The shield felt like a second skin—weightless, invisible, but always there. Every step I took, every shift in my breathing, it whispered back to me. Not in words—more like pressure. Like the faint awareness of standing too close to a cliff edge. By midmorning, I couldn’t stand it anymore. Cassian had been shadowing me through the Circle’s upper halls, trying—and failing—to pretend it was casual. “We could take a walk,” he suggested, nodding toward the gardens. “I want to train.” He frowned. “They’re not going to let you—” “They’re not my jailers,” I cut in. “At least, not officially.” The training hall was quiet when we arrived. Pale light filtered through the high windows, glinting off racks of practice weapons. No one else was here—yet. Cassian leaned against the wall, arms folded. “All right. What’s the plan?” “I want to know what this shield does. What it really does.” He straightened. “You mean—test it?” “Push it,” I corrected. “See where it bends. See where it breaks.
Dawn came too soon. I hadn’t slept—not really. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt it: the tether stretching out into the dark, taut as a drawn bowstring. Something moved along it, slow and deliberate, like a predator circling the edges of a cage. The knock on my door was soft but firm. “Time,” came Teren’s voice. I pulled on the plain gray robes they’d given me and stepped into the hall. A young mage—barely older than me, hair cropped short—waited there. He didn’t introduce himself, just gestured for me to follow. The corridors spiraled upward toward the Circle’s highest chamber. Everything here was too polished, too clean, like the kind of beauty that had been curated, not grown. The air smelled faintly of incense and something sharper—ozone, maybe. The chamber at the top was circular, the walls etched with wards so dense they looked like frost patterns on glass. Twelve mages stood in an outer ring, their hands already lifted. Cassian and Seren stood just beyond them, not part
We reached the Circle’s gates on the third day. By then, the silver veins in the sky had thickened, no longer faint streaks but jagged rivers of light cutting through the clouds. Even in daylight, they shimmered, making the world feel like it was under glass. The gates themselves were old stone, carved with runes so deep the shadows clung inside them. They hummed faintly—not the slow, steady hum of warding magic, but a sharper vibration, like something constantly being adjusted and recalibrated. Two sentries in deep blue cloaks stepped forward, halberds crossed. “Halt.” The one on the left looked me over, then Cassian, then Seren. “State your business.” Cassian didn’t hesitate. “We seek audience with the Council of the Circle. Urgent matter.” The sentry’s gaze landed on me again. It lingered a beat too long. “Name?” “Elara,” I said. His jaw tightened. “You bring her here?” he asked Cassian, like I wasn’t standing right in front of him. “She’s the reason the Council needs to l
The Spire didn’t feel safe anymore. I’d never thought of it as a sanctuary—it had always been a place of edges and echoes, a prison for something too dangerous to be left unguarded. But now? Now the air itself felt like it had teeth. Seren was the first to move. She sheathed her sword with a sharp motion and strode toward the staircase. “We can’t stay here.” Cassian didn’t move. He was still kneeling beside me, his eyes locked on mine like he could see the tether inside me. “You’re not steady.” “I’m steady enough,” I lied. My legs still felt like they were made of glass, but if I stayed here, I’d shatter. He didn’t look convinced, but he helped me to my feet anyway. “If it can breach the ring once, it can do it again. We need distance between you and this place.” Seren’s boots clanged against the metal stairs. “Distance isn’t going to matter if the tether is the path.” She was right. I hated that she was right. As we descended, I kept one hand on the wall to steady myself. The
The first thing I noticed when I stood was the silence. Not the calm, peaceful kind—this was the kind that felt held. Contained. Like the whole Spire was holding its breath. Seren was the first to move. She lowered her sword, but her knuckles stayed white around the hilt. “You were gone for almost three minutes.” Three minutes. It had felt like hours. “I’m fine,” I said automatically, even though my heart was still trying to punch its way out of my chest. She didn’t look convinced. “You’re pale.” I wanted to tell her that was the least of our problems, but before I could, something shifted in the air. A ripple—like the one I’d seen in the heart—brushed across the room. The stone under my boots trembled, just for a heartbeat, then stilled. Seren caught it too. Her head snapped toward the black ring where the vortex had been. “Tell me that’s normal.” “It’s… closed,” I said, but the words felt like a lie the second they left my mouth. Because deep in my chest, along the new teth
Cold wasn’t the right word. It wasn’t temperature at all—it was absence. The kind of nothing that made your mind scramble for reference, that hollow space between a lightning flash and the thunder that follows. The vortex didn’t drag me; it folded me. The moment I blinked, the ring of silver-and-black liquid was gone, and I was standing on something solid—smooth as glass but black as the void between stars. Overhead, no sky, no ceiling. Just infinite white threads crisscrossing like the weave of a massive tapestry. Each one pulsed faintly, like veins carrying light instead of blood. The air here tasted like my magic—sharp, metallic, and electric. A voice broke the silence. “You finally made it.” I turned, pulse spiking. It wasn’t my double this time. It was Seris. Not the ragged, fading version I’d last seen. She stood tall, whole, her hair the same rippling starlight I remembered, her crown a perfect crescent of silver. But her eyes… they were ancient now, deeper than before