Semua Bab Christmas in ashes : Bab 31 - Bab 40

The symbol on the altar doesn’t glow brighter.It listens.That’s the only way I can describe it—the way the silver lines pause, then thrum, like a heartbeat syncing to mine. The church feels smaller suddenly, like the walls leaned in to eavesdrop.Lucien’s hand tightens on my arm. “Elora. If this is a summons, you don’t have to answer.”I swallow. “I think I already did.” The symbol pulses once.A low hum rolls through the stone beneath my feet—deep and old and patient. Not violent. Not urgent.Expectant.Ruby mutters, “I hate it when ancient things are polite.”Gideon steps closer, awe and fear wrestling on his face. “This mark isn’t from the Frostbound King. It predates him.”That makes my stomach drop. “Predates… how much?”Gideon doesn’t answer right away. He kneels, brushing ash from the altar’s edge, revealing carvings I hadn’t noticed before—rings within rings, snowflakes dissolving into stars.“Before the first Keeper,” he says quietly. “Before the veil had a name.”Milo pres

The lights go out first.Not flicker.Not dim.Just,gone.Every candle. Every bulb. Every fragile illusion of warmth hallowpine ever pretended to have.Darkness crashes down like a held breath finally released.Ruby swears. Gideon whispers a prayer that sounds older than language. Lucien’s shadow stretches, alive now, coiling protectively around us.I don’t move.Because the silver under my skin is screaming.Not pain.Recognition.“Don’t,” I whisper.Lucien leans close. “Don’t what?”“Don’t run,” I say. “That’s what it wants.”The air inside the church compresses.Not cold like the Frostbound King.Not sharp like Noelle.This feels heavy. Wet. Like standing too close to deep water that doesn’t reflect your face properly.Milo clutches my sleeve. “It didn’t come through the door.”The altar cracks.A sound like stone grinding against bone echoes through the nave.Ruby’s voice trembles. “Please tell me churches aren’t supposed to do that.”The floor splits.Not violently;slowly, deliberately

It opens in the bakery.Of course it does.Hallowpine's oldest building. Warmest place in town. Somewhere safe,somewhere people gather when they don’t want to be alone with their thoughts.I feel it tear before anyone screams.The silver under my skin flares sharp, hot enough to steal my breath. I grab Lucien’s arm just as a sound rolls across the square,glass shattering, wood splitting, something wet and wrong forcing its way into a space that isn’t meant to hold it.Milo goes rigid. “There.”Smoke pours from the bakery door—not smoke exactly, but shadow folded so tightly it looks solid. The cheerful bell over the door rings once.Then again.Ruby swears. “Tell me that’s not alive.”“It is,” Gideon says hoarsely. “And it’s hungry.”People scatter, panic finally breaking the fragile spell of curiosity. Someone screams my name. Someone else shouts monster—and I don’t know if they mean what’s coming or what’s already here.The door bursts outward.Something crawls into the street.It’s w

The basement smells like damp cardboard and old paint.No monsters.No tears in the veil.Just a raccoon that knocked over a shelf and scared two teenagers half to death.I almost laughed.Almost.Because when we step back outside, the street feels wrong again—too quiet, too watchful. Like Winterthorne learned something new about me and is deciding what to do with it.Lucien walks close, silent. Ruby stayed behind with Milo. Gideon went to reinforce wards near the square.I should feel relieved.Instead, my skin prickles.“You feel it too?” I ask softly.Lucien nods. “Eyes.”We turn the corner.A small crowd waits near my house.Not panicked.Organized.My stomach drops.They’re holding lanterns. Phones. Not weapons—yet. They stand in a loose semicircle, murmuring among themselves. When they see me, the murmurs stop.Someone steps forward.Mrs. Halbrook.My chest tightens. “What’s going on?”She folds her hands. “We just want to talk.”Lucien shifts subtly. “Now isn’t—”“This concerns E

The veil doesn’t tear.That’s what I’m braced for as we leave the square,another rip, another scream, another reminder that refusing power doesn’t make danger polite.But nothing breaks.Instead, the world… waits.Hallowpine settles into a strange, brittle quiet as we walk home. Christmas lights blink on storefronts that suddenly feel like stage props, too bright for what’s underneath. I feel eyes behind curtains, breath held behind locked doors. Not hatred. Not faith.Assessment.The silver beneath my skin doesn’t surge anymore. It doesn’t spill out or pulse visibly. It hums low and steady, like something that finally found its place and decided to stay there.Lucien notices before I do.“You’re contained,” he says quietly, walking beside me. “The glow,it’s not leaking.”I glance down at my hands. They look normal. No light. No heat.“I didn’t suppress it,” I murmured. “It just… stopped trying to escape.”Ruby snorts softly. “That’s reassuring in a deeply unsettling way.”Gideon slow