Chapter 33: Shadows That Speak

The silence in the safehouse was unsettling.

Three days had passed since Ivy banished Isla from her body, but the residue of darkness lingered—thick in the corners, seeping through the cracks like a whisper waiting to rise again. Killian kept watch like a man expecting war. Aiden barely slept, retreating into notes and symbols only he understood. And Ivy? Ivy listened to her child.

Because something had changed.

Her daughter’s heartbeat echoed louder in her chest now—stronger, sharper, more aware.

And she could hear thoughts that weren’t hers.

It started with a dream.

Ivy stood in a forest of white ash, surrounded by silence. A mirror appeared before her, and in its glass was her daughter—not yet born, but fully grown. Eyes like molten amber. Skin pale as moonlight. And behind the girl... stood Isolde.

“She’ll take her shape,” the girl whispered, “if you let your guard down.”

Ivy tried to speak but her reflection shattered. The world around her trembled. A thousand voices cried out, then fell silent in a snap.

She woke drenched in sweat.

And her belly burned.

“Ivy!” Killian burst in. “What happened?”

She didn’t answer immediately. She just held her stomach and whispered, “She’s talking to me.”

Killian froze. “The baby?”

Ivy nodded. “She’s warning me… about Isolde.”

Later that day, Aiden returned from the nearby city with news.

“She’s back,” he said grimly. “Isolde has formed a new circle—called the Shadow Daughters. They’ve already begun recruiting.”

“Recruiting for what?” Killian asked.

“Ritualists. Believers. People who think Ivy’s child is the new vessel… and that she must be harvested before she’s born.”

Killian clenched his jaw. “She won’t touch her.”

“She won’t need to,” Aiden said. “Not if she already has a piece of her.”

Ivy looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”

Aiden hesitated. Then held up a burnt photo—retrieved from the ruins of the vault. It showed Ivy unconscious… with a strand of her hair missing.

“She took it. The night of the reversal.”

Killian swore. “Hair carries blood. Blood carries essence.”

“And essence can be used for invocation,” Aiden finished.

Ivy stood. “Then we end this. Before it begins.”

That night, Ivy insisted they return to the vault ruins. She felt drawn to it—like a tether she couldn’t cut. Killian argued, but eventually relented when he saw the fire in her eyes.

The site was cold. Blackened.

But the symbols on the floor were still faintly glowing.

Ivy stepped into the center and closed her eyes.

And the ground pulsed beneath her feet.

Not with magic.

With memory.

Flashes surged—images of a hidden chamber below the vault. A locked door. A man with the same eyes as Killian… but older. Sadder.

“Your father,” Ivy whispered.

Killian froze. “What?”

“There’s something he never told you. A second chamber.”

Aiden knelt, brushing aside the ash. “Here.”

A trapdoor.

The ladder creaked as they descended. The air was heavy, ripe with secrets. The deeper they went, the colder it became—until they reached a steel door etched with runes.

Aiden placed his hand on the center. “It needs blood.”

Ivy stepped forward, slicing her palm before anyone could stop her.

The door groaned open.

Inside… was a cradle.

And inside the cradle… was a journal.

Killian picked it up. “My father’s…”

He flipped to the first page.

“I made a mistake. I created life where death should’ve stayed.”

Page after page revealed the truth: their father had tried to clone Isla decades ago… and failed repeatedly. But with each failure, the remnants—the shadows—took form.

Isolde was one of them.

Not born. Not made.

Summoned.

“Ivy,” Killian whispered, “you were never the only one targeted. Our whole bloodline is cursed.”

“And she plans to finish what he started,” Ivy said.

Aiden looked up from the final page. “Then we’re running out of time.”

They returned to the safehouse and prepared to leave, but as Ivy packed the journal, she noticed something strange.

Aiden’s bag—slightly open.

Inside… a vial.

Dark red. Familiar.

She pulled it out and held it to the light.

The reversal essence.

The one she drank.

But it was full.

Untouched.

Her heart stopped. “Killian…”

He turned—and froze when he saw the vial.

“That can’t be…”

“I drank this,” Ivy said, voice trembling. “But it was empty.”

Aiden entered the room.

His expression was unreadable.

Killian stepped between them. “What did you do?”

“I couldn’t risk losing her,” Aiden said calmly. “If Ivy died, the bloodline died with her. I switched the vials before she drank it.”

Ivy’s knees gave way. “You lied to me.”

“The ritual wasn’t real,” Aiden said. “But the belief was. Isla left willingly. She saw something in Ivy… something worse than herself.”

Killian shoved him. “You used her!”

Aiden didn’t fight back. “No. I saved her.”

“And doomed us all,” Ivy whispered.

Because if Isla left willingly…

She had plans.

That night, Ivy sat alone in the garden behind the safehouse.

The wind was still.

And then she heard it.

Laughter.

Soft. Familiar.

She turned.

And saw her unborn daughter—standing across from her in the moonlight.

Not in flesh.

But in spirit.

“I’m not alone in here, Mother,” the girl said.

“What do you mean?”

“There’s another one.”

Ivy’s heart dropped. “Who?”

But the girl only smiled.

And behind her, in the shadows, a second figure stepped out.

Isolde.

Still alive.

Still inside.

And smiling.