CHAPTER 14: BETWEEN WORLDS

The forest thickens as we continue our trek, the trail narrowing until it’s barely a suggestion of a path. The air grows heavier, charged with a faint hum that vibrates against my skin, like static electricity before a storm. My crescent mark pulses faintly in response, a reminder that my body is no longer entirely my own—or perhaps it’s becoming more mine than ever, shedding the human shell I’ve worn for eighteen years.

Maddox moves with a predator’s ease, his shadow-wreathed form blending into the dappled light filtering through the canopy. I’m hyper-aware of him now—not just because of the spark when we touched, but because his presence feels like an anchor in this increasingly alien world. I don’t trust him, not fully, but I’m starting to rely on him, and that scares me more than the distant howls we heard last night.

“How much farther?” I ask, stepping over a gnarled root that seems to twist upward as if reaching for my ankle. The forest feels alive in a way that goes beyond normal ecology—like it’s watching, waiting.

“Not far,” Maddox replies without turning. “You’ll know when we’re close. The air changes.”

He’s not wrong. A few minutes later, the hum in the atmosphere intensifies, and the forest seems to shimmer at the edges of my vision. My new sight kicks in unbidden, revealing faint threads of energy woven through the trees—golden-green, like veins of light pulsing with the rhythm of the earth. It’s beautiful, but unsettling, as if the forest itself is a living entity with its own agenda.

“What is this place?” I whisper, afraid to disturb the silence that’s fallen over us.

Maddox pauses, his dark eyes scanning the surroundings. “The Veil is thin here. Always has been. It’s why Kieran chose it.”

“The Veil?” I’ve heard the term before—in my mother’s journal, in Nadia’s explanation of Veil-walkers—but it’s still abstract, like a metaphor I’m supposed to instinctively understand.

“The boundary between realities,” Maddox says, his voice taking on a rare gravity. “This world—your world—is just one layer of existence. There are others, adjacent, overlapping. The Veil keeps them separate, but in places like this, it frays. Magic seeps through. Things that don’t belong in your reality can cross over.”

“Things like you?” I ask, half-teasing, half-serious.

His lips twitch, but there’s no humor in his expression. “Exactly. Shadowwalkers were born in those in-between spaces, long before your kind started naming things. So were others—some you’ve met, some you haven’t.”

I think of Nadia’s storm-grey aura, Marcus’s earthy presence, Sera’s flames. “Are all supernaturals from… beyond the Veil?”

“Not all. Shifters, like your father’s people, are tied to this world’s primal forces—earth, blood, instinct. Elementals, like Sera, draw from its raw energies. But others—Veil-walkers, Sirens, even some Psychics—have roots in older places. Places humans would call myth.” He glances at me. “Your mother’s lunar bloodline? That’s Veil-touched. The Moon Goddess isn’t just a story. She’s a force, a presence, and her mark on you means you’re connected to something far older than this war.”

My hand instinctively moves to the small of my back, where the crescent mark warms under my touch. The idea that I’m tied to some ancient, otherworldly entity is both thrilling and terrifying. “And the prophecy? Is that from the Veil too?”

Maddox shrugs, a gesture that somehow conveys centuries of skepticism. “Prophecies are usually half-truths wrapped in pretty words. But the one about you? It’s rooted in something real. The Veil’s been weakening for centuries—ever since humans started building their machines, their cities, their walls. Your birth, the convergence of moon and wild, was a ripple in that fraying fabric. A sign that the worlds are colliding.”

Before I can press him further, a figure steps from the shadows ahead, appearing so suddenly I stumble back. She’s tall, her silhouette almost blending with the trees, her skin a deep, iridescent green that shifts like polished jade. Her hair cascades in vines that seem to writhe with a life of their own, and her eyes glow faintly, like twin emeralds catching sunlight. Her aura is a vibrant tapestry of green and gold, pulsing in sync with the forest’s energy threads.

“You’re late,” she says, her voice resonant, like wind moving through leaves. It’s not accusatory, just factual, but it carries a weight that makes me feel small.

Maddox inclines his head, a rare gesture of respect. “Unavoidable complications, Sylvara. She’s here now.”

The woman—Sylvara—turns her gaze to me, and I feel like she’s seeing through me, past my skin and bones to whatever lies beneath. My crescent mark flares, and I fight the urge to step back again.

“Lena Silvermoon,” she says, my true name sounding like a invocation on her lips. “Child of the moon and the wild. The forest speaks of you.”

I swallow hard, unsure how to respond to that. “It… does?”

She doesn’t smile, but her eyes soften slightly. “Everything speaks, if you know how to listen. Come. The sanctuary awaits.”

Without another word, she turns and strides deeper into the forest, her movements so fluid she seems to glide. Maddox gestures for me to follow, and I do, my bare feet sinking into the soft earth. The energy threads grow brighter, more intricate, forming a lattice that feels like a protective barrier. My new sight reveals faint shapes moving within the trees—shadowy forms that might be animals, or might be something else entirely. Guardians, perhaps, bound to this place.

As we walk, Sylvara speaks, her voice weaving into the forest’s hum. “This grove is one of the last Verdant Hollows—places where the Veil was deliberately weakened by the First Ones, long before humans walked this earth. They built sanctuaries here, anchoring them with primal magic to bridge worlds. Kieran claimed this one for you, knowing it would hide you from those who hunt.”

“The First Ones?” I ask, trying to keep up both physically and mentally. “Who were they?”

“The progenitors of your kind,” she replies, glancing back at me. “Beings who shaped this reality when it was still malleable. Some became the ancestors of shifters, others of elementals. A few crossed the Veil entirely, becoming gods or myths. The Moon Goddess was one such being, her essence tied to the lunar tides that govern life’s rhythms.”

I think of my mother’s journal, the entries about the Lunar Houses and their connection to the moon’s power. “So my mother’s mark… it’s a remnant of that?”

Sylvara nods. “The crescent is her sigil, passed through generations. It marks those chosen to carry her will. But your father’s blood—the Silvercrest line—carries a different legacy. The First Ones who birthed shifters were tied to the earth’s core, its raw, untamed heart. Your convergence is… unprecedented. A bridge not just between human and supernatural, but between the primal and the cosmic.”

Her words echo Maddox’s earlier explanation, but they carry a mythic weight that makes the prophecy feel more real, more daunting. I’m not just a genetic anomaly or a political pawn—I’m a nexus of forces that predate human history, forces that shaped the world and might reshape it again.

We reach a clearing where the energy threads converge into a shimmering archway, its edges flickering like heat haze. Beyond it, I glimpse a structure that defies logic—a sprawling complex of stone and living wood, its towers spiraling upward like trees, their surfaces etched with glowing runes. It’s both ancient and alive, pulsing with the same energy as the forest.

“The sanctuary,” Sylvara says, pausing at the archway. “Once you cross, you’ll be hidden from all but the most powerful seekers. Even Shadowwalkers cannot enter without permission.” She glances at Maddox, her expression unreadable.

He raises his hands in mock surrender. “I know my place, Sylvara. I’ll wait here until you’re ready to send the signal.”

I hesitate, looking between them. “You’re not coming with us?”

“Not yet,” Maddox says. “The Hollow’s wards are particular about who they let in. My kind… we’re not exactly welcome in places tied to primal magic.”

“Because you’re from the shadow realm?” I ask, piecing together what he’s told me.

“Among other reasons.” His tone is light, but there’s a flicker of something deeper—regret, perhaps, or resignation. “Go with Sylvara. You’ll be safe here. I’ll make sure no one follows.”

I want to argue, to insist he come with me, but Sylvara’s presence is commanding, and the archway’s pull is undeniable. My crescent mark burns hotter now, urging me forward.

“Be careful,” I say to Maddox, the words feeling inadequate but necessary.

His smirk returns, though it’s softer than usual. “Always am, short stuff.”

Sylvara leads me through the archway, and the world shifts. The air grows warmer, saturated with scents of moss and blooming flowers. The sanctuary’s interior is even more surreal—halls of polished stone interwoven with living vines, their leaves glowing faintly. Small orbs of light float like fireflies, illuminating tapestries that depict scenes I don’t fully understand: celestial beings forging mountains, wolves howling at twin moons, oceans parting to reveal glowing cities beneath.

“This is… incredible,” I breathe, turning in a slow circle to take it all in.

“It is a fragment of what was,” Sylvara says, her voice tinged with sorrow. “The Verdant Hollows were once countless, scattered across the world. Humans destroyed most, unknowingly or deliberately, as they claimed the land. This is one of the last, preserved by those who still honor the First Ones.”

I think of the war-torn world outside, the scars left by the Emergence, the human fear that fuels the Sentinels. “Why don’t people know about places like this? If humans saw this, maybe they’d understand…”

“Understanding requires openness,” Sylvara says. “Humans fear what they cannot control. The Sentinels are but one expression of that fear. The Purists among your kind are another. Both seek to impose order on a reality that resists it.”

We reach a chamber at the sanctuary’s heart, its ceiling open to the sky, revealing a crescent moon that seems impossibly large, its light bathing the room in silver. At the center stands a pool of water, its surface mirror-smooth, reflecting the moon and the runes carved into the surrounding stone.

“This is the Lunar Well,” Sylvara explains. “A place of communion. Here, you can connect to the Moon Goddess’s essence, learn to harness the lunar power within you. It will help you control what you are becoming.”

I approach the pool cautiously, my reflection distorted by the silver light. The girl staring back has silver-flecked eyes, no longer hidden by contacts, and a faint glow around her silhouette—an aura I hadn’t noticed before, a blend of silver and amber that pulses with my heartbeat.

“What do I do?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Place your hand on the crescent mark and speak your true name,” Sylvara says, echoing Kieran’s instructions from the journal. “The Well will respond.”

I hesitate, fear and curiosity warring within me. The last time I unleashed something inside me, I killed people. But I can’t keep running from what I am—not if I want to survive, not if I want to understand my place in this fractured world.

I touch the mark on my lower back, feeling its warmth spread through my fingers. “Lena Silvermoon,” I say, my voice steady despite the trembling in my chest.

The pool ripples, and the air grows thick with power. Images flash across the water’s surface—my mother, young and radiant, her crescent mark glowing as she stands in this very chamber; my father, his eyes amber-gold, shifting into a massive wolf under a full moon; a war-torn city where humans and supernaturals clash, their blood mixing in the streets; and me, standing in a field, my body wreathed in silver light, wings of moonlight spreading behind me.

The visions fade, leaving me breathless. Sylvara watches me, her expression a mix of awe and caution.

“You are the Convergence,” she says softly. “But what that means—whether you bring peace or destruction—depends on the choices you make.”

I pull my hand from the mark, the pool stilling. “I don’t want to be a weapon. Or a savior. I just want to understand who I am.”

“Then stay here,” Sylvara says. “Learn. Grow. The Hollow will shield you until you’re ready to face the world again.”

I think of Maddox waiting outside, of Sera and Marcus and Nadia at the Refuge, of Winters and his ambiguous motives, of Voren’s predatory smile. The world beyond this sanctuary is a web of danger and deceit, but it’s also where answers lie—about my parents, about the prophecy, about what I’m truly capable of.

“I’ll stay,” I say finally. “For now. But I need to know everything—about the Veil, the First Ones, the factions. All of it.”

Sylvara nods, a faint smile touching her lips. “Then we begin at dawn. Rest now, Lena Silvermoon. The moon has claimed you, but the path ahead is yours to forge.”

As she leads me to a small chamber with a bed of woven vines, I feel the weight of her words settle over me. The Verdant Hollow is a refuge, yes, but it’s also a crossroads—a place where worlds meet, where destinies are shaped. And for better or worse, I’m at its center.