LOGIN109 The Hall of Stone was dim, lit only by the red glow of the Dawlya crest etched into the volcanic rock. The seven remaining Keepers stood in a circle, their tattoos flickering with unstable magic. High Mother Velyn paced before them, robes whispering like a blade dragged over sand. “Report.” Keeper Thale swallowed hard. She had been shaking since the ritual surge from the Draynor system. “High Mother… the surge has stopped. The lines have stabilized. The girl Avi is not expanding further. The Circle merging did not create destructive output. It only strengthened her bond.” Another Keeper added, “She absorbed them safely. There were no ripples of collapse or backlash in the magic field.” For a moment, silence hung. Then the High Mother snarled. “No backlash means she is in control. Worse, she is in harmony with the defectors.” A murmur rippled through the council. Thale hesitated. “High Mother… respectfully… nothing about what we felt implies aggression. It was simply…” “PO
108 Three days passed. Three long, unnatural days. No messages. No movement. No ritual preparations. Nothing from the Dawlya council. Puc’s watchers reported the same each morning: “No activity. No meetings. No travel. No magic.” Morgan said it best, “The Dawlya have never been silent. Not even in mourning.” Which meant only one thing. They were planning something big enough that even their breath was hidden. Avi felt the tension coiling under the surface like a taut wire, ready to snap. The Circle felt it too. It pulsed in her spine each night, uncomfortable, restless, listening for something it refused to name. But inside Ashbarrie’s boundaries, life pressed forward. Especially for the seven Dawlya defectors. On the fourth morning, Chance found Avi in the training yard, practicing flight-land transitions with the Veilkeepers. He didn’t interrupt; he simply waited until she landed. “Circle Keeper,” he greeted, already tense. Avi wiped sweat from her forehead. “What happened?”
107 The war room in Ashbarrie had never felt so quiet. Avi stood in the center of the chamber, the glow of late afternoon sunlight scattering across the polished stone. Her tattoo pulsed softly seven bright lines threading up her cheek, each one a reminder of what the Circle had become. Brie and Trace stood together. Mikan in guarding posture beside them. Cain hovered near Avi, close enough to catch her, far enough not to interfere. Morgan and Chance waited at her sides, forming a stabilizing triangle. Avi exhaled. “I want to send them a message,” she said. “Not an attack. Not a spell. Just… a warning. If they’re going to keep coming after me, after my family, after my people then I want them to hear it from me, not the Circle acting on instinct.” Chance glanced at Mikan. Mikan looked at Brie. Brie nodded once. “You have permission,” the Queen said. “But do not start a war with this alone. You are sending a warning, not a declaration.” Avi swallowed hard. “That’s all I want.”
106 The Ashbarrie palace war room was already crowded when Puc and his Ghosts stepped through the teleport gate. Mikan, Brie, Trace, Morgan, Cain, Daxen, and Captain Garrik were waiting. But the moment the Ghost squad materialized, the temperature in the room shifted. Puc looked like he’d brought the graveyard with him. His mask was off rare and ash streaks still clung to the creases of his armor. His team was silent, standing in formation behind him, each one visibly on edge. Mikan was the first to speak. “What did you find?” Puc didn’t answer immediately. He reached into a sealed containment pack and set a crystalline recorder on the table. It pulsed with flickering red static. Morgan stiffened. “Residual Dawlya magic,” he muttered. “Unstable. That’s not good.” Brie folded her hands atop the table. “Puc. Report.” Puc inhaled once, steadying himself. “High Queen, Kings… the Dawlya council attempted a ritual to seize the Circle either to claim it or to stop Avi from keeping it
105 The great strategy chamber beneath the palace had not been used in over a century. Its circular table is obsidian and carved with the sigils of every royal house flickered with projection lights as maps of the Dawlya territories shimmered above it. Brie and Trace entered first, regal but grim. Mikan followed, tension rolling off him in barely-contained waves; Morgan and Daxen flanked him, both alert, both silently calculating. Captain Garrik stood at attention near the far end, and Commander Thomas waited beside him, posture sharp. The Veilkeepers arrived last. Avi stepped in with them, still pale from Cain’s near-death but steady. The Circle pulsed faintly under her skin, quiet, but awake, listening. Joren bowed, Kael stiffened, Mira and Lees exchanged nervous glances. And then Cain. He limped in with Morgan’s help, refusing a chair at first until Avi’s narrow glare forced him into one. His injured body trembled, but his eyes burned like wildfire. The room fell silent. Tra
104 Cain’s first inhale was sharp and painful, the kind that dragged him abruptly out of the darkness. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused, the world a haze of soft lantern light and the faint scent of herbs. Then he felt a warm pressure on his hand. Avi. She was slumped over the edge of the bed, her cheek resting against his arm, exhaustion pulling faint shadows beneath her eyes. Even in sleep she looked ready to break into pieces. The Circle’s glow flickered faintly along her tattoo dormant now, but Cain remembered the pain, the darkness closing in, and something ancient and furious wrapping around him like a shield. He tried to speak. His throat barely cooperated. “Avi…” Her eyes snapped open instantly. She jerked upright, breath catching when she saw him awake. “Cain!” Her voice broke on his name. She cupped his face in her hands, trembling. “Don't you ever do that to me again. Ever.” He managed the faintest smirk. “Wasn’t… my idea.” She huffed out a sob-laugh and pressed he







