<b>Chapter </b><b>164 </b>
<b>Chapter </b><b>164 </b>
Jiselle
The valley held its breath.
After Eva’s vision–after her whispered warning of blood and betrayal and des cloaked in memory–n
-no one said what we were all thinking. That the war was already breathing down our necks. That even the trees seemed to lean back now, no longer sheltering us but bearing silent witness.
I wandered the perimeter of the camp alone, boots crunching against gravel as twilight draped the sky in soft bruises. My me simmered beneath <b>my </b>skin, quieter than usual but heavier, as though it too was mourning something we hadn’t lost yet. I passed Nate’s tent. Bastain’s. The ce where Eva sat in trance–like silence, hands curled like she was still gripping the future.
But I didn’t stop until I saw him.
Ethan.
He sat near the leyline ridge, one knee up, elbow resting against it, a dagger glinting in his hand as he dragged a whetstone across the de in <b>slow</b><b>, </b>deliberate motions. Sparks danced briefly from the edge. Not magical. Just metal. Grounding.
“Thought I’d find you here,” I said softly, stepping into the blue of the leyline’s pulse.
He didn’t look up. “Didn’t think you’d be the one toe.”
I crossed to him, folded my legs beside his. “Nate’s tending to the eastern border. Eva’s resting. Max is trying to look useful by intimidating the wind.”
That made him snort. “Figures.”
We sat in silence for a while, the hum of the leyline flowing under us like a quiet heartbeat. I hadn’t realized how much I missed this. Sitting. Breathing. Sharing space with someone who’d known me before everything.
Before the me. Before the Gate. Before the burden of being something ancient and breaking.
“You’re quiet,” I said eventually.
He angled the dagger. Checked the edge. “I’ve been thinking.”
I tilted my head. “Dangerous.”
He cracked a small smile. “Jis…”
“Yeah?”
He finally turned to look at me. His eyes–earthy green, just like mine–carried the weight of too many battles. Too many nights he didn’t think I’d wake. Too many fears he never spoke aloud.
“You’re not just my sister anymore.”
I blinked. “What?”
“You’re bing something more.” His jaw flexed. “Something the world might not survive. And I still want to protect you. But I don’t think I can<b>.</b><b>” </b>
<b>A </b><b>knot </b>twisted in my chest.
“I never asked you to protect me,” I whispered.
<b>“</b><b>No. </b>You didn’t. But I’m your twin. It’s instinct<b>.</b>”
<b>09-28 </b><b>Tue </b>17 <b>Jun </b>Gu
Chapter <b>164 </b>
I leaned <b>into </b><b>his </b>shoulder, let my head rest there the way? hadn’t since we were kids huddled under storm nkets<b>, </b><b>“</b><b>I </b><b>don’t </b>need a <b>protector</b>: I said. ” need <b>a </b>brother. Mine.”
His hand settled over mine, Warm. Steady. Real.
We didn’t speak for a long while.
The leyline beneath us thrummed again, and a memory surfaced unbidden–us, as pups, racing through the woods behind our house, pretending to hunt spirits. Ethan always leading. Me always trying to catch up.
“When did we get so old?” I asked.
He huffed augh. “You got powerful. I just got tired.”
Iughed too, soft and real. “That’s not true. You still scare half the camp.”
“That’s just because they haven’t seen me cry in front of a rabbit yet.”
I elbowed him. “Liar.”
He sobered again, hand tightening over mine.
“I’m scared,” he said.
I froze. “Of what?”
“Not you. Never you. I’m scared of what I’ll have to do if you lose yourself. If the Gate takes too much.”
“I won’t let it.”
He looked at me then–really looked. “Promise?”
“I promise.”
The bond between us–a twin–sense deeper than even the mate connection–pulsed once. Affirming. Anchoring.
He nodded and looked out over the horizon. “I don’t think I ever told you this. But… the day I realized you’d surpassed me<b>–</b>I wasn’t proud at first. I was angry. Scared. You lit a tree on fire just by sneezing, and all I could think was: she’s going somewhere I can’t follow.”
I exhaled slowly. “I didn’t know.”
“I know. I didn’t want you to. You deserved to grow without my fear on your shoulders.”
I looked up at the sky. “I still remember that day. Mom nearly fainted. Dad kept pacing and muttering about moon cycles.”
He chuckled. “You weren’t even worried.<b>” </b>
“I was, a little. But I also felt… right. Like something old had finallye home.”
Wepsed into silence again<b>, </b>but this time it was softer. Comfortable. The wind pulled through the trees with gentle insistence, like <b>it </b>too was preparing for something bigger.
The leyline’s glow began to deepen–slowly at first, like twilight dipping its fingers into the current. Then all at once. What had always been <b>a </b>calm blue pulse–steady, grounding–started to swirl with violet at its edges. It wasn’t just color. It was mood. Pressure. The hum beneath us shifted pitch<b>, </b>like a heartbeat syncing with something ancient <b>and </b>angry.
<b>I </b>sat up straighter, my fingers pressing into the grass. “Did you see that?”
Ethan’s jaw had gone tight. His hand slid instinctively to the dagger at his belt. “Yeah,” he murmured. “It’s pulsing… differently. Like <b>it’s </b><b>waiting</b><b>.</b><b>” </b>
<b>2/3 </b>
09:28 <b>Tue </b>17 <b>Jun </b>
<b>Chapter </b><b>164 </b>
<b>The </b><b>wind </b>stilled.
Then, as if some unseen gate had swung open, it cut sharply through the trees, pping the tents with a snap of warning. The scent of ash drifted through the air–not fire, not yet. But the promise of it.
<b>And </b>then it came.
Low.
Drawn–out.
Final.
A horn–long and bone–deep–echoed across the valley like a beast waking in its sleep. It rolled over the mountains, bounced between the cliffs<b>, </b><b>and </b>sank into the very soil beneath us. The leyline red in response, veins of violet surging outward, threading through the earth like cracks in time.
Ethan was already on his feet, de in hand, his posture shifting from brother to warrior in <b>a </b>breath. “That wasn’t a call,” he said grimly. “That was <b>a </b>warning.”
I stood beside him, my own me slithering to life at my fingertips–violet and gold, licking at the air like it tasted battle before we could see <b>it</b><b>. </b>The bond thrummed behind my ribs<b>, </b>alerting Nate, alerting the others. The camp would feel this. The wolves would feel this.
The Gate was no longer pacing. It was knocking.
And this?
This was its herald.
I turned to Ethan, the weight of it all coiling in my chest. The loss we hadn’t yet felt. The blood Eva had already seen. The fire Nate swore he’d burn through with me.
I looked into my twin’s eyes, saw the same fear I carried–matched by the same resolve.
Twin me.
Same blood.
And now, without doubt, without mercy-
The fire had found its tempo.
We ran<b>. </b>
<b>AD </b>
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