*Jiselle*
The wind had changed.
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I noticed it before anyone else–the shift in the current, the way the trees held their breath. Something about the air felt tense, like thend itself was bracing. Not for a storm. Not for magic. For something colder. More final.
Like war.
I stood at the edge of the canyon as morning bled across the sky, the mountains still dressed in mist. The leyline below pulsed faintly, but not with its usual rhythm. It felt… shallow. Strained. I could sense the ripples now, even when I didn’t mean to. Like the child inside me was using my body as an antenna, reaching outward for something I didn’t understand.
Something I wasn’t sure I wanted to find.
Boots crunched behind me, and I didn’t need to turn to know it was Eva. Her footsteps were too quiet to be Ethan’s. Too grounded to be Nate’s.
She came to stand beside me, her arms folded across her chest, her gaze fixed on the canyon below like it had betrayed her.
“They’ll be here before the new moon,” she said tly.
I blinked, heart stalling. “Who?”
“The Hollow–born.”
My mouth went dry.
Eva didn’t blink. “One of the northern scouts came back this morning. Said he spotted them three days ago— moving fast. Controlled. Organized.”
“How many?”
She hesitated. “Too many.”
The silence stretched.
“Bastain’s preparing the stronghold,” she added. “Fortifying the leyline sites, trying to seal the weakest fractures. But even he says it won’t hold for long. If they reach the Academy ruins…”
“They won’t,” I said, more instinct–than conviction. “We won’t let them.”
Eva finally turned to me, her silver eyes narrowed. “You know they’reing for you, right?”
I met her gaze. “I know.”
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Because Aedric wasn’t subtle. He never had been. The visions. The tree. The child flinching at his presence. He was circling now, drawing closer, and even if he didn’t know it yet, I could feel the bond forming between him and the life inside me.
And I hated it.
Hated how some quiet part of me understood it.
Ethan found us a few minutester, hair wet from the river, face grim. He didn’t look at Eva. Not really.
“We need to talk,” he said, gaze fixed on me.
I followed him without a word, leaving Eva behind with the wind and her worries.
We walked in silence toward the ravine path, where the light grew softer and the mist hung low. The sky overhead was a dull grey, the kind that pressed against your lungs and made everything feel heavier than it should.
When we reached the small rise overlooking the southern treeline, Ethan stopped. He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled hard.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said. “About what Bastain said. About the fractures. About… him.”
My stomach coiled.
“I think I should leave,” he continued. “Go ahead. Try and draw Aedric away. Give you more time.”
“No.”
“Jis-”
“No.” I turned to him, fierce now. “You think he won’t follow me? That he won’t find me wherever I am? You think if you just… offer yourself like bait, he’ll ignore the thing he’s really after?” I gestured to my stomach, my voice shaking. “He’s not after you. Or Nate. He’s after her.”
Ethan swallowed. “I know.”
“Then why the hell would you leave?”
“Because I’m tired of standing still,” he snapped, the mask slipping for a second. “I’m tired of watching all of this happen and not doing anything.”
“You are doing something. You’re here. You’re helping. You’re—”
“I’m watching you fade,” he said, and that shut me up. “I’m watching you slip further into this power, into this bond with him, and no one knows how to stop it. Not even you.”
I flinched.
He ran a hand over his f
He ran a hand over his face. “I’m sorry. That was-”
“No,” I said, voice hoarse. “You’re right.”
We both stood there, worn down and silent, until he finally said, “I won’t go. Not yet.”
But I knew the seed had been nted.
And that terrified me more than any vision.
***
<b>56 </b>
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Nate didn’te to dinner.
Didn’t join the leyline rounds.
Didn’t even send a message.
For hours, I tried to convince myself it was exhaustion. That he was just resting. That his silence wasn’t deliberate. But as the stronghold slowly emptied for the night, and thest violet candle in the mess hall burned itself down to a puddle of wax, I felt it in my bones–the ache of the bond stretching thinner than it ever had before.
It wasn’t broken.
But it was fraying.
I found him exactly where I suspected he would be–in the shadow–drenched observatory, where the sky cracked open above the stone arch and stars spilled through the gaps like old gods watching from afar.
He was lying on the low couch near the far wall, half–curled on his side. A wool nket was tossed haphazardly over his legs, his shirt undone just enough to reveal a sh of pale chest and a cluster of fading bruises near his ribs. His hair was messy, falling into his eyes, and his hand dangled loosely off the edge of the cushions, fingers twitching now and then like he was dreaming of something just out of reach.
But his eyes were open.
And when I stepped inside, he didn’t turn.
He didn’t blink.
He just kept staring at the sky.
The air in the observatory was cold, but not bitter. The kind of cold that made your skin tighten and your emotions feel sharper than they had any right to be. I swallowed and crossed the threshold slowly, the stone floor cool beneath my bare feet.
“Are you going to pretend I’m not here?” I asked, voice soft, almost unsure.
He exhaled, the sound long and tired. “I’m tired. Jis.”
“That’s not an anser.“”
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“No.” He sat up slowly, every movement stiff with weariness. His face twisted slightly as he shifted, a hand pressing to his side like it hurt just to breathe. “It’s not.”
I made my way toward him, my pulse a slow throb in my ears. “You’ve barely looked at metely.”
“That’s not true,” he murmured.
I stopped just shy of him, folding my arms across my chest. “Isn’t it?”
His jaw tightened. He looked away again, toward the telescope in the far corner, toward the nothing waiting in
the dark.
“It’s hard to look at someone,” he said, voice low, “when you feel like you’re losing them.”
The words hit harder than they should’ve. Maybe because I’d felt it too–that silent drifting. That slow slide from closeness into distance, like the bond had a shoreline and we were each on a different end, carried by tides we couldn’t control
My throat tightened. “You’re not losing me.”
“Aren’t I?” His eyes finally met mine then, and gods, they looked tired. Not just from pain or war or prophecy. But from trying. “I don’t know how to help anymore, Jiselle. I don’t know if I’m helping. You’re growing stronger. Brighter. And I’m just-
He broke off. Dragged a hand through his hair.
“I’m just trying to keep <b>up</b>.”
I sat beside him slowly, the cushion dipping under ourbined weight. “Nate…”
“I don’t want to fade into the background,” he whispered. “But I think I already am.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. Because part of me understood. I could feel the ways I was changing- bing more than I had ever been. More than he had ever known. And I hadn’t meant to leave him behind. But maybe I had anyway.
I reached for his hand, threading my fingers through his.
He didn’t pull away.
But he didn’t hold on either.
He let our palms touch. Skin to skin. Heart to heart. But without the pressure. Without the choice to stay,
It was worse than being pushed away<b>. </b>
Because it meant he didn’t know if he could reach me anymore.
We sat like that for a long time. The sky darkened, the moon shifted, and neither of us moved. A single candle flickered in the far alcove, its light barely enough to keep the shadows at bay.
When I finally stood to leave, something in his posture tensed–like he wanted to stop me.
But he didn’t.
I bent and pressed a kiss to his forehead.
Gentle. Lingering.
He flinched.
Not from pain.
From doubt.
And the way his shoulders curled inward told me everything I needed to know.
He didn’t believe I was his anymore.
And the worst part?
I didn’t know if I was either.
I walked out of the observatory with that kiss still burning on my lips–ash and salt and sorrow.
And it hurt more than any prophecy ever could.
田
AD
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