CHAPTER 18: THREADS OF BETRAYAL

The Verdant Hollow’s dawn feels sharper today, the air crackling with a tension that sets my crescent mark buzzing. Last night’s Syndicate incursion—those shadow-wreathed mercenaries, their corrupted First Ones’ relic—left the grove’s energy threads taut, like a bowstring ready to snap. I barely slept, my mind replaying Sylvara’s words: Someone betrayed their location. Who? Winters, with his cryptic warnings? Nadia, hiding something behind her storm-grey aura? Or, God forbid, Maddox, whose honesty always comes with shadows?

I’m in the archive chamber now, a cavernous space where living vines weave through stone shelves, glowing runes illuminating scrolls and artifacts that hum with ancient power. Sylvara’s been decoding the captured relic, a black stone etched with jagged runes, its aura like oil seeping into my new sight. Cassia’s here too, her fiery presence a comfort as she sharpens a dagger made of solidified flame, her eyes flicking to the chamber’s entrance every few seconds.

“You’re brooding again,” Cassia says, not looking up. “Keep that up, and you’ll sprout gloom-wings instead of moonlight ones.”

I snort, pacing near a vine-wrapped pedestal. “Can you blame me? Someone’s feeding Voren intel. Those relics were supposed to be lost, Cassia. Buried. How’d the Syndicate even know where to look?”

Sylvara, crouched over the relic at a stone table, doesn’t lift her gaze. “The First Ones hid their relics in sanctuaries like this Hollow, sealed with wards only their descendants could unlock. Whoever betrayed us has knowledge of those seals—knowledge few possess.” Her vine-hair twitches, betraying her calm.

My stomach twists. “Descendants? Like… lunar bloodlines? Shifters?” I touch my crescent mark, its warmth a reminder of my mother’s legacy. Could someone from her line—or my father’s Silvercrest pack—be the traitor?

Before Sylvara can answer, Renn bursts in, his blue aura rippling like a disturbed pond. He’s clutching a leather-bound scroll, his face pale. “Scouts just got back from the eastern rift,” he pants. “It’s bad. Voren’s Syndicate—they’ve activated a relic there. Some kind of Veil-anchor. The rift’s destabilizing, spitting out shadow-stuff. Our wards are holding, but not for long.”

Cassia’s dagger flares, her grin gone. “A Veil-anchor? That’s First Ones’ tech, isn’t it? How the hell is Voren getting his hands on this shit?”

Sylvara’s eyes glow, her voice low. “The anchor is a conduit, meant to stabilize Veil-rifts. In the wrong hands, it can tear them open. Voren’s intent is clear—he’s forcing a breach, likely to draw Lena out.”

My mark burns, and I clench my fists. “Draw me out? Why? So he can use me as his cosmic battery?” The prophecy’s weight—Convergence, bridge of worlds—feels heavier every day.

Renn hesitates, glancing at Sylvara. “There’s more. The scouts saw… someone with the Syndicate. Hooded, but their aura was familiar. Like someone from the Refuge.”

The air in the chamber thickens. Nadia’s secrets, Marcus’s quiet strength, Sera’s fire—could one of them be working with Voren? I shake my head, refusing to believe it. “No way. The Refuge is family. They wouldn’t—”

“People break under pressure,” Cassia cuts in, her tone softer but firm. “Sera’s my cousin, Lena. I’d trust her with my life. But fear, promises, threats—Voren’s good at twisting people.”

Sylvara rises, the relic pulsing faintly in her hands. “We need answers. Lena, your lunar power can trace the relic’s origin, reveal who unsealed it. But it requires a ritual—one that risks exposing your presence to Voren’s seekers.”

I swallow hard. Risk drawing Voren’s attention, or let the traitor slip through our fingers? “Do it,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “If there’s a snake in our ranks, I want to know.”

Sylvara nods, leading us to a circular dais at the chamber’s heart, its runes glowing silver. “Place your hands on the dais, speak your true name, and focus on the relic. The Hollow will guide your sight.”

As I step onto the dais, the chamber’s vines pulse, their light syncing with my mark. Cassia stands guard, her flames ready, while Renn hovers, scroll clutched like a lifeline. I touch the dais, its cool stone grounding me. “Lena Silvermoon,” I whisper.

Silver light flares, my vision splitting. Threads—silver, gold, black—spiral from the relic, forming a map of connections. I see the Hollow, its wards glowing; the eastern rift, a jagged tear leaking shadow; and a figure, cloaked, their aura a mix of earth and storm, unsealing a hidden vault. The aura feels familiar, like Nadia’s, but distorted, laced with fear. The vision shifts—Voren’s smile, his voice promising power, safety, a world remade. The figure hesitates, then hands him the relic.

I pull back, gasping, the dais dimming. “It’s… someone like Nadia,” I say, my voice shaking. “Storm-grey aura, earthy undertones. They were scared, manipulated. Voren promised something.”

Cassia curses, her flames spiking. “Nadia? No way. She’s tough as hell. But… she’s been off lately, hiding stuff. If Voren got to her…”

“We don’t accuse without proof,” Sylvara says, her tone sharp. “The vision shows possibility, not certainty. Lena, you must confront this at the Refuge, but first, we neutralize the Veil-anchor.”

Before I can respond, a familiar shadow ripples at the chamber’s entrance—Maddox, his dark eyes glinting, his aura a swirl of smoke and starlight. “Heard you had a party without me,” he says, his smirk masking tension. “Caught a Syndicate scout on the perimeter. They’re getting bold.”

My heart skips, relief and suspicion warring. “Maddox? Where’ve you been? And why didn’t you tell us you were back?”

He leans against the wall, casual but guarded. “Scouting, short stuff. Keeping Voren’s dogs at bay. Didn’t want to spook the Hollow’s wards with my… charming presence.” He nods at the relic. “That thing’s bad news. I’ve seen its kind before, in shadow markets. Voren’s been hunting them for years.”

Sylvara’s eyes narrow. “And you didn’t warn us?”

Maddox shrugs, but his gaze flicks to me, heavy. “Didn’t know he’d move this fast. Lena’s power’s like a flare to guys like him. You’ve gotta shut that anchor down, or the rift’s gonna blow.”

I step off the dais, my mark still tingling. “How? I’m barely keeping up with ward-weaving, let alone dismantling ancient tech.”

Sylvara hands me the relic, its weight cold and wrong. “The ritual to trace its origin can be reversed to disrupt the anchor. You’ll need to shift, channel your lunar energy through the relic at the rift. But it’s dangerous—Voren’s forces will sense you.”

Cassia grins, cracking her knuckles. “Good. Let ‘em come. I’m itching to burn something.”

Renn, still pale, raises a hand. “Uh, I can help with the rift’s water-wards. Keep the shadow-stuff contained. But, Lena, if you’re going out there…” He hesitates, his blue eyes wide. “You’re gonna need those dragon-wings.”

I groan. “Not a dragon, Renn.” But his faith, however goofy, steadies me.

Maddox steps closer, his voice low. “You sure about this, Lena? Voren’s playing chess, and you’re the queen. One wrong move…”

I meet his gaze, my resolve hardening. “I’m done hiding. If Voren wants me, he’ll get more than he bargained for.”

Sylvara nods, a rare approval in her eyes. “Prepare, then. We leave for the rift at dusk. Lena, study the relic’s runes. Cassia, Renn, fortify the Hollow. Maddox, scout the rift’s perimeter. We cannot afford another breach.”

As they disperse, I clutch the relic, its black runes pulsing against my skin. The vision of the traitor—Nadia, or someone like her—gnaws at me. I want to trust my Refuge family, but Voren’s promises echo in my mind, tempting, insidious. The Hollow’s teaching me to wield my power, but this war’s teaching me something harder: trust is a thread that frays under pressure, and I’m not sure who’s holding the scissors.