CHAPTER 8: COLORS OF TRUTH

After leaving the administration building, I find myself doing something completely out of character: I head toward the student center. The bustling heart of campus social life is a place I typically avoid at all costs, preferring the quiet anonymity of library corners or empty classrooms.

But today, I need to test a theory.

If Veil-walkers like Maddox have that distinctive shadow aura, and Vitals like Thea glow green, what about the others? The Shifters, Elementals, Psychics, Seers, and Crafters that Winters mentioned? Do they each have their own identifying signature that my new sight can detect?

More importantly, I need to understand what I'm seeing before tonight. Knowledge is power, and right now, I'm running dangerously low on both.

The student center is crowded, as expected on a weekday afternoon. The main atrium is a cathedral of noise—conversations, laughter, the clatter of dishes from the food court, music from someone's portable speaker. Normally, all this chaos would send me retreating back to my apartment. Today, it's exactly what I need—a concentrated sample of humanity to study.

I find a seat at a table in the corner, position myself so I can observe as much of the room as possible, and begin scanning the crowd.

Most people appear entirely ordinary to my enhanced vision—no auras, no strange signatures. Human. But every few minutes, I spot someone different. A girl ordering coffee whose skin seems to shimmer with a bluish tint. A boy studying by the window with a faint orange glow around his hands. A maintenance worker whose aura is a deep, earthy brown, almost like tree bark.

I mentally catalog the colors and try to match them to Winters' classifications. Blue might be Elemental—water perhaps? Orange could be the same, but fire. The gray professor from my math class—maybe a Crafter? The silvery boy could be a Seer like my mother, though his aura is different from what I glimpse in my own reflection.

I'm so absorbed in my observations that I don't immediately notice when someone sits down across from me. When I look up, I'm startled to find the maintenance worker with the brown aura watching me with undisguised curiosity.

"You've been staring," he says simply.

He's older than most students—maybe in his thirties—with callused hands and lines around his eyes that speak of outdoor work. His uniform badge reads "Marcus."

"I'm sorry," I mumble, embarrassed at being caught. "I didn't mean to be rude."

"You weren't being rude," he says, his voice surprisingly gentle. "You were seeing."

The emphasis he places on the last word makes it clear he's not talking about ordinary vision.

"What are you?" I ask before I can think better of it.

Something unexpected happens. It's like an involuntary wave flickers over him, momentarily disrupting the glamour he wears. For just a second, I get a full glimpse of what lies beneath the human disguise—skin with the texture of rough bark, eyes the deep green of forest shadows, hair that seems more like moss or leaves than anything that would grow from a human scalp.

The poor man is clearly alarmed, jerking back in his chair and glancing around frantically to see if anyone else noticed.

"How did you do that to me?" he whispers, eyes wide. "What are you?"

I open my mouth to answer but find myself at a loss for words. How can I explain what I am when I myself don't know? When I'm still piecing together the fragments of a hidden heritage, still discovering abilities I didn't know I possessed?

He sees my confusion and something in his expression softens. He leans forward again, keeping his voice low.

"I'm an earth nymph," he offers, as if sharing a great secret. "Or what humans would call one, anyway. My kind call ourselves Terranni."

I gasp at that. "That explains the brown aura!"

He looks at me with confusion. "I've never met a Vital who could read aura colors."

"I'm not a Vital," I say, then hesitate. "Well, I don't know what I am, but they are green if I'm understanding correctly. You're the first person I've asked. This is... very new."

Marcus studies me for a long moment, his gaze more penetrating than his unassuming appearance would suggest. "How new?"

"Yesterday," I admit. "Or really, last night. That's when I started seeing things... differently."

"Nascent abilities," he murmurs. "Powerful ones, if you can disrupt glamours without even trying." He glances around again, then lowers his voice further. "You should be careful. The Sentinels have been more active on campus lately. Three of us have disappeared in the last month."

"Disappeared?"

"Taken." His expression darkens. "The human government still maintains the fiction that we don't exist, but their black ops units hunt us all the same. Research, they call it."

A chill runs through me as I remember what my mother's journal had said about the Sentinel Program. "Do you know a Professor Winters? He claims to be part of something called the Conclave."

Marcus's reaction is instant—a tightening of his features, a subtle shift away from me. "I know of him. The Conclave has its own agenda."

"Which is?"

"Integration, supposedly. Harmony between human and supernatural." He doesn't sound convinced. "But their methods are... questionable. And some say their true goal has more to do with power than peace."

"What do you mean?"

Before he can answer, a flicker of blue catches my attention. The girl with the water-blue aura is approaching our table, her expression a careful mask of casualness that doesn't quite hide her concern.

"Marcus," she says when she reaches us. "Your shift starts in five minutes."

Her eyes dart to me, then back to him—a clear warning.

Marcus stands, straightening his uniform. "Of course. Thank you for the reminder, Naomi."

To me, he adds, "It was nice meeting you..."

"Lena," I supply, deliberately using my common name rather than Silvermoon.

Something flashes across his face—recognition? But he hides it quickly, nodding a farewell before walking away with the blue-aura girl, their heads bent close in urgent conversation.

I stay where I am, processing this new information. The earth nymph clearly knew something about the Conclave that made him wary. And the way he reacted when I gave my name...

Curious, I decide to push my luck further. If I can identify other supernaturals by their auras, maybe I can learn more about the factions at play and where I might fit among them.

I spot a girl with a subtle red aura sitting alone by the window and make my way over. Before I can introduce myself, she looks up sharply, her eyes narrowing.

"Whatever you're selling, I'm not buying," she says flatly.

"I'm not selling anything," I reply, taken aback. "I just wanted to talk."

"Yeah? About what?" Her hostility is palpable, but beneath it, I sense fear.

I take a chance. "About why your aura is red when most people don't have one at all."

Her expression freezes, then she laughs loudly—too loudly, obviously for the benefit of anyone who might be listening. "Wow, you're really into that New Age stuff, huh? Auras and crystals and all that?"

She kicks out the chair opposite her. "Sit down," she says, still smiling falsely. "Let's hear all about my 'aura.'"

I sit, and she immediately leans forward, her smile vanishing.

"Who sent you?" she demands in a whisper. "Sentinels? Conclave? Or are you one of Voren's puppets?"

The mention of my grandfather sends a jolt through me. "None of the above. I'm... new to all this."

"Bullshit. No one just wakes up one day able to see through glamours. That's a trained skill, even for Seers."

"I didn't say I just woke up able to do it," I hedge. "But it is recent, and I'm trying to understand what I'm seeing."

She studies me, skepticism evident. "Prove it."

"Prove what?"

"Prove you're not working for someone. Tell me something about yourself that explains how you can see me."

I consider my options. I could lie, make up some story about being a newly awakened supernatural trying to find my place. But something tells me honesty—or at least partial honesty—might serve me better.

"My parents died when I was twelve," I say quietly. "I've been on my own since then, more or less. Yesterday, I learned they weren't who I thought they were. That I'm not who I thought I was. And now I'm seeing things—auras, signatures, whatever you call them—and trying to make sense of it all before people who want to use me for some prophecy find me."

Her expression shifts from suspicion to surprise. "A prophecy? What prophecy?"

"I don't know the details yet. Something about convergence, about balancing bloodlines."

Recognition dawns in her eyes. "The Silvermoon child," she breathes. "That's you?"

I tense, ready to bolt if necessary. "How do you know that name?"

"Everyone in the underground knows the story," she says, her entire demeanor changing. "The daughter of Jorah Silvercrest and Lyra Moonshadow, hidden away for her own protection. The child who would unite the bloodlines and end the war."

Lyra Moonshadow. My mother's name. Something I hadn't known until this moment.

"Who are you?" I ask.

"Sera," she says. "Sera Emberfall. I'm a fire Elemental." She glances around, then back at me. "And I think you should come with me. Right now."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because the Sentinels are here," she says, nodding subtly toward the entrance. "Three of them just walked in, and they're scanning the room with detection equipment. If you're really who you say you are, they'll be very interested in finding you."

I follow her gaze and see three people in casual clothes that don't quite hide their military bearing. One holds what looks like a smartphone but is clearly something else—something that makes Sera nervous.

"Friends of yours?" I ask, meaning the Sentinels.

She gives me a withering look. "Hardly. My brother disappeared six months ago. Their handiwork."

"If I'm in danger, why would you help me?"

Her red aura flares slightly, like embers being stirred. "Because if the prophecy is true, you're the best hope any of us have for a future where we're not hunted or hiding."

It's not the most reassuring answer—more pragmatic than altruistic—but it rings true.

"Alright," I decide. "Lead the way."

Sera stands, guiding me toward a side exit with a confidence that suggests she's used to avoiding unwanted attention. As we pass a table of students, she casually grabs a hoodie left draped over a chair.

"Put this on," she instructs once we're in the hallway. "Pull the hood up. And try to dampen your aura—you're practically broadcasting your location to anyone with the right senses."

"I don't know how to dampen it," I admit.

She sighs. "Of course you don't. Fine, stay close to me. I can mask us both, but not for long."

As we hurry across campus, I realize I'm doing more than just socializing now—I'm choosing sides in a conflict I barely understand. Walking away with Sera means rejecting both Winters' extraction plan and Maddox's cryptic warnings.

It's a gamble. But sometimes the only way to find the truth is to break all the rules.

And that's exactly what I intend to do.