Chapter 38: The Echo Within

The morning sun streamed through the broken windowpanes, casting long slivers of light across the ruined living room. Dust floated like glitter in the stillness. Ivy sat on the couch, her baby resting quietly in her arms. The house was silent—eerily so—after the chaos of the night before. Aiden remained unconscious in the guest room, watched over by Mira and Killian in rotating shifts.

But Ivy could feel it.

Something had changed.

Not just in the house… but in her daughter.

Her fingers brushed the baby’s cheek gently. The girl cooed softly, eyes wide open and staring at something beyond this world. Ivy had long stopped questioning the unnatural gleam in her child’s eyes—neither fully golden nor human anymore.

“She’s quiet,” Isla said from the doorway, arms crossed, cloak still stained with blood and ash. “Too quiet.”

Ivy looked up. “She’s resting. After what she did, she needs it.”

“Or she’s hiding,” Isla replied.

There was something about Isla’s tone—sharp, distrustful, almost accusing.

Ivy rose slowly, her legs stiff, her back aching. “What are you trying to say?”

Isla walked in, lowering her voice. “You felt it. I know you did. When she expelled Isolde, she didn’t destroy her. She absorbed her. There’s a difference.”

“She’s a baby,” Ivy snapped. “She’s my baby. Don’t make her into something she’s not.”

Isla didn’t flinch. “You’ve always known she’s not just yours. That child carries more than blood. She carries prophecy. And prophecy doesn’t care about maternal instincts.”

While Ivy and Isla argued, Killian was in the hallway, standing guard at Aiden’s room. The older twin hadn't moved since the possession ended. His breathing was shallow, his pulse faint. Killian stared at his brother’s pale face, something twisting painfully in his chest.

“I hated you,” he whispered. “For so long. For what you took from me.”

He clenched his fists.

“But right now, I just want you to wake up.”

Footsteps approached. Mira.

“He’s stabilizing,” she said gently. “But I can’t tell if it’s him in there, or fragments of Isolde still latched on.”

Killian stood. “What do we do if it’s both?”

Mira hesitated. “Then… we’ll have to make a choice.”

But before Killian could respond, there was a soft creak from the floor beneath them.

They both looked down.

Another creak, then a sudden thud.

“What the—” Killian bent down and tapped the floorboards.

Hollow.

Mira’s eyes widened. “There’s something under the house.”

Together, they pried up the warped wood, revealing a trapdoor with an ancient rune carved into the centre.

“This isn’t part of the original house,” Mira whispered. “This was hidden.”

Killian grabbed a flashlight. “Then let’s find out what else they were hiding.”

The staircase descended into damp, stale air. The stone walls were lined with flickering sconces—somehow still lit after all these years. Mira moved slowly, her hands tracing the grooves of the wall, murmuring softly in Latin.

They reached the bottom.

A circular chamber.

At its centre stood an altar made of obsidian and bone.

On it—a scroll sealed with wax, and beside it, a jar filled with swirling golden mist.

“The Soul Vessel,” Mira whispered, awe-struck. “I read about this in the old grimoire. It’s said to hold fragments of ancient spirits. Some say even pieces of prophecy are trapped inside.”

Killian stepped forward. “Do you think that’s what drew Isolde here?”

“No,” Mira said, brows furrowed. “I think this is older than her.”

She picked up the scroll and broke the seal.

Killian waited as she unrolled it, her eyes scanning the contents.

Then her breath caught.

“What is it?”

“It’s not just prophecy,” Mira murmured. “It’s a warning. About a child born under twin eclipses… marked by betrayal… destined to carry both light and darkness within.”

Killian froze. “You think that’s Ivy’s daughter?”

“I don’t think it,” Mira whispered. “I know it.”

Upstairs, Ivy stared into her daughter’s eyes.

And something blinked back.

Not the baby.

But something inside her.

“Who are you?” Ivy whispered, her voice shaking.

The child’s lips parted.

And then, in a voice that was not hers, not even remotely human, she said:

“You named me Lyra. But I am more than you think. The reckoning begins soon.”

Ivy dropped her in shock, but Killian caught the child just in time as he and Mira burst back into the room.

“You heard that, right?” Ivy gasped.

Mira nodded grimly. “She spoke the name from the scroll. Lyra. It was written there, in ancient ink. That child is the vessel. But not just for Isolde. She’s holding something much more dangerous.”

Ivy’s voice trembled. “Then what do we do?”

Killian looked at Mira.

And Mira… didn’t answer.

Later that evening, as Ivy sat alone rocking Lyra to sleep, Mira stepped outside to take a call.

Isla joined her.

“Still haven’t told her, have you?” Isla said softly.

“Told her what?” Mira replied, too quickly.

Isla gave her a knowing look. “That Ivy may not be the only mother. That the ritual Isolde used… might have bound another soul into that child.”

Mira said nothing.

Isla pressed. “You’ve seen the records. The blood test from the Ardent Circle. Lyra has two maternal signatures. Two.”

“I know,” Mira whispered. “But if Ivy finds out…”

“She’ll break,” Isla said.

“She has to know.”

At midnight, Ivy couldn’t sleep.

The baby was stirring again—soft sounds that sounded like laughter… or chanting.

She tiptoed to the living room and found Mira standing near the fireplace, staring into the flames.

“You’re hiding something,” Ivy said quietly.

Mira turned, slowly.

“Ivy…” she began.

“Tell me.”

Mira took a deep breath.

“There’s something you should know. When you were unconscious after the birth, the Circle performed a protective blood binding on Lyra. During the process, we discovered something strange.”

Ivy’s heart pounded. “What?”

“Lyra doesn’t just carry your DNA… She carries someone else’s. Another maternal imprint.”

“What?” Ivy’s voice cracked. “That’s impossible.”

“We ran it three times. The other imprint… doesn’t belong to anyone living.”

Ivy stared.

Mira finished, voice breaking: “It belongs to Isolde. She didn’t just want to inhabit the baby. She wanted to become her.”

Ivy backed away, her knees hitting the arm of the couch.

“No. No, that can’t be true.”

“She’s both,” Mira whispered. “Your daughter… and Isolde reborn.”

And upstairs—unseen, unmonitored—Lyra stood in her crib, no longer a newborn.

But a toddler.

Smiling.

Whispering.

Growing far too fast.