The dagger lay on the table in Lucian’s study, its etched symbols mocking us in the dim firelight. My wounds ached—leg stitched, arm bandaged—but the pain was a distant hum compared to the dread curling in my chest. That figure, its voice, the void-like arch—it wasn’t just a threat. It was a doorway, a glimpse into something far bigger than Bloodfangs or pack wars. The bond with Lucian thrummed, restless, urging action, but we had no map, no answers, only this cursed blade and a ticking clock.Lucian stood across from me, his hands braced on the table, his silver eyes fixed on the dagger like he could will it to speak. Killian leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his bruises stark under the flickering light. The pack was on edge outside, their murmurs filtering through the walls—fear, defiance, confusion. We’d survived the night, but at what cost?“We can’t stay here,” I said, breaking the silence. My voice was hoarse, but it carried. “Whoever—whatever—that was, they know where we a
Her words clung to me like damp rot—you’re mine. They echoed as we pushed deeper into the Deadwood, the forest closing around us like a fist. My wounds throbbed—leg, arm, side—but I gritted my teeth, keeping pace with Lucian, the bond a taut thread pulling me forward. The dagger was back in its leather wrap, but its faint hum lingered in my bones, a reminder of the woman’s power, her claim. I didn’t know what she meant, but the way Lucian’s jaw stayed tight, his eyes scanning every shadow, told me he was as shaken as I was.Killian led the way, his staff probing the path, his usual banter replaced by a grim focus. Mara trailed behind, her knife out, her face set despite the bruises darkening her skin. The Deadwood was quieter now, the trees still, but it felt like a held breath, like the forest was waiting for us to slip.“We’re close,” Lucian said, his voice low, breaking the silence. “The Hollows should be just past the ridge.”“Should be,” Killian muttered, glancing back. “This pla
The Hollows glowed under the elders’ fires, their ancient faces carved with shock as we stumbled from the cavern’s mouth, battered and bleeding. My heart pounded, the bond with Lucian a frantic pulse—alive, urgent, but fraying under the weight of what we’d seen. The mirror’s reflection burned in my mind—my face, twisted, marked, hers. The man’s words—the breaking begins with you—clawed at me, a truth I couldn’t unhear. I gripped my blade, its weight the only thing keeping me from unraveling.Lucian’s hand stayed on my arm, his silver eyes searching mine, blood dripping from a fresh cut on his cheek. “You’re okay,” he said, more command than question, but his voice shook, betraying him.“Am I?” I whispered, my voice raw, the bond spiking with my fear. That reflection wasn’t just a trick—it felt real, like a piece of me I didn’t know existed.Killian staggered up, staff in hand, his face pale. “What the hell was that? A cult? Magic? And that mirror—” He cut off, glancing at me, like he
The elders’ fires cast long shadows across the Hollows, but they couldn’t chase away the cold dread gripping my heart. I sat on a stone bench, the dagger clutched in my trembling hands, its symbols dim but still warm, like a heartbeat. Lucian stood beside me, his hand on my shoulder, the bond a steady pulse—his strength, my fear, our defiance woven tight. But it wasn’t enough to silence the echo of her voice—my voice—claiming me, unraveling me. The mirror, the spiral, the flashes of a ritual I didn’t remember—they weren’t just threats. They were pieces of a truth I couldn’t outrun.Killian paced nearby, his staff tapping restlessly, his bruises stark in the firelight. “So, what—she’s you? Some evil twin? How do we even fight that?” His voice was sharp, frayed, like he was trying to joke but couldn’t find the humor.Mara sat cross-legged, sharpening her knife, her eyes flicking to me. “She’s not her,” she said, quiet but firm. “Not yet.”“Not helping,” I muttered, my throat tight. The
The mark on my chest burned like a brand, a pulsing reminder of her—of me—as we pushed toward the Rift. The mountains loomed sharper now, their peaks stabbing the bruised sky, clouds churning with a storm that hadn’t broken but felt alive, watching. My wounds screamed—leg, arm, side—but I forced each step, the bond with Lucian a lifeline, his presence a fire against the cold dread creeping through me. The dagger hung heavy at my hip, its hum a faint echo of her whisper, still clawing at the edges of my mind.Lucian led the way, his blade drawn, his silver eyes scanning the narrowing pass. Killian flanked me, staff ready, his usual quips silenced by the weight of what we’d seen—the Keeper, the chasm, my shadow self reaching through me. Mara trailed behind, her knife glinting, her breaths sharp but steady despite her injuries. The air was thin, biting, and every gust carried a faint hum, like the mountain itself was singing her song.“We’re close,” Lucian said, his voice low, barely cut
The stair spiraled into darkness, each step a plunge into the unknown, the air growing colder, heavier, like it was pressing secrets into my skin. The dagger’s faint glow was our only light, its symbols flickering in time with the mark on my chest, a twin pulse that made my stomach churn. The bond with Lucian burned—his resolve a steel thread, my fear a tangled knot—but it held us together as we descended, the shrine’s hum fading above, replaced by a low, rhythmic chant echoing below. Her voice wove through it, not mocking now, but calling, pulling, like a tide I couldn’t resist.Lucian led, his blade drawn, his free hand brushing mine with every step, a silent promise—I’m here. Killian followed, his staff tapping the stone, his breaths sharp in the silence. Mara brought up the rear, her knife glinting, her eyes scanning the shadows that seemed to shift, alive, watching. My wounds ached—leg dragging, side throbbing—but the mark’s burn drowned it out, her presence growing stronger, cl
Rain lashed the mountainside, turning the rocky path to slick mud as we stumbled away from the Rift. Lightning split the sky, illuminating the jagged peaks, and the wind howled, carrying her whisper—it’s just begun. My chest burned where the mark pulsed, a constant reminder of the shadow within me, the Veil’s lock I’d never asked to carry. The dagger, wrapped tightly at my hip, hummed faintly, its weight both anchor and threat. The bond with Lucian thrummed—his strength, my resolve, our shared defiance—but it couldn’t drown out the truth clawing at me: It wasn’t just pack. I was something else, something ancient, and it terrified me.Lucian led, his blade sheathed but his hand never far from it, his silver eyes scanning the storm for threats. Blood crusted his arm, his wounds barely tended, but he moved like nothing could stop him. I matched his pace, my leg aching, the stitches pulling with every step. Killian trudged beside me, his staff sinking into the mud, his face grim, no trace
The storm raged on, rain pounding us into the mountainside, lightning cracking like it was tearing the sky apart. I knelt in the mud, the mark on my chest pulsing, a faint but persistent reminder of her—my shadow, my twin, still alive somewhere beyond the shattered mirror. The dagger hung heavy at my hip, its hum quieter now but not silent, like a warning that refused to fade. The bond with Lucian burned—his heartbeat, my resolve, our shared defiance—but it couldn’t erase the image of her hand on his throat, her smile in my face, the city beyond the Veil calling me *home*.Lucian pulled me to my feet, his hands steady despite the blood streaking his face, his silver eyes fierce. “We need to move,” he said, his voice rough over the wind. “This storm’s hers—she’s still playing games.”I nodded, my wounds screaming—leg, arm, side—but the mark’s burn was worse, a cold fire that felt like her fingers digging into me. Killian staggered up, his staff half-buried in the mud, his face pale bu
The pack’s compound rose like a fortress from the forest’s embrace, its wooden walls battered but unyielding, torches blazing against the creeping dusk. The air was cold, heavy with the scent of pine and the faint metallic tang of the city’s lingering echo, a reminder of the mirror’s chaos, the void’s white eyes, and her scream—my scream—still clawing at my mind. The mark on my chest pulsed, a relentless tether to the shadow, to the flame, to the void, and now to Lyra, the spark, walking beside me, her shard glowing faintly, her blue eyes—my eyes—etched with the same dread and determination I felt. The dagger in my hand was warm, its symbols flickering, syncing with her shard, binding us to the Veil’s fractured heart. The bond with Lucian thrummed—his fierce heartbeat, my unraveling courage, our shared resolve—but it couldn’t silence the truth: the trinity was a lie, not three but four—lock, spark, flame, void—and the choice, one stays, one guards, one ends, was a weight I could bar
The Cradle’s glow lingered in my vision as we trekked back through the mountains, the plateau’s black stone and pulsing crystal now a memory, but its weight clung to me like damp earth. The mark on my chest throbbed, a steady pulse tying me to the Veil, to her—the shadow—and to the flame, whose fading words, hurry, echoed in my mind. The dagger at my hip hummed faintly, its symbols dim but restless, mirroring the shard in Lyra’s hand, her blue eyes—my eyes—fixed on the path ahead, her presence a constant reminder of the trinity: lock, spark, flame. The bond with Lucian burned—his unwavering strength, my fragile resolve, our shared defiance—but it couldn’t silence the choice looming over us: one stays, one guards, one ends. A sacrifice I wasn’t ready to face.Lucian led, his blade sheathed but his hand close, blood crusted on his arm, his silver eyes scanning the rocky trail for threats. The air was cold, the mountains’ peaks sharp against a sky streaked with fading violet, a remnant
The Cradle swallowed us whole, the tear’s violet light spitting us onto a plateau of black stone, its surface veined with glowing runes that pulsed like a heartbeat. The air was heavy, charged, not with the city’s metallic tang but something older—earth, blood, time itself. The mark on my chest burned, syncing with the dagger in my hand and the shard in Lyra’s grip, their symbols flaring in unison, tying us to this place, to the Veil’s first node, its forge. The bond with Lucian thrummed—his fierce resolve, my trembling courage, our shared defiance—but it couldn’t drown out the flame’s voice, it’s time, or the shadow’s distant laugh, a cold thread weaving through my blood. The trinity—lock, spark, flame—was here, and the Cradle was waking, its echoes stirring, ready to test us.Lucian stood close, his blade drawn, blood crusted on his arm, his silver eyes scanning the plateau’s edges, where cliffs dropped into a void—not sky, but chaos, stars and shadows churning, the Veil’s raw edge
The pack’s compound loomed ahead, its wooden walls scarred but standing, torches casting flickering light against the encroaching dusk. The forest was quiet now, the hum of the city’s bridge gone, the shadow’s scream—my scream—fading into memory, but the mark on my chest pulsed, a relentless tie to her, to the flame, to the Veil’s trembling heart. The dagger in my hand felt heavier, its symbols faintly glowing, syncing with the shard in Lyra’s grip—the other me, the spark, her blue eyes wide with the same exhaustion and fear I felt. The bond with Lucian burned—his steady resolve, my unraveling certainty, our shared fight—but it couldn’t silence the flame’s words: lock, spark, flame, the Veil’s trinity, to choose. A choice I didn’t understand, but one that held the world’s fate.Lucian led, his blade sheathed but his hand close, blood crusted on his arm, his silver eyes scanning the compound’s gates for threats. “We’re here,” he said, his voice rough, a mix of relief and tension. “The
The forest’s edge was a jagged line between us and the pack’s compound, its smoke curling into a sky bruised with fading violet, the last trace of the fracture’s glow. The mark on my chest pulsed, a steady ache tying me to her—my shadow—and now to the other me, the spark, standing beside me, her blue eyes mirroring my exhaustion, her shard glowing faintly in her trembling hand. The dagger at my hip was warm, its symbols dim but alive, a quiet reminder of the power we’d wielded—and the cost. The bond with Lucian thrummed—his fierce heartbeat, my fraying resolve, our shared determination—but it couldn’t silence the Architect’s voice, "bring them to me", or her laugh, "you’re mine", still echoing in my bones. We’d pushed them back, but the war was closing in, and we were running out of time.Lucian’s hand rested on my arm, his silver eyes scanning the trees, blood crusted on his face, his wounds raw but ignored. “We’re almost there,” he said, his voice low, rough from the fight. “The pac
The forest stood frozen in the aftermath, the glowing runes on the ground now ash, their light snuffed out like a dying star. The gate was gone, its collapse leaving only a faint hum in the air, a ghostly echo of the city beyond the Veil. My chest heaved, the mark pulsing with a dull, insistent ache, tying me to her—my shadow—and now to her, the other me, the spark they’d hidden, standing before me with my face, my voice, but blue eyes brimming with fear and a shard glowing in her trembling hands. The dagger in my grip felt heavier, its symbols flickering, as if unsure of the new presence—her shard, my dagger, two pieces of the same fractured whole. The bond with Lucian thrummed—his fierce resolve, my spiraling shock, our shared need to survive—but it couldn’t quiet the truth screaming in my mind: I was not one, but many, split by a ritual, bound to the Veil, and now reunited in a war I barely understood.Lucian’s blade stayed raised, his body a shield between me and her—the other me—
The valley’s stillness was a fragile mask, the air thick with the fading echo of the Architect’s voice and her scream—my scream—still ringing in my ears. The mark on my chest pulsed, a dull ache now, but alive, tying me to her, to him, to the Veil and its war. The dagger lay in my hand, its symbols dim but warm, a silent vow of battles yet to come. The bond with Lucian thrummed—his steady pulse, my fraying courage, our unbreakable tether—but it couldn’t erase the truth: I was the heart of a conflict older than the pack, older than me, and the city beyond the Veil was only the beginning.We stood in the mud, battered and bloodied, the stones behind us dark, their runes extinguished, the spiral’s glow gone. Lucian’s hand rested on my shoulder, his silver eyes fierce despite the blood streaking his face, his wounds untended but ignored. “We need to get back,” he said, his voice rough, cutting through the valley’s quiet. “The pack’s vulnerable, and we need answers—about the nodes, the Arc
The valley’s silence was a lie, a thin veneer over the trembling pulse of the Veil, still fragile after the core’s destruction. The mark on my chest throbbed, a faint but persistent echo of her—my shadow, my twin—weakened but not defeated, her presence a cold whisper in my blood. The dagger hung at my hip, its symbols dark, its hum silenced, but I felt its weight like a promise of battles yet to come. The bond with Lucian burned—his heartbeat a steady drum, my resolve a flickering flame, our shared defiance a shield against the truths I’d uncovered in the Between: I wasn’t just pack, wasn’t just Angel. I was the Veil’s lock, its key, forged in a ritual I didn’t remember, tied to a city that called me home.We trudged through the muddy pass, the storm’s remnants dripping from jagged cliffs, the air heavy with the scent of wet stone and something sharper, metallic, like blood. Lucian walked beside me, his blade sheathed but his hand hovering near it, blood crusted on his arm, his silve
The tower’s core pulsed like a dying star, its crystal heart casting jagged beams of light across the chamber, each one splintering into visions—her face, my face, the city, the Veil, worlds colliding. The mark on my chest burned, a searing tether to her, my shadow, my twin, whose presence filled the air, not as a body but as a force—her laugh in the walls, her eyes in the crystal, her voice a song that clawed at my soul. The dagger in my hand hummed, its symbols blazing, but its light felt fragile against the core’s radiance, like a candle in a storm. The bond with Lucian was a faint thread, stretched across worlds, his voice—*Angel, fight!*—a whisper I clung to, the only thing keeping me from drowning in her.The chamber was vast, its walls not stone but liquid crystal, flowing, shifting, etched with runes that moved like living things. The floor was glass, reflecting not me but her, her black eyes staring up, her smile taunting. The doors had sealed behind me, trapping me in this h