelt, bringing herself to their level. "My parents don't know you're here, do they?"
The luminous-winged one made a small, precise circle in the air.
"No," Mavis said, smiling. "I thought not."
She reached out slowly—not touching, just offering her hand.
One by one, they came closer.
The parchment-winged creature brushed her fingers, and suddenly her mind filled with images—catalogs forming themselves, knowledge neatly stored, lost texts rediscovered.
"You help libraries," she breathed. "You are a library."
She laughed softly, delighted. "Then you need a name."
The creature's wings rustled expectantly.
She thought for a moment, then smiled. "Quill. Because you find knowledge and keep it safe."
Quill chirred—a pleased, papery sound—and the name etched itself briefly into the air before fading.
Next, she turned to the luminous one who had been aligning spellbooks with obsessive care.
"You check spells," Mavis said. "Perfect them. Make sure nothing is wrong."
The creature straightened proudly.
"Quorra," she decided. "Because you care about things being right."
Quorra's wings glowed brighter in approval.
The gentle, glowing moth drifted closer, its wings shedding faint motes of light that formed glowing words in the air—She listens.
Mavis swallowed, emotion catching unexpectedly in her chest.
"You remember things," she said softly. "Feel things. Help people hold onto what matters."
The moth hovered near her cheek, warmth spreading.
"Whispen," Mavis whispered.
The name appeared in glowing script above them, lingering a heartbeat longer than the others before dissolving like mist.
Finally, she turned to the dream-winged moth.
"You watch dreams," Mavis said slowly. "You protect minds. You go where others shouldn't."
The creature's wings shifted, patterns deepening.
She smiled—not afraid at all. "Then you're Somnus."
The moment she spoke the name, the library answered.
Magic surged—gentle but profound. The shelves hummed. The floor sigils glowed faintly beneath the carpet. Somewhere far above, a dragon rumbled in recognition.
The bond settled.
Mavis staggered slightly as the connection finalized—not painful, but vast. She felt Quill's endless indexes, Quorra's precise vigilance, Whispen's deep well of memory and empathy, and Somnus's silent guardianship of the dreamscape.
She laughed breathlessly. "You've been lonely."
Whispen projected glowing words onto a nearby parchment, the letters drifting upward like fireflies before settling into place:
Waiting.
Mavis hugged herself impulsively. "You don't have to hide anymore. You belong with me."
Somnus extended a psychic veil around them, sealing the bond.
From that day on, the Silverthorne library was never the same.
Books reorganized themselves overnight. Lost notes reappeared with glowing reminders attached. Students and visitors alike reported sleeping better after long hours among the shelves. Dangerous spellwork quietly corrected itself before catastrophe could strike.
Alaric noticed first.
Then Elarisse.
They said nothing at first—only exchanged knowing looks as new wards appeared, as research accelerated, as the library seemed... happier.
And Mavis?
She simply smiled, sitting among her moths and Quill, Sakari curled against her shoulder, knowing she had discovered something extraordinary.
Not power.
But purpose.
The Silverthorne library had not been hiding creatures.
It had been guarding its keepers.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1WPOL2gaHB
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