<b>Chapter </b>181
<b>Chapter </b><b>181 </b>
Jiselle
The warmth was still there when I woke–not from the nkets, not from the low pulse of the sacred cavern’s spring water, but from something beneath my skin. A flicker of violet fire still lingered where Nate had kissed my stomach, like the memory of it had stitched itself into me while I slept. It <b>wasn’t </b><b>a </b>burn. It wasn’t pain. It was presence. Soft, pulsing, undeniable. Like a second heartbeat.
I opened my eyes slowly. The moss still glowed faintly across the stone walls, casting pale blue light across the cavern. Natey beside me<b>, </b>awake already, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other resting across his stomach. He wasn’t watching me, but I could tell by the stiffness in his posture that he hadn’t slept deeply. Maybe not at all.
He must have sensed I was awake, because his eyes shifted to mine. There was no surprise in them. Only a heaviness that matched the one blooming in my chest.
“You felt it too,” I said softly.
He nodded. “It wasn’t just you glowing.”
I pulled the nket tighter around me and sat up slowly, one hand resting unconsciously over the curve of my lower belly. It wasn’t showing <b>yet</b><b>, </b>not visibly, but something about the way my hand settled there felt… intuitive. Protective,
“It’s not just a child, Nate,” I whispered. “It’s… something else. Something aware.”
He sat up too, exhaling slowly, rubbing his hand over his jaw. “I know.”
We sat in silence for a long time. The air between us held more than heat now. It held questions we couldn’t answer. Fears we hadn’t named. And beneath it all, the quiet, rhythmic pulse I could feel beneath my ribs, like an echo not entirely mine.
When he finally spoke again, his voice was steadier than I expected.
“It’s time.”
I didn’t need to ask what he meant. I nodded slowly. “We need to tell them.”
We returned to the academy just after sunrise.
The ruins were quieter now. Thest of the wounded had been relocated to the inner halls. What remained of the outer structure stood like bones picked clean, cracked pirs and scorched stone, the skeleton of a home that had tried to survive fire. A few wolves moved through the halls, eyes cautious<b>, </b>grief
still etched in the shadows of their faces.
Eva and Ethan were in the study wing. The room had once been a ssroom, but the war had stripped it bare. Only a long table remained<b>, </b><b>surrounded </b>by cracked chairs and walls darkened with smoke. Ethan was hunched over a map, marking areas where supply caravans had gone missing. <b>Eva </b>stood <b>near </b>the window, staring out at nothing.
It was the stillness in her that struck me.
Eva wasn’t still by nature. She was kic, quick–tongued and sharp–eyed. Even when she was silent, she usually carried <b>a </b>hum of energy beneath <b>her </b>skin. But now… she looked like someone who had unraveled and stitched herself back together with threads too thin to hold.
Ethan looked up first when we entered. His brows furrowed immediately, a silent storm gathering.
<b>Eva </b>turned next. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw me, then flicked down to where my hand instinctively rested over <b>my </b><b>stomach</b>. <b>For </b><b>a </b><b>heartbeat</b>, nothing moved.
<b>“</b>Can we talk?” I asked. My voice was quiet. Not fragile. Measured.
Ethan stepped forward, his expression dark. “Depends. Are you finally going to tell me what’s going on, or is this another circle of half truths and side nces<b>?</b><b>” </b>
Nate moved beside me, a subtle shift of presence, not aggression.
“We’re telling you everything,” I said. “All of it,”
We sat around the long table, the light filtering through the broken window casting nts of pale gold across the cracked surface. I let the silence <b>linger </b>a moment, needing the weight of the moment to settle before I began.
“I’m pregnant.”
Eva blinked. Ethan stiffened. His jaw flexed, but he said nothing yet.
“We didn’t n it,” I continued. “Didn’t even think it was possible. Not with what we are. But it happened.”
Ethan exhaled slowly, pressing his palm against his forehead. “And you were going to tell me… when?”
“Now,” Nate said, calm but firm. “Because now it’s no longer just our problem. It might never have been.”
Eva leaned forward slightly. “What does that mean?”
I met her eyes. “It means I’ve been seeing things. Feeling things. Not like before, with the Gate. This is different. It’s not visions. It’s… impressions. Echoes. There’s something growing inside me, and I don’t mean physically. I mean… something aware. Something that sees the world through me.”
Eva didn’t flinch. She just nodded, once. Slowly.
“I don’t think it’s malevolent,” I said. “But it isn’t passive either. It’s… awake.”
Ethan stood abruptly and walked a few paces, his hands curled into fists at his sides. “You think it’s Hollow–Born?”
“I don’t know what it is,” I said. “But it’s watching me. Listening. And after the fire… I felt it respond to its name. Like it knew we had spoken it aloud.”
Ethan turned back to me. There was fear in his eyes now. Real, stark fear.
“And you want what from us?” he asked.
“Help,” Nate said. “We can’t do this alone. We don’t even know what ‘this‘ is. We need your trust. Your protection. But more than anything–we need you
to believe us.”
I turned to Eva, watching her carefully.
“And if you can’t do that right now… if you need time–to grieve, to rest–I understand. I know you lost Max. And I know I’ve been <b>so </b>wrapped <b>up </b><b>i </b>surviving I haven’t seen how much you’re hurting.”
Her eyes shimmered. She shook her head slowly.
“I loved him,” she whispered. “Even when I hated what he became. He was my twin. I feel him like a missing breath.”
I reached for her hand across the table. She took it.
“But,<i>” </i>she added, her voice hardening slightly, I won’t let his death be the end of my story. Or yours. If you believe this child needs protecting, <b>then </b>I <b>will </b>help you protect it. At all costs. And if I see anything about them–anything–I’ll tell you. I swear it.”
<b>A </b>knot I hadn’t realized, had formed in my chest loosened.
Ethan turned toward us slowly. The lines around his mouth were deep with restraint.
<b>“</b><b>If </b>this thing ising for my sister for this baby–then I’m not sitting on the sidelines.”
He stepped forward, ced a hand over mine and Nate’s.
“We do this together.”
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
The cavern walls had never felt so alive. The silence inside me wasn’t silent anymore. There was a rhythmn there, beneath the beat of my heart. Not <b>a </b>sound. A sensation.
Like something responding to a name it had waited lifetimes to hear.
It didn’t speak in words.
It pulsed.
Once.
Then again.
Like it was answering.
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