With each footfall, the burdens of Black Hollow weighed heavy on me.We walked back to the car without talking, all of us contemplating whatever went through our minds. The napkin Marion had handed me was weighed down with more than its size, holding an address that was a warning as much as a destination.I glanced at Maxwell. His shoulders were tight; his jaw was clenched. He had fought against coming here from the start, but now that we were in Black Hollow’s grip, I could see he was on edge in a way I’d never known before.Jameson walked a step behind, but his calm demeanor held deeper waters. He knew more than he had spoken. I could feel it.“We have to be careful,” Jameson finally said, his voice low. “The thing here… things don’t work as they should.”Maxwell scoffed. “Yeah, no kidding. The road moved to let us in.”Jameson nodded. “That was the easy part.”I paused in my steps and turned to him. “What aren’t you telling us?”Jameson paused and then released a sigh. “This town…
A woman entered, her hood low over her face. She hurried, ghosting through the tables and slipped into the booth directly across from us.I didn’t even have time to respond before she talked.“You shouldn’t be here.”Her voice was low, rough. She pulled aside her hood to show sharp features, dark eyes with something unreadable in them.I studied her. She seemed young — late twenties, maybe — but there was an age to her gaze that belied her face.1“For you know who we are,” I said cautiously.She scoffed. “I know who he is.” Her gaze flicked to Jameson. “And if he brought you here, you’re desperate.”I clenched my jaw. “I need the journal.”She laughed briefly and without humor. “Of course you do.”Jameson exhaled. “Well, listen, we don’t have time for games. The Council—”“I know about the Council,” she said, her voice sharp as glass. “You think I’m not aware of why my parents went missing? Why did I have to spend my whole life running?”I hesitated. “Then you see why we need the jour
The journal lay between us on the table. It was like the very weight of truth that it carried had kept pushing down on our chests, cornering us to a reality that we were not prepared for. The stakes had changed — this was no longer about battling for control. It was about survival. And we weren’t just battling the Council.Something much older, far darker, lay behind their power. Something that could rip the world apart if it ever escaped.The journal grew heavier in my instinctive grip, and it seemed as if the pages were whispering secrets to my soul. Secrets I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. But I couldn’t walk away now. Not after what we’d learned.Maxwell faced me, jaw set, hands on the lip of the table. His eyes were dark and intense. I saw the conflict swirling in them, the anger, the fear, the frustration. We were both hovering over something. And I didn’t know if either of us was ready to take that last step.“You’re sure about this?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost a whisper.
Maxwell stared at me, and so did Jameson, both of them processing what I had just said in their own way. I could see the storm brewing behind Maxwell’s eyes, how his jaw clenched as if he were physically restraining the words. Jameson’s face, though, was inscrutable.I swallowed hard. “I’m aware this is not a perfect plan. I know it’s dangerous. But what choice do we have?”Maxwell raked a hand through his hair, breathing hard. “You keep saying that, Lena. It’s literally this or total annihilation. But you’re asking us to bet everything on a hunch.”I looked up at him, anger surging through my chest. “No. I’m asking you to risk it all on the truth we just discovered. You are fed on something that predates time itself. Because they just will keep sacrificing people so that they can stay in power if we don’t stop them.”Maxwell shook his head. “And you think we’re just going to… what? Break this deal? Kill the Council and pray whoever they’re bound to doesn’t kill the rest of us in the
The morning came too quickly.I hadn’t slept much — none of us had. We could not bring ourselves to rest under the weight of what we were about to do. Shadow’s End. A place that — as Jameson came to write — was not merely dangerous but wrong.And yet that’s where we needed to go.Maxwell spoke first as we gathered in the kitchen of Jameson’s safehouse. “I hate this plan.”Jameson took a sip of his coffee and smiled. “You hate all our plans.”Maxwell shot him a look. “Yeah, but this one? This one is particularly bad.”I sighed, rubbing my temples. “We don’t have a choice. Soraya is the only one who might have answers. If she is alive, she is in Shadow’s End. And if she isn’t…” I trailed off. “Then at least we’ll know what became of her.”Maxwell stopped and exhaled sharply, walking the length of the small room. “That is assuming that we return.”I looked at him and kept my voice even. “We will.”He halted his pacing, fixing me with an intent stare. “And what if we don’t?”There was a c
Soraya’s words hovered above us like a portent we weren’t equipped to receive."It’s already too late."The wind shrieked through the desolate streets of Shadow’s End, rattling broken windows and kicking up dust that swirled in unnatural patterns. The town itself felt alive and breathing around us, shifting, waiting.My wrist was in the grip of Maxwell’s hand, a silent grappling hook. “What do you mean?” His tone cut, authoritative. “Too late for what?”Soraya didn’t answer. All she could do was stare wordlessly at us with those empty, haunted eyes, twitching her fingers at her sides like she was choosing between running or running.Jameson edged forward, hands held high as if in surrender. “We didn’t come here to harm you, Soraya. We need your help.”She made a short, mocking sound of laughter. “My help?” She shook her head. “I told you not to come here. You don’t know what this place is.I swallowed hard. “Then tell us.”Her eyes flicked to me, measuring. “You think you can fix this?
The blast, a cacophony of light and noise.One minute we were in that dimly lit room, and Soraya’s warning loomed like gravity. The next, the bulbs shattered overhead, blotting us out in darkness. The impact sent shards of glass cascading, the walls rattling as though the house itself, were alive, responding to the presence outside.Then—silence.Thick, suffocating silence.Maxwell’s fingers closed more tightly around my wrist. He was breathing evenly, but I could sense the tension in his stance. Jameson still had a death grip on the journal, his knuckles white. Soraya didn’t move.And then, the voice returned.“You can’t hide from me, Lena Weber.”The way it said my name gave me a sick sort of chill in my spine. It wasn’t merely sound — it was a presence, something immense and primal wrapping around the syllables, like it was tasting them.Jameson said under his breath. “This is bad. This is really bad.”Soraya’s voice was hardly above a whisper. “It knows you now.”I swallowed hard.
The laughter slithered through the vacant streets, curling around us like invisible hands. It was not emerging from only one place — it was omnipresent, resonating off the buildings, vibrating through the air.I drew in a sharp breath and pounded pulse. My body was still rocking from the mirage. The smells of my childhood home lingered in my nose, my father’s too-wide smile seared into my mind like a brand. I could still hear him, his voice smooth and coaxing.“It’s time to come home, sweetie.”But he hadn’t been real.None of it had been real.Maxwell’s grip was solid on my shoulders, his gaze hard on my face. “Lena. Talk to me. What did you see?”I swallowed hard, attempting to ground myself. “It—” My voice broke, but I made myself say the words. “It showed me my father. My home. It wanted me to stay there.”Maxwell’s jaw tightened. “It’s trying to break you.”I shook my head. “Not just me. Us.”Jameson swore under his breath, scanning the darkened streets nearby. “It’s shifting the
The word LIAR still smoldered on the earth.Not from magic, but from intention. The burn was too crude, too human. There was no sigil or mystical flair to hide behind. No illusion. Just a raw accusation, left like a scar on sacred ground.Someone hadn’t just defaced the stone—they’d made a statement. And they’d made it here, at the heart of everything we were trying to build.I stood over it for a long time. Too long. I could feel the others watching me—Barin, Maxwell, Elara, even some of the apprentices who had come to help reinforce the foundation wards. They waited for a command, a reaction, anything to show them what I would do now.I didn’t give it to them.Not yet.Because inside me, there was a storm I couldn't afford to unleash—not until I knew where the crack had started.Maxwell stepped closer, voice low. “You think it’s someone inside?”I didn’t look at him. “If it were an outsider, the outer wards would have flared.”He swore under his breath. “Then we’ve been infiltrated.
“You called me reckless,” I continued. “You sent dreams and threats and doppelgängers to test my integrity. And I passed. Not by your standards—but by surviving, intact, through the kind of grief most of you would’ve buried. I faced my worst self and didn’t break.”A pause.“Can any of you say the same?”Silence.Then Elias spoke again, quieter. “And what do you propose, then? A Council of one?”“No,” I said. “A new covenant. Shared authority. A seat at the table for those you’ve excluded. A place where power isn’t feared—but shaped, taught, and trusted.”He didn’t move. “You’re asking us to rewrite centuries.”“I’m telling you,” I said, “they’re already rewriting themselves. You can participate—or you can be left behind.”The room held its breath.Then Elias smiled.It was small. But real.“You’ve grown,” he said. “Far more than we expected.”“I’m just getting started.”The chamber stayed silent for a moment after I spoke those words, but it wasn’t the silence of resistance—it was th
We didn’t wait for permission.By the next morning, the word was already spreading—not as a rumor, but as a declaration. The sanctuary would rise.No more retreating. No more hiding our power behind broken seals and inherited shame. We would build a space tethered to the ley lines, reinforced with intention, rooted in the truth of who we were becoming. And more than that, anyone with power, hunted or not, would be welcome. Not just Guardians. Not just wolves.Everyone.The response was immediate.Some sent their support—ancient names I barely recognized, offering blood, stone, and spell to help raise the walls. Others sent silence. The kind that carried the weight of a thousand threats.But it was the Council that answered first.I had barely finished marking the boundary runes when a crow landed on the stone in front of me. No scroll, no flare of magic. Just a voice—projected, cold and clear—from the bird’s beak."Lena Weber. The Council calls you to stand before the Elders within th
The circle dimmed. The night resumed its breath.Maxwell appeared at the edge of the trees, his eyes wild with concern. He didn’t speak. Just waited.“I’m okay,” I said, voice hoarse.He walked up to me slowly. “You don’t look okay.”“No,” I said, leaning into his chest. “But I know what I’m doing now.”He held me for a long moment. Then asked, “And what’s that?”I looked toward the stars, toward the seal humming faintly in my chest.“I’m going to stop surviving,” I said. “And start building.”Maxwell didn't speak right away. He studied me like he was seeing something different—something unfamiliar but necessary. The kind of change you don't celebrate with cheers, but with silence, because you know it’s real.“Building what?” he asked finally.I let the question hang in the air for a moment. “Something that doesn’t depend on fear. On reaction. On waiting for the next attack. Something rooted in intention. In choice. We keep surviving crisis after crisis, and we forget to imagine what
She stood there—older, wiser, with a weight in her gaze that I hadn’t yet earned but could already feel settling in my bones. She didn’t move like someone who wanted to be revered. She moved like someone who had been forged—bent, shaped, nearly broken—and survived because no one else knew how to carry what she carried.The silence between us stretched longer than it should have, but she didn’t rush me. That was something else I recognized in her—patience. Not passive, but deliberate. A discipline I hadn’t yet mastered.“I didn’t think I’d ever meet you,” I finally said.She gave a small smile. “You don’t. Not in the way you’re thinking. I’m not a memory or a ghost. I’m not even truly real. Just an echo from one potential. One of millions.”“And yet,” I said, stepping toward her, “you’re here.”“Because the seal responded,” she said. “It recognized your convergence. The self that faced grief, the self that faced guilt, the self that faced truth. And now it offers a glimpse of what’s wa
The nights had been still lately—too still. Even after the encounter with my doppelgänger, even after the fire and the whispered threats in ash, the silence that followed felt wrong. It wasn’t peace. It was the pause before an avalanche, the long breath held before a scream.And then the seal pulsed.Not like before—not a flare of warning or fear. This was different. It was deep, rhythmic, almost like a heartbeat. It throbbed through my chest, echoed in my bones, and I knew—whatever had awakened within me during the merge with my other self, it had reached the other side.Something had seen it.Something had responded.The pulse spread through the ley lines like a ripple, invisible to most, but I could feel its journey. It traveled through roots and rock, through the thin air above mountaintops, through the marrow of the oldest bones buried beneath our feet. And everywhere it went, it left doors ajar.By morning, the world had changed.The first signs came quietly—messages from nearby
I stood alone in the center of the circle we had carved days ago, the ley lines still raw from recent shifts. The ash from the eastern watchtower had long since scattered into the wind, but its message still pulsed behind my eyes. You will break. Or you will become.Tonight, I wasn’t going to run from that. Tonight, I would invite it in.I had told the others to stay back—something I knew Maxwell hated. He’d argued for hours. Not with words, but with silence, pacing, the set of his jaw, the way he stood near the doorway like he could stop a god with his bare hands if it came to that. But in the end, he let me go. Because he knew I had to.The fire crackled low. The ley stones hummed beneath my bare feet.And I called her.Not with words. With intent. With the shape of my memories, my regrets, the pieces of myself I had never forgiven.She came like a ripple. A subtle distortion in the air, like heat rising off pavement. Then she was there. Not a projection. Not a monster.Just… me.“I
We stood in the wake of that light, hearts pounding, silence clinging to the air like fog. The figure that had worn my face—my perfect mirror—was gone, but its presence lingered. Not just as memory. Not just as a threat. As residue. The ley lines around us had twisted, not fractured but reformed. Like the very pattern of reality had shifted to accommodate that presence.No one spoke for a while. Even Maxwell, always the first to break tense silences, had nothing. Maybe because there were no words big enough to contain what we’d seen.Finally, Nima said quietly, “It didn’t disappear. It just… stepped back.”I looked at her, not answering. Because she was right. That version of me hadn’t been defeated or banished. It had retreated. Like it had learned something. Like it was waiting.Barin exhaled hard, pacing. “That thing—— whatever it was—— it wasn’t just a projection. It carried intention. It believed what it said.”“And it felt,” Maxwell added, his voice low and rough. “That’s what s
I didn’t speak on the walk back.Maxwell didn’t press, though I knew the silence was hard for him. Every footstep felt like I was dragging pieces of myself behind me—things I thought I had laid to rest long ago. But Clara’s face stayed with me, not like a ghost, but like a mirror I couldn’t look away from.I should’ve saved her. And the seal knew it.When we reached the edge of the circle, Elara and Barin were already waiting. Nima stood between them, worry creased deep into her young face.“What happened?” Elara asked.“She saw someone she lost,” Maxwell answered for me, his tone clipped.“Someone she couldn’t save,” I added, lifting my eyes. “They’re not just testing my strength. They’re measuring my regrets. How deeply I carry them. How much they shape me.”Barin crossed his arms. “You think that’s the point of these tests?”“No,” I said. “I think that’s the data. They’re collecting impressions—who we are when we’re alone with our worst truths.”“And if they don’t like what they se