<b>Chapter </b><b>150 </b>
*Jiselle*
80%1
The wind carried a strange weight that morning.
Not dread. Not quite. But something leaning toward it. Like the earth knew something it hadn’t told us yet.
I stood near the edge of camp, my hand resting on the spine of a weather–worn tree. The bark felt cool, grounding. Below the soil, I could feel the leyline hum–a rhythm I’d started to sync with more often than not. Sometimes itforted. Sometimes it whispered.
Today, it waited.
Footsteps behind me didn’t need introduction. I felt him before I turned.
“Jiselle,” Bastain said, voice even, but slower than usual.
I faced him.
He held something in his palm. Small. Irregr. ckened on one edge, glowing faintly along the other. Stone–but notmon stone. It pulsed softly like a creature with its own heart.
“A gift?” I asked, a weak attempt at lightness.
“No. A warning.” He handed it to me.
The moment it touched my skin, I flinched.
Not from pain.
From recognition.
A memory that wasn’t mine coiled under my ribs and struck like lightning.
The world tilted.
And I saw him.
Kael.
Not as the prisoner we’d left behind, but free–alone in the ruined corridor of the Academy, his coat torn, blood smeared across his hands and mouth. The walls around him glowed with residual energy, flickering with forgotten enchantments.
He drew a circle on the cracked floor. Not chalk. Fire.
One slow, deliberate arc at a time, whispering my name.
Jiselle.
Jiselle.
Jiselle.
Each syble carved like a curse.
I reached for him in the vision–instinctively—but he didn’t see me. Couldn’t. He wasn’t here.
He was somewhere else. Somewhere close. Somewhere real.
<b>17.24 </b>
Then he looked up.
And carved the rune.
Into his chest.
OU
Just below his corbone, the tip of the de digging in like he’d done it before.
The shape was sharp, familiar.
A mirror of the mark that glowed across my spine.
My knees buckled.
The vision shattered.
I fell against Bastain, who steadied me with both arms and cursed beneath his breath.
Eva appeared from behind a tree, running toward us, already reaching for the charm she kept around her neck. Nate was just a breath behind her, is hand instinctively going to the hilt of the dagger strapped to his thigh.
“I’m okay,” I gasped, holding up a palm.
“You don’t look okay,” Eva muttered.
“I saw him,” I said. “Kael. He’s still inside the Academy. He’s carving the same rune–my rune–into himself.”
Nate’s jaw tightened. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” I said, but my heart was already answering for me.
Because he wants to open the Gate.
Without me.
Bastain’s voice was quiet, grim. “He’s building a triad.”
“What does that mean?” Eva asked.
“If he finishes the third point-” Bastain started.
“He opens the Gate,” Serina’s voice came from behind us, clear and calm. “Without her.”
We all turned.
She stood with her hands folded, her dark cloak stirring around her ankles. She wasn’t breathless. She wasn’t angry. Just watchful, the way thunderclouds watch thend before they strike.
“What do you mean?” I asked her, stepping forward, the stone still warm in my hand.
“There are three points<i>,</i><i>” </i>Serina said. “Three sigils, One on the Gate. One on <b>the </b>Ethereal. And one on the Threshold.”
“What’s the Threshold?” Nate asked.
“Not what,” she corrected. “Who.”
Her eyes flicked to me,
“To open the Veil fully, all three must be aligned. The Gate is old and fixed. The Ethereal carries the living sigil. But the Threshold…”
She looked toward the valley.
“…can shift.”
“Kael thinks he’s the Threshold,” I said.
“He’s trying to be it,” she confirmed. “If he seeds-”
“You mean if hepletes the triad,” I whispered, “he doesn’t need me.”
“No,” Serina said. “But he’ll still use you. Because he can’t survive the cost alone.”
I stepped back, breath quickening. “So he opens it… and J be the payment.”
Serina didn’t answer.
She didn’t need to.
The tension was a vice now<i>. </i>The silence between us thick, swollen with what we didn’t know how to say.
Nate moved toward me, his hand finding mine. He didn’t squeeze, didn’t press.
Just anchored.
I leaned into him, and it helped.
For a breath.
“Can we stop him?” Eva asked, voice sharp now.
“I don’t know,” Bastain said. “But we need to try.”
***
Later, I found myself near the veilfire gorge again.
The sky above it had darkened, even though the sun had not yet set. A gray hush hung in the air, thick with the scent of charred earth and old power. <b>The </b>ground remembered fire. I could feel it in every step I took toward the rim–the soil still warm in ces, the stones etched with lingering sigils that hadn’t fully faded.
I stood at the edge, where the wind whipped my hair across my face and the leyline pulsed below like a second heartbeat trying to sync with mine.
Nate was already there.
Silent.
Still.
Like a monument carved from shadow and breath<b>, </b>watching the ce where I had lit the veilfire just days before. Where I’d be something new and still didn’t know what it meant.
“I don’t know who I’m bing,” I said quietly, unsure if I meant it as a confession or <b>a </b>curse.
He didn’t turn right away. Just stared ahead, the muscles in his jaw tight. Then–softly, as if he’d been waiting for me to say <b>it</b>–he replied, “You don’t have to know. Just be.”
I looked at him.
At the way his profile caught the fading üght. At the stillness he wore like armor. At the scars on his neck that hadn’t faded, and the <b>way </b>his <b>hand </b>twitched
slightly when I took a step closer.
But most of all, I looked into his eyes when he finally met my gaze.
He didn’t flinch.
Didn’t demand.
He just… stood there. Open. Steady. Offering something wordless and unwavering
A promise.
“I’m scared,” I whispered, because it was the only truth I could trust anymore.
“I’m not,” he said.
His voice cracked something open inside me.
“Not of you,” he added. “Never of you.”
A shaky breath escaped me, one I hadn’t realized I’d been holding for hours. Days. Maybe longer,
“I can feel it again,” I said. “The bond. It’s stronger. Hungrier.”
His eyes flickered.
“I know.”
8020
“You do?” I asked, more startled than I meant to sound.
He nodded. “It’s… leaking.”
That word stopped me.
“Leaking?”
“Into Ethan,” he said slowly. “Into the leyline. Into the wind, the fire, the earth–everything you touch. It’s like your scar is bleeding magic, rewriting itself through all of us. Like the tether can’t hold it anymore.”
My stomach turned. “And you’re okay with that?”
He finally turned fully toward me.
His expression didn’t shift. But the weight in his <i>voice </i>made everything inside me still.
“I’m okay with anything that keeps <i>you </i>here.”
Those words.
That voice.
That truth-
They unraveled me.
Something cracked—not with pain, but with love so fierce it made my throat ache. <i>So </i>wide it left no room for air. It was raw, aching, and honest in a way nothing else had been since the day I became something more than human.
I stepped into him.
09:24 <b>Fri</b><b>, </b><b>6 </b><b>Jun </b>
His arms opened before I asked.
And when they wrapped around me, everything else disappeared.
BUSI
Our bodies pressed close, the thud of his heart steady beneath my cheek. I listened to it. Memorized it. Because it was one of the few things left in this world that reminded me I was alive and wanted.
“You’re still afraid,” he said softly against my hair.
“Yes,” I admitted.
“Then let me hold it.”
So I did.
I poured every trembling piece of myself into him–my fear, my hope, my terror of losing control, and the unspoken question of whether love could survive the weight of bing something more than a girl, more than a mate.
And for a long, infinite moment…
The world fell away.
No sigils.
No mes.
No gods.
Just two people holding each other against the edge of what wasing.
And believing, if only for that breath, that it could be enough.
That night, I traced the rune from the shard into the dirt.
The others had gone quiet–Eva working at the far end of camp, Ethan checking supplies, Bastain poring over scrolls like they were maps to salvation.
But I couldn’t rest.
Sleep felt distant. Useless.
So I knelt beneath the shadow of an old pine tree, the moonlight casting silver lines across the clearing, again.
rew the rune into the earth. Again. And
Each time, my hands trembled more.
It was carved into the shard Kael had touched. Burned into his chest. Echoed along my spine like a second pulse.
“What are you trying to show me?” I whispered.
The rune glowed faintly beneath my fingers.
Just for <b>a </b>second.
Then it faded again.
I exhaled and wiped the dirt clear.
Then he looked up.
And carved the rune.
Into his chest.
Just below his corbone, the tip of the de digging in like he’d done it before.
The shape was sharp, familiar.
A mirror of the mark that glowed across my spine.
My knees buckled.
The vision shattered.
I fell against Bastain, who steadied me with both arms and cursed beneath his breath.
<b>80</b><b>% </b>
28
Eva appeared from behind a tree, running toward us, already reaching for the charm she kept around her neck. Nate was just a breath behind her, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of the dagger strapped to his thigh.
“I’m okay,” I gasped, holding up a palm.
“You don’t look okay,” Eva muttered.
“I saw him,” I said. “Kael. He’s still inside the Academy. He’s carving the same rune–my rune–into himself.”
Nate’s jaw tightened. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” I said, but my heart was already answering for me.
Because he wants to open the Gate.
Without me.
Bastain’s voice was quiet, grim. “He’s building a triad.”
“What does that mean?” Eva asked.
“If he finishes the third point-” Bastain started.
“He opens the Gate,” Serina’s voice came from behind us, clear and calm. “Without her.”
We all turned.
She stood with her hands folded, her dark cloak stirring around her ankles. She wasn’t breathless. She wasn’t angry. Just watchful, the way thunderclouds watch thend before they strike.
“What do you mean?” I asked her, stepping forward, the stone still warm in my hand.
“There are three points<i>,</i><i>” </i>Serina said. “Three sigils. One on the Gate. One on the Ethereal. And one on the Threshold.”
“What’s the Threshold?” Nate asked.
“Not what,” she corrected. “Who<b>.</b>”
Her eyes flicked to me.
“To open the Veil fully, all three must be aligned. The Gate is old and fixed. The Ethereal carries the living sigil. But the Threshold…”
She looked toward the valley.
“<i>…</i><i>can </i>shift*
“Kael thinks he’s the Threshold” I said.
“He’s trying to be it,” she confirmed. “If he seeds-”
“You mean if hepletes the triad,” I whispered, “he doesn’t need me.”
“No,” Serina said. “But he’ll still use you. Because he can’t survive the cost alone.”
I stepped back, breath quickening. “So he opens it… and I be the payment.”
Serina didn’t answer,
She didn’t need to.
The tension was a vice now. The silence between us thick, swollen with what we didn’t know how to say.
Nate moved toward me, his hand finding mine. He didn’t squeeze, didn’t press.
Just anchored.
I leaned into him, and it helped.
For a breath.
“Can we stop him?” Eva asked, voice sharp now.
“I don’t know,” Bastain said. “But we need to try.”
<b>80</b><b>% </b>
Later, I found myself near the veilfire gorge again.
The sky above it had darkened, even though the sun had not yet set. A gray hush hung in the air, thick with the scent of charred earth and old power. The ground remembered fire. I could feel it in every step I took toward the rim–the soil still warm in ces, the stones etched with lingering sigils that hadn’t fully faded.
I stood at the edge, where the wind whipped my hair across my face and the leyline pulsed below li
ond heartbeat trying to sync with mine.
Nate was already there.
Silent.
Still,
Like a monument carved from shadow and breath, watching the ce where I had lit the veilfire just days before. Where I’d be something new and still didn’t know what it meant.
“I don’t know who I’m bing,” I said quietly, unsure if I meant it as a confession or a curse.
He didn’t turn right away. Just stared ahead, the muscles in his jaw tight. Then–softly, as if he’d been waiting for me to say it–he replied, “You don’t
have to know. Just be.”
I looked at him.
At the way his profile caught the fading light. At <i>the </i>stillness he wore like armor. At the scars on his neck that hadn’t faded, and the way his hand twitched.
<b>03.20 </b>Fil, <b>o </b><b>Jun </b>
slightly when I took a step closer.
But most of all, I looked into his eyes when he finally met my gaze.
He didn’t flinch.
Didn’t demand.
He just… stood there. Open. Steady. Offering something wordless and unwavering
A promise.
“I’m scared,” I whispered, because it was the only truth I could trust anymore.
“I’m not,” he said.
His voice cracked something open inside me.
“Not of you,” he added. “Never of you<i>.</i>”
.A shaky breath escaped me, one I hadn’t realized I’d been holding for hours. Days. Maybe longer,
“I can feel it again,” I said. “The bond. It’s stronger. Hungrier.”
His eyes flickered.
“I know.”
“You do?” I asked, more startled than I meant to sound.
He nodded. “It’s… leaking.”
That word stopped me.
“Leaking?”
“Into Ethan,” he said slowly. “Into the leyline. Into the wind, the fire, the earth–everything you touch. It’s like your scar is bleeding magic, rewriting itself through all of us. Like the tether can’t hold it anymore.”
My stomach turned. “And you’re okay with that?”
He finally turned fully toward me.
His expression didn’t shift. But the weight in his voice made everything inside me still.
“I’m okay with anything that keeps you here.”
Those words.
That voice.
That truth-
They unraveled me.
Something cracked–not with pain, but with love so fierce it made my throat ache. So wide it left no room for air. It was raw, aching, and honest in a way nothing else had been since the day I became something more than human.
I stepped into him.
Chapter <b>150 </b>
His arms opened before I asked.
And when they wrapped around me, everything else disappeared.
Our bodies pressed close, the thud of his heart steady beneath my cheek. I listened to it. Memorized it. Because it was one of the few <b>things </b>it in the world that reminded me I was alive and wanted.
“You’re still afraid,” he said softly against my hair.
“Yes,” I admitted.
“Then let me hold it.”
So I did.
I poured every trembling piece of myself him–my fear, my hope, my terror of losing control, and the unspoken question of whether love could
survive the weight of bing something more than a girl, more than a mate.
And for a long, infinite moment…
The world fell away.
No sigils.
No mes.
No gods.
Just two people holding each other against the edge of what wasing.
And believing, if only for that breath, that it could be enough.
That night, I traced the rune from the shard into the dirt.
The others had gone quiet–Eva working at the far end of camp, Ethan checking supplies, Bastain poring over scrolls like they were maps to salvation.
But I couldn’t rest.
Sleep felt distant. Useless.
So I knelt beneath the shadow of an old pine tree, the moonlight casting silver lines across the clearing, and drew <b>the </b>rune into the earth. Again, And again.