CHAPTER 22: THREADS OF DECEPTION

The Verdant Hollow’s core chamber vibrates with residual energy, the golden-green nexus pulsing erratically after the keystone’s destruction. My crescent mark burns, a steady anchor as I stand with Cassia, Sylvara, and Renn, braced for Voren’s attack. The wards’ hum lingers, sharp and discordant, but as minutes pass, no Syndicate strike team breaches the sanctuary. No Shadowwalkers, no Veil-touched mercenaries—just silence, heavy and unsettling. My new sight catches faint ripples in the energy threads, but they’re fading, like a storm that never fully broke.

Cassia lowers her flaming fists, her crimson aura dimming. “What the hell? I was ready to roast some Syndicate goons. Where’s Voren’s big move?”

Sylvara, her vine-hair still coiled tightly, touches a rune-stone on the chamber wall, her emerald eyes narrowing. “The wards are stabilizing. Whatever triggered the breach was… redirected. The keystone’s destruction severed its link to Voren’s forces, likely disrupting their approach.” She turns to me, her gaze sharp but approving. “You acted in time, Lena. The Hollow is safe—for now.”

I exhale, my wings flickering out of existence, the adrenaline ebbing. “So it was a false alarm? Voren’s not coming?”

Renn, clutching his satchel, shakes his head. “Not false, exactly. That keystone was bleeding the wards dry. If you hadn’t found it, the Hollow would’ve been wide open by tomorrow night. You stopped a catastrophe.”

I nod, but the victory feels incomplete. The lunar-eyed stranger’s warning—The Hollow’s wards are compromised, not by one traitor, but by a relic—proved true, but their other words, Don’t tell Sylvara, gnaw at me. And Maddox’s intercepted transmission about a mole still looms. Someone inside the Hollow is working for Voren, and with the keystone gone, they’ll know we’re onto them. I glance at my allies—Cassia’s fiery resolve, Renn’s nervous loyalty, Sylvara’s ancient calm—and hate the suspicion creeping in. My parents trusted the Conclave, but even they were betrayed.

“We need to find the mole,” I say, my voice firm. “Voren’s Syndicate knew exactly where to plant that keystone. Someone gave them access, someone who could bypass the wards.”

Cassia’s flames flare briefly, singeing the moss. “Agreed. I’m not sleeping easy knowing one of us might be a Syndicate snake. But how do we flush them out? Scrying at dawn’s still the plan, right?”

Sylvara hesitates, her fingers tracing the rune-stone’s edge. “Scrying will help, but a Veil-touched traitor could mask their aura, even from your lunar sight, Lena. We need to be methodical—question every guardian, cross-reference their movements since you arrived. The mole’s been active for weeks, likely since before the eastern rift destabilized.”

Renn shifts, his blue aura flickering. “Uh, that’s a lot of people. The Hollow’s got, what, fifty guardians? Plus couriers like me, moving in and out. I’m not saying it’s me, but… I’ve handled relics, carried messages. What if I accidentally—”

“Stop,” I cut in, softening my tone. “You’re not the mole, Renn. You’re too jumpy to pull off a double-cross.” He blushes, but I press on. “We start with who had access to the core. The keystone was embedded in the pedestal—not exactly a public spot. Who maintains the nexus?”

Sylvara answers, her voice steady. “Only senior guardians and Tideborn couriers like Renn have direct access. I oversee the nexus, along with two others: Kael, a primal shifter, and Lysa, a Veil-touched psychic. Both are Conclave loyalists, but…” She trails off, her emerald eyes troubled. “No one is above suspicion.”

I think of Maddox, his shadow aura slipping through wards like smoke. “What about outsiders? Maddox got in. Could someone else have?”

Sylvara’s vine-hair twitches. “Maddox’s access was my decision, a calculated risk. His shadow-realm ties make him a valuable scout, but the wards are keyed to reject unknown auras. The keystone’s placement suggests an insider—someone already bound to the Hollow.”

Cassia crosses her arms, her flames crackling. “So we narrow it down: Kael, Lysa, Renn, Sylvara, maybe a few couriers. Maddox is a wildcard, but he’s been outside more than in. Lena, your lunar sight’s our best shot. Can you scan auras without tipping the mole off?”

I touch my crescent mark, silver threads stirring. “I can try. My sight’s sharper since the ritual, but if they’re Veil-touched, they’ll feel me probing. We need a distraction—something to keep everyone occupied while I scan.”

Renn perks up, his satchel clinking. “What about a ward calibration? I could fake a glitch in the outer wards, call a full guardian assembly tonight. Everyone’s aura flares when they’re channeling, right? Makes it harder to hide.”

Cassia grins. “Kid’s got brains. I like it. Lena, you play lookout, scan while we’re all ‘fixing’ the wards. Sylvara, can you pull that off without raising flags?”

Sylvara nods, her expression resolute. “I’ll summon the council and guardians under the guise of reinforcing the wards after the keystone’s destruction. Lena, stay near the Lunar Well chamber—it’s a nexus point for aura resonance. You’ll see more clearly there.”

I agree, but the lunar-eyed stranger’s warning lingers. Don’t tell Sylvara. Why? Sylvara’s been my guide, a Conclave pillar like my parents, but doubt festers. Could she be compromised? Or is the stranger sowing discord, another Syndicate trick? I push the thought aside. The mole’s my priority, and I won’t let paranoia fracture us.

---

Hours later, the Lunar Well chamber glows under the waxing moon, its silver light amplifying my senses. The pool reflects my amber-silver aura, stronger now, edged with faint lunar wings. Guardians fill the Hollow’s central grove, their auras blending into a kaleidoscope of primal, elemental, and Veil-touched hues. Renn’s “glitch” has them channeling into the wards, their energies flaring as they reinforce the sanctuary’s defenses.

I stand at the chamber’s edge, my crescent mark pulsing, and let my new sight unfold. Auras pulse in rhythm with the Hollow’s heartbeat—Kael’s earthy green, Lysa’s shimmering violet, Renn’s jittery blue, Cassia’s blazing crimson. Sylvara’s jade-green aura weaves through them all, guiding the calibration. I scan for anomalies, a shadow that doesn’t belong, like the keystone’s taint.

Most auras are steady, but Lysa’s violet shimmer catches my eye. It’s vibrant, but a thin black thread coils within, subtle, like the keystone’s shadow. My heart skips. Lysa, the psychic, Veil-touched—could she mask a betrayal? I focus, probing deeper, but her aura shifts, the black thread vanishing. Did she sense me?

I shift to Kael, his shifter aura solid, no trace of shadow. Renn’s is chaotic but clean. Sylvara’s is complex, cosmic threads weaving through primal, but no deception. I hesitate on Cassia—her fire is pure, but her connection to Sera, still at the Refuge, nags at me. Could Sera be compromised? No, I shake it off. Cassia’s loyalty is ironclad.

A shadow moves at the grove’s edge—Maddox, slipping through the wards. His dark aura is a void, star-flecked, unreadable unless he allows it. He meets my gaze, his smirk faint but knowing, and inclines his head toward Lysa. My pulse quickens. Did he see something?

I step toward him, keeping my voice low. “What do you know?”

He leans close, his shadow tendrils brushing my aura, sending a shiver through me. “Lysa’s been off since you arrived. Her psychic pulses—too frequent, like she’s signaling. I caught a Syndicate frequency near her quarters last night. Nothing solid, but…” He shrugs, his eyes glinting. “Watch her.”

I nod, my suspicion hardening. “Stay close. If she’s the mole, she might move tonight.”

Maddox melts back into the shadows, his aura fading. I return to the Well, my lunar sight locked on Lysa. Her violet aura flares as she channels into the wards, but the black thread reappears, pulsing in sync with a faint hum—Veil-touched, wrong. I’m sure now: Lysa’s the mole, or at least part of it.

The calibration ends, guardians dispersing. Sylvara approaches, her vine-hair relaxed. “Anything?”

I hesitate, the stranger’s warning echoing. “Maybe. I need to check something in the core. Alone.” It’s a lie, but I need space to confront Lysa without tipping her off.

Sylvara frowns but nods. “Be cautious. Voren’s quiet, but he’s watching.”

I head to the core, signaling Cassia with a glance to follow at a distance. Lysa’s aura lingers in my sight, moving toward the eastern wards—away from the others. I track her, my claws prickling, lunar threads ready. If she’s the mole, I’ll end this tonight. But as I move, the lunar-eyed stranger’s silhouette flickers in my mind, their twin-moon eyes unreadable. Ally or enemy, they’re tied to this. And I’m running out of time to untangle their truth from Voren’s lies.