Masuk113 Avi was still pale when Cain walked her into the strategy chamber, one arm around her waist, the other braced on the wall because he was still weak, but refusing to let anyone else touch her. Brie rose from her seat immediately. “Avi? What happened?” Her voice was gentle but beneath it lay steel. Trace, Mikan, and Morgan were already gathered, the offering table between them littered with maps and threat projections. All of them turned as Avi entered, and the room shifted instantly from strategy to crisis. Cain guided Avi into the chair closest to him before anyone could protest. Morgan’s eyes narrowed. “Your magic is still flaring. You’re shaking. What did the Circle show you?” Avi took a breath. It quivered at the edges. “It wasn’t just a vision,” she began. “It was… a conversation. A warning. The Circle pulled me in without asking.” Trace went pale not with fear, but with the cold, calculating fury of a king who has already lost too much. “Tell us exactly what you saw.”
112 The door clicked shut behind Brie and Trace, muting the quiet tension in the hallway. Cain lay propped against pillows, pale from blood loss but stubbornly upright. Avi refused to leave his side, one hand tangled with his, the Circle simmering protectively beneath her skin. Brie crossed the room first. Her steps were soft, but her presence filled the space like a stormcloud. “You nearly died,” she said to Cain no scolding, no pity, just the raw truth. Cain smirked weakly. “Nearly doesn’t count, Your Majesty.” Trace shot him a look. “You can joke, so you’re not dying. Good.” But Avi wasn’t smiling. She was watching her parents really watching, waiting for the consequences she knew were coming. Brie sat on the edge of the bed and met Avi’s eyes. “You felt that attack before it struck,” she said softly. Avi swallowed. “The Circle did. I didn’t… understand it at first.” “And still,” Brie said gently, “you threw yourself in front of your mate.” Cain bristled. “She shouldn’t ha
111 The hallway outside Cain’s infirmary room was never meant to hold six elite trainees yet the Veilkeepers filled every inch of it, silent and unmoving, like a wall of steel. No one had told them to stand guard. They simply… did. Because Cain was hers. Because anyone who tried to kill him was trying to destroy Avi as well. Commander Thomas arrived first, rubbing sleep from his eyes, and stopped dead when he saw them. “Why,” he asked slowly, “are you all here?” Kael arms crossed, posture rigid, answered without looking at him. “Because the next person who tries to hurt Avi’s mate is going to have to go through us first.” Joren, sitting on a bench sharpening a small practice blade, didn’t even glance up. “Besides,” he muttered, “I’ve never seen Avi that shaken. If something happens to him, she’ll tear the capital apart.” Mira sat with her knees drawn up, tracing a calming sigil on the floor. “She didn’t sleep last night,” she murmured. “The Circle kept trying to surge toward
110 The Dawlya sanctum was silent. Too silent. Then the floor sigils burned black. Seven robed Elders stepped into the ritual circle, their hands bound by shadow-thread, their voices unified. “By decree of the High Mother… By law of blood… Let the Obsidian Weapon awake.” A bowl carved from volcanic glass rose into the air. It pulsed once like a heartbeat. Then darkness exploded outward, racing across the astral plane like lightning seeking a target. Not Avi. Cain. The Dawlya Elders raised their hands, pushing more power into the weapon. “Strike the mate-bond. Shatter the sentinel. Break the Keeper through the one she loves.” The chamber trembled as the weapon shot across the magical lattice that connected worlds. A Dawlya apprentice screamed and collapsed from the recoil. The Elders didn’t stop. “It begins.” Cain’s head snapped up so fast the wind cracked around him. His pupils narrowed into predator slits. “…Avi.” He reached for her instinctively but she was already t
109 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?”







