The fire had gone out. Neither of us bothered to relight it.I sat in the dirt with my arms wrapped around my knees, my thoughts circling the creature’s words. You are the key. The gate. The fracture. And the fire. Every syllable had echoed through my bones like it knew me more intimately than I knew myself.Maxwell paced nearby, blade still in his hand, his eyes scanning the shadows that now seemed darker than they had an hour ago. He wasn’t speaking, but I could feel his anxiety like static in the air. I didn’t blame him. How could you speak after that?Eventually, I broke the silence.“You ever feel like you’ve been walking toward something your whole life,” I asked, “but when you finally get there, you’re not sure if it was meant for you… Or if you were just in the way?”Maxwell stopped, looked at me. “Only every day since I met you.”A sad smile tugged at my mouth. “Yeah. I guess you signed up for this the day I hit you with that shovel.”“You say that like I regret it.”I studie
We’d only been walking for a few hours when the fog rolled in.It was fast—unnatural. One minute, the trees were visible, gnarled and skeletal, looming overhead. Next, everything was swallowed by a thick, soundless gray. I couldn’t even see Maxwell, though I could still feel him close—his presence like a current in the still air.“Don’t move,” I said quietly. “Something’s wrong.”“Yeah,” his voice came, low and tight. “This isn’t weather. It’s intentional.”And then it happened.I heard it.Not Elara’s voice. Not the thing from Marston.A third voice.Clear. Sharp. Feminine. But empty, as if spoken through layers of broken glass.“Gate. Fracture. Flame. Do you know which one you are today?”I froze. “Max, did you hear that?”His breath hitched. “Yeah. And Lena? It sounded like you.”I turned in the fog, spinning slowly. “That wasn’t me.”But then the voice came again, louder this time, closer.“You run from the seal, but you are the crack. You fear the fire, but you are its breath. Yo
We both turned back toward the reflection.It stared at me now with eerie calm, and slowly, almost gently, its mouth began to move again.“You’re still clinging to the idea that you’re separate. That there’s a choice.”“There is,” I snapped aloud, fury flashing in my chest like a flare.The reflection’s face tilted, amused. Then it said,“If there were, you wouldn’t still be standing here.”A tremor rippled through the ground. The obsidian cracked wider beneath our feet.Maxwell’s breath was ragged. “This is a trap, Lena. A designed one. It's feeding on your doubt.”“But what if it’s not just doubt?” I whispered. “What if it’s the truth?”He stepped in front of me. “Then we fight it. You don’t owe that thing your fear.”The ground split between us and the mirror. A fissure formed like a mouth trying to swallow the space whole.And then—suddenly—another voice.“Step back, both of you.”I turned sharply.From the fog came a woman. Cloaked in deep gray, her presence humming with ancient
The sound was indescribable.When the blade struck the reflection—my reflection—there was no crash of glass, no thunderclap. Instead, it was a note, low and aching, like the end of a song that had gone on too long. The mirror didn’t just break; it folded. Inward. Like a memory being erased.I stumbled back, chest heaving, the blade still warm in my grip. For a moment, I thought the world might come undone around me. The fog screamed, then vanished all at once, sucked into the broken mirror as if it had never belonged here.Then silence.Maxwell caught me by the arm as my knees nearly gave. “You okay?”“I don’t know.” I blinked at the place where the mirror had been. Only scorched stone remained, and a faint scent—smoke, salt, and something old.The woman—the one who claimed to have worn my reflection—watched it disappear with no satisfaction. Her gaze was heavy and unreadable.“What just happened?” Maxwell asked her. “What did she destroy?”She looked at me. “She destroyed the future
We didn’t head back to the estate. Not yet.I needed space. Distance. The kind of silence that doesn’t come from isolation, but from being far enough from expectation that you can breathe again. Maxwell didn’t ask questions when I turned the path away from home. He just walked beside me, blade on his hip, eyes always scanning the horizon.It was late afternoon when we found the old chapel.Or what was left of it.It was half-swallowed by the earth, the roof caved in, ivy crawling up through cracked stone like veins across a dying body. The stained-glass windows were mostly shattered, but one remained intact—a single panel showing a wolf curled around a glowing star. I didn’t recognize the symbol.But it felt… familiar.We stepped inside.Dust clung to the air, heavy and undisturbed. The pews were rotted through, the altar split by lightning or something like it. But there was peace here, buried under ruin. The kind that comes after fire takes everything and leaves only the truth behin
I didn’t speak. Couldn’t.She stood there—my copy, my mirror, my nightmare made flesh—with her chin lifted like she’d known this meeting was inevitable. Her eyes burned gold. Not flickering. Not unstable. Constant. They glowed like a sun that had stopped pretending it needed a sky.Maxwell moved in front of me on instinct. I stepped around him.“I need to see her,” I whispered.My father, James, watched me like he saw two daughters at once. There was grief in his face, but not surprise. “She’s been waiting for you.”The copy—no, not a copy. A version—tilted her head. “You’re smaller than I remember.”Her voice was my voice. But colder. Like it had been tempered by flame and sharpened by time.“I don’t remember you at all,” I replied.She smirked. “That’s because I made different choices.”My stomach twisted. “What do you mean?”She stepped forward, slow and deliberate. The light around her pulsed as she moved, like reality was trying to decide whether or not to obey her.James raised
We didn’t speak for a long time after she vanished. The chapel returned to silence, but it wasn’t peace—it was the kind of silence that settles in after something sacred is broken.Maxwell stayed near the altar, his blade still unsheathed, like she might return at any second. I sat where I was, hands slack in my lap, head low, like I’d just walked out of my funeral.“You okay?” he finally asked.“No,” I said honestly. “But I’m aware. For once.”He lowered the blade. “That wasn’t just a vision, was it?”“No. She was real.”Max sat down across from me. “So what do we do about a version of you who’s already made all the choices you’re still questioning?”I didn’t answer at first. My mind was still parsing the confrontation, reliving each word, the heat behind her eyes, the way she moved like certainty was oxygen. “You remember how I told you the first seal cracked in my dreams?”“Yeah.”“Well, she’s been dreaming through them, too. But from the other side. I don’t think she was just born
The path out of the chapel felt longer than the one going in. With each step, the world outside seemed more fragile, like reality itself was bruised, discolored by something unseen. Maxwell walked just behind me, quiet but watchful. He didn’t need to speak; his presence was enough—solid, grounding. Still, I felt the echo of the woman with my face in every shadow we passed.“Do you think she’s still watching?” I asked as we reached the treeline.Maxwell didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”I glanced back toward the chapel, half-expecting to see her silhouette in the stained-glass remnants, but the ruins stood empty. Still, the space didn’t feel abandoned. It felt paused.“You believe she’s waiting for me to break,” I said.“I think she needs you to,” he replied. “But I also think she underestimated you.”I smiled faintly. “She knows me better than anyone.”“Not better than me,” he said.That hit harder than I expected. I wanted to believe him. I almost did. But the version of me I had seen—fierce,
Words in a language none of us had ever spoken but all understood.“Come home, Gatekeeper.”I stepped into the dark. And it welcomed me.Not with warmth but with recognition. The shadows curled around my boots, not pulling me down, but carrying me forward, a quiet reverence in their movement. It wasn’t a fall. It was a descent controlled, precise. As if this place had been expecting me all along.The world above vanished in an instant.No light, no sound. Just pressure. Like the air here had weight. Like memories were embedded in it. I felt them—fragments of thought, of pain, of sacrifice—all whispering around me like a thousand voices buried beneath layers of time. None loud enough to understand, but all too present to ignore.And then, just ahead, I saw it.A gate—not made of stone or metal, but pure energy. It pulsed like a living thing, veins of crimson and gold coursing across its surface. It wasn’t shut. It wasn’t open. It waited.“Gatekeeper,” a voice echoed, not around me, but
Silence had weight. It wasn't just the absence of sound—it was the pressure of dread before something snapped. That silence hung heavy in the sanctuary, where the second seal now glowed faint red, pulsing like a heart buried too deep in the stone.I stood before it, my hands trembling not from fear alone, but from the ripple of ancient magic churning through the floor, creeping into my bones.“She tricked us,” Nima whispered, her voice raw with disbelief. “She tricked all of us. Even you, Lena.”“I know,” I said.Maxwell leaned against a cracked pillar, one arm pressed to his ribs where Elara had thrown him. “This isn't the end,” he said. “It’s the real beginning, isn't it?”“I think it always was,” I murmured.Barin slammed his fist into the stone. “We should’ve killed her when we had the chance. We had the chance.”“No,” I said flatly. “We had an illusion. Elara wasn’t trying to win. She was buying time. She’s not the villain. Not entirely.”Maxwell’s gaze sharpened. “What are you s
The aftermath should have felt like a victory. But it didn’t.The sanctuary lay broken, cracked from the battle, the magical veins of the earth still pulsing weakly underfoot. Smoke drifted lazily in the air, the tang of blood and burnt magic too thick to ignore. Survivors moved like ghosts, patching wounds, retrieving bodies.I sat on the cold stone steps of the ruined central hall, numb, staring at my shaking hands. Maxwell hovered close, never letting me drift too far, but giving me space I didn’t know how to fill.“What now?” Nima asked softly, kneeling beside me. Her face was grimy, streaked with dried blood, her eyes bruised from exhaustion.“Now?” I said the word hollow on my tongue. “Now we bury the dead. And we wait.”“For what?” Barin asked, joining us, cradling a broken arm against his chest.“For the next monster,” I said, without a shred of humor.Maxwell shifted, his body taut with tension. “They’ll come,” he said. “Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not even next month. But the
The ground buckled under the weight of the creature stepping from the breach, its horns scraping the edges of the broken sky, its very presence warping the sanctuary’s magic like a disease. Every breath it exhaled filled the air with a thick, choking fog that tasted of ash and endings.Maxwell tightened his grip on me, shifting his stance defensively. “Lena, we can’t fight that.”I struggled to sit upright, every nerve screaming in protest, the knife wound burning like an open brand against my side. My magic was dim, a flickering candle in a hurricane. I knew, deep down, he was right. We couldn’t fight it. Not like this.Not head-on.The creature spoke again, its voice layered with a thousand echoes. "You were meant to shepherd my arrival, Gatekeeper. Instead, you squandered the blood. You squandered the keys."Maxwell turned to me, his face pale but determined. “What is it talking about?”I coughed, each word tearing out of me. “The Crown... the Vault... they were... distractions. Th
The roar of the Firstborn creatures tore across the sanctuary like a living wave. They moved with terrifying grace, shadows with jagged edges, mouths full of teeth too many for any natural being. Their bodies twisted in ways that defied logic, like they had never been meant to walk in a world bound by rules.I barely had time to raise a shield before the first impact hit. Magic flared around us, an unsteady wall of golden light. Maxwell was already at my side, slashing at the nearest creature, his blade singing as it cut into the darkness. But they weren’t easy to kill—every wound sealed almost immediately, the monsters adapting, growing stronger with each blow.“We can’t hold them!” Barin shouted from somewhere to my left, his arms coated in blood—some his, some not.Nima and Elara worked furiously at the boundary, their chants weaving more layers of protection, but the creatures shredded through them like paper. I knew it then. This wasn’t a battle we could win by brute strength.We
The magic snapped like a whip through the circle.For a moment, it felt like the sanctuary itself recoiled from what we were trying to do, as if even the earth knew the risk we were taking. But we held the line—Maxwell, Barin, Nima, Elara, and the others—all of us linked not just by magic, but by sheer, desperate will.The vault below the sanctuary pulsed like a second heartbeat, slower and heavier than the First Door, but no less ominous. As we chanted, the bindings on it began to fray, golden threads unraveling into the night air.And then, A crack.Not from the ground this time. From the sky.Lightning forked across the heavens, but it wasn't the natural blue-white of a summer storm. It was black, threaded with red, like the sky itself was bleeding. A smell like burning iron filled the air.Something else had arrived. Something not from our world.Barin staggered, clutching his head. “They’re coming!” he gasped.“Focus!” I shouted, forcing my magic into the next seal layer.Nima’s
For the first time in my life, I felt powerless.The heartbeat beneath the earth had grown faster, stronger, until the ground vibrated constantly, as though the land itself were straining against invisible chains. Around us, the sanctuary’s wards pulsed weakly, flickering like candle flames caught in a hurricane. Every instinct in my body screamed that the Harbinger’s arrival wasn’t the end of the nightmare—it was the beginning.Maxwell stood beside me, staring into the darkness beyond the tents. His face was a perfect mask, but I knew him too well. I could see the tension in the set of his shoulders, the fear he would never voice unless forced.“We’re not ready for this,” Barin muttered, pacing back and forth. “We built defenses against armies, assassins, the Council’s damn enforcers—but this?” He shook his head violently. “We can’t fight myths, Lena.”“We’re not fighting myths,” I said, my voice hoarse but certain. “We’re fighting the consequences of lies too old to be forgotten.”I
For a long time, no one moved.Lior’s body lay unnaturally still, the black veins receding slowly as if whatever force had animated him had finally burned itself out. The silence pressed into my ears like a physical weight, and all I could hear was the wild hammering of my own heart.Maxwell knelt cautiously, checking Lior’s pulse even though we all knew there would be none. “He’s gone,” he said grimly, standing and wiping his hands on his trousers like he could scrub away what he had just witnessed.I stepped closer to Lior’s body, forcing my legs to obey even as every part of me screamed to turn away. My fingers itched to summon my magic, to scan deeper, but something in my gut warned me against it. Whatever had been buried in Lior, whatever had just been unleashed, it had been old. Purposeful. A ticking time bomb planted within him long before he ever set foot inside our sanctuary.Barin's voice broke the suffocating quiet. “First Door?” he said, his tone raw, full of confusion and
The Seal wasn’t just breaking.It was opening.I could feel it deep inside my chest, pulsing to a rhythm I hadn’t known was mine until now—a calling that wasn’t spoken in words, but written into my bones.Maxwell gripped my arm. “Lena. Talk to me. What’s happening?”I struggled to find my voice. “The Seal... It’s not just a lock. It’s a beacon. It’s been waiting for me. Not to keep it closed—” my throat tightened, “—but to complete it.”Barin burst into the tent, panting hard. “The eastern sentries just reported—cracks. In the ley lines. They’re... bleeding magic. Wild magic.”Bleeding.The word hit harder than it should have. As if something sacred was hemorrhaging, and I could feel every drop slipping away.Maxwell swore under his breath, pacing. “We don’t have time. You have to decide. Now.”But how could I decide?If I answered the call, if I embraced the destiny written into my blood, I risked becoming something else—something not entirely human. Not entirely mine. But if I refus