<b>Chapter </b><b>190 </b>
*Jiselle‘
The rune on Ethan’s shoulder hadn’t faded.
It pulsed.
Faint but steady, like a heartbeat not quite in rhythm with his own.
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None of us knew what to do. Bastain had spoken the word “Triad” with a gravity that left silence in its wake. No more theories. No more soft guesses about power and prophecy. This was real. The rune was real. The <i>bond </i>it created between me, Nate, and Ethan was real.
And I was beginning to feel it more each hour.
Not just inside myself–but under my skin. Through my bones. My thoughts feltyered. Like a second mind was brushing up against my own. Curious. Waiting.
Watching.
Nate kept close, his presence grounding me when the tension behind my eyes made the world blur. But even he couldn’t hide the fear anymore. He didn’t touch the rune on my stomach. He barely looked at it. He was trying to protect me the only way he knew how–by staying quiet. By staying near. By staying steady.
But steadiness doesn’t stop something ancient from waking.
Eva hadn’t left the ancient library since the third rune appeared. She and Bastain were pouring over what was left of Serina’s journals–some pages fragile, others burned. The ce had taken damage in the war, but what remained wasced with heavy, preserved magic. As though time itself bent around the words Serina left behind.
I sat in the outer alcove just beyond the veil–stitched door, back against the stone, knees drawn to my chest.
Ethan paced.
He hadn’t said much since the marking. His shirt was off, the rune still glowing faintly on his skin. Every time I looked at it, something inside me whispered. Nonguage. No shape. Just recognition.
We were connected.
I hated it.
Because I didn’t know if it was sacred–or a sentence.
Eva emerged first, dark circles under her eyes, her braid undone and frayed. She held a single page, trembling slightly as
she handed it to me.
“Serina didn’t name the Triad<i>,</i><i>” </i>she said quietly. “But she warned about its formation. Here.”
I took the page and read aloud, voice shaking:
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‘Three parts must converge. Fire, Veil, and Blood. Willing. Equal. Bound not by magic, but by name. If any fracture… the vessel unravels.‘
I looked up. “What does she mean by vessel?”
Bastain joined us, his face grim. “We’re not sure. But the term has always meant one thing in ancient leyline lore. A vessel
is not the power. It’s the thing that holds the power. Contains it. Controls it.”
1 didn’t speak.
Because I knew what he meant.
The child wasn’t just Sovereign or Veilborn or something in–between. The child was a vessel.
And if we weren’t all willing participants in whatever bond this Triad demanded-
That vessel could shatter.
I stood, returning the page. My hand was shaking.
“It wants more than my body. It wants my consent. It wants all of us.”
Ethan scoffed, but it wasn’t sharp. Just tired. “It marked me without asking.”
“Maybe because it thought you already agreed,” I said. “Through me. Through the leyline. Through blood.”
He didn’t respond.
I turned away and left the alcove. I needed space. Needed breath. Needed to not be surrounded by me and theory and fate. I wandered the halls of the academy ruins, my fingers brushing stone walls that still smelled faintly of smoke.
Nate found me in the western wing–what used to be a training hall, now cracked and half–swallowed by vines. He didn’t
say anything. Just held my hand.
And I broke.
“I can’t keep pretending this is just anotherplication,” I whispered. “This is something else. Something older. It’s not just my body anymore, Nate. It’s my mind. My soul. I feel it slipping.”
He cupped my face. His thumbs brushed beneath my eyes, collecting tears before they fell. “You’re not slipping. You’re carrying more than anyone ever should. But you’re still you. I know it.”
I leaned into him, breathing his scent. Wild pine. Ash. Morningstar warmth.
But even with his arms around me, I didn’t feel whole.
Not really.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. The child’s presence was stronger than ever. Like it was pressing up against the inside of my skin, listening, learning. The stars outside were dim, blurred by a thick fog that had rolled in from nowhere.
09:45 Sat, 30 Augu
Ethan sat on the leyline ridge, staring into the distance.
I joined him without speaking.
The silence between us was familiar. Heavy.
“I felt you, you know,” he said after a while. “When it burned me. Not just the child. You.”
I nodded.
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don’t want this,” he continued. “I didn’t ask to be part of some ancient configuration. But I also know what happens when one of us walks away. The whole thing copses. Doesn’t it?”
“Yes.”
He exhaled hard. “So what if I fail? What if I break, and it alles undone?”
I looked at him. Really looked at him. My twin. My other half.
“Then we break together. But we don’t let go.”
He didn’t reply. Just looked down at his glowing shoulder and shuddered.
Then the ground trembled.
We both shot to our feet.
A deep, guttural pulse rolled through the ridge–not an earthquake. A reaction. The leyline beneath us surged. I felt it in my feet, in my chest, in the mark on my stomach.
The fracture cracked through the edge of the stone, spidering like ice across ake.
And then, a voice.
Not mine. Not Ethan’s.
Low, Ancient. Layered like a thousand echoes stacked into one.
“One part remains unbound.”
Ethan stepped back, eyes wide. “Did you hear-”
“Yes.”
The fracture in the stone pulsed. Light shimmered through the crack–not silver. Not gold. But something in between.
A reminder.
A warning.
A countdown.
<b>3/4 </b>
09:45 Sat, 30 Augu
Because whoever–whatever–was waiting beyond the veil wasn’t just listening.
It was preparing.
And one part of the Triad still hadn’t said yes.
09:45 Sat, 30 Aug w