<b>Chapter </b><b>200 </b>
<b>*</b>Jiselle*
The dagger hadn’t left my side.
Even now, wrapped in cloth and hidden inside the folds of my cloak, I could feel it pulsing. It didn’t need to touch my skin to burn. It didn’t need to whisper to speak. It was alive in the way old magic always was–not just power, but memory. Decision. Destiny.
And it was waiting for me to decide.
I stood at the edge of the meditation chamber, staring at the floor Bastain had carved with his own hands. The runes still shimmered faintly, flickering between the gold of the me and the violet–blue of the leyline, forming a pattern none of us had ever seen before this war began. It didn’t belong to the Gate. Not the Sovereign. Not even the Council.
It belonged to us.
To the Triad.
And that was the problem.
“You can’t seriously be considering it.”
Nate’s voice came from the corner, low but sharp. Tired, yes. But beneath the fatigue, his fear was a living thing.
I didn’t turn to face him.
“Bastain said it could work,” I said.
“He said it might work,” Nate snapped. “He also said it could kill you. Or worse.”
I closed my eyes, drawing in a slow breath.
“He said it could cost her gift,” I corrected. My hand drifted down to rest over my stomach. The child hadn’t stirred since the night I touched the veilstone. I didn’t know if she was sleeping, or listening.
Or waiting for me to decide.
Behind me, the heavy door creaked as Bastain entered. His eyes were dark with sleeplessness, and the lines around his mouth were deeper than usual. He didn’t speak at first. Just nodded to Nate, then to me, and crossed the room slowly, setting an old scroll on the pedestal beside the me circle.
“You asked for truth,” Bastain said quietly. “So here it is. The dagger is veilstone. Pure. Unforged by modern hands. Which means it can do one of two things.”
I already knew what he would say. But I listened anyway. <ol><li>a<b>. </b>But if it does–if it seeds<b>–</b><b>it </b>will take </li></ol>
“The child,” Nate whispered.
Bastain hesitated. Then nodded. “Not her life. Not her body. But her gift. The me within her <b>is </b>tied to <b>the </b>Triad. Just as it is to you. If the bond is broken… she may never awaken. She may be normal.”
Normal.
A word that had never felt so cruel.
I exhaled slowly, turning toward the center of the circle. The dagger pulsed in my cloak, heat bleeding through the fabric. I didn’t move.
Nate stepped forward.
“Jiselle. Look at me.”
I did.
His eyes were ssy. Fractured. Still healing from everything this war had done to him–to us. But they held so much love it nearly undid me.
“Don’t do this. Please. We can find another way. We always do.”
“This is the other way,” I said, voice hoarse. “We’re out of time. The Triad is waking. The bond is pulling tighter every day. If we don’t choose now… it might choose for us.”
Nate’s jaw clenched. He stepped closer. “Then let it. Let it finish. Let it fuse. Why would you risk everything just to avoid something that might save us?”
“Because it might not save us. It might destroy what’s left of me. Of her. Of all of us. And you don’t get to make this decision for me.”
“I’m not trying to make a decision for you! I’m trying to keep you alive!”
The words cracked through the chamber like thunder.
And for a moment, no one breathed.
Then Nate stepped back, rubbing a hand down his face.
“You don’t need to be the one who burns first every time,” he whispered.
“I know,” I said. “But maybe this time… it has to be me.”
A silence followed. Heavy. Grieving. Nate didn’t move to stop me again.
Because he knew he couldn’t.
<b>“</b><b>It </b>can sever a soul–tether. Any bond. Even one formed by the Triad. But if it does–if it seeds<b>–</b><b>it </b><b>will </b>take something in return.”
“The child,” Nate whispered.
Bastain hesitated. Then nodded. “Not her life. Not her body. But her gift. The me within her is tied <b>to </b><b>the </b>Triad. Just as it is to you. If the bond is broken… she may never awaken. She may be normal.”
Normal.
A word that had never felt so cruel.
I exhaled slowly, turning toward the center of the circle. The dagger pulsed in my cloak, heat bleeding through the fabric. I didn’t move.
Nate stepped forward.
“Jiselle. Look at me.”
I did.
His eyes were ssy. Fractured. Still healing from everything this war had done to him–to us. But they held so much love it nearly undid me.
“Don’t do this. Please. We can find another way. We always do.”
“This is the other way,” I said, voice hoarse. “We’re out of time. The Triad is waking. The bond is pulling tighter every day. If we don’t choose now… it might choose for us.”
Nate’s jaw clenched. He stepped closer. “Then let it. Let it finish. Let it fuse. Why would you risk everything just to avoid something that might save us?”
“Because it might not save us. It might destroy what’s left of me. Of her. Of all of us. And you don’t get to make this decision for me.”
“I’m not trying to make a decision for you! I’m trying to keep you alive!”
The words cracked through the chamber like thunder.
And for a moment, no one breathed.
Then Nate stepped back, rubbing a hand down his face.
“You don’t need to be the one who burns first every time,” he whispered.
“I know,” I said. “But maybe this time… it has to be me.”
A silence followed. Heavy. Grieving. Nate didn’t move to stop me again.
Because he knew he couldn’t.
I walked to the pedestal. Laid the dagger down gently.
Its de shimmered the moment it touched the old stone. The runes around the circle glowed brighter, reacting like a system of veins waking beneath skin.
Bastain cleared his throat. “If the ritual begins, it cannot be reversed. Once the de draws energy, it <b>will </b>feed. Either the bond will sever… or it will fuse beyond breaking.”
“I understand.”
A new voice joined us.
Ethan.
He stood near the threshold, his expression unreadable. But his hands were clenched into fists.
“Then let me do it.”
I blinked. “What?<b>” </b>
Ethan walked in, slow but sure, and stepped beside the dagger.
“Let me take the pain if it fails. Let it burn me, not you.”
“Ethan, no. That’s not how this works.”
“Why not? I’m part of the Triad too. My mark burns same as yours. If someone has to pay the price, let it be me.”
“And if it kills you? If it severs your half and not mine?“.
Ethan shrugged. “Then I die knowing I did something that mattered.”
I stared at him.
My brother.
My twin.
The other half of a soul I never asked for but would die without.
“You can’t ask me to let that happen.”
“I’m not asking,” Ethan said. “I’m offering.”
His voice broke. Just slightly. And I saw the boy he’d once been, the protector he’d always tried to be, and the man who stood beside me now.
“This gift… it’s yours. Always has been. I’m just the echo. The shadow. But if I can take some of it off your shoulders–even once–then let me.”
My knees nearly buckled.
But I didn’t cry.
Instead, I reached up, cupped his face, and kissed his forehead.
“Thank you.” I whispered. “But this time… it has to be me.”
He didn’t argue.
He just nodded and stepped back.
I turned to Bastain.
“How do we begin?”
His gaze flicked to Nate, who still hadn’t spoken.
Then back to me.
“You must hold the de in both hands. Let the runes cut through you. Let the Triad speak. And when the mark burns bright, you must choose: fusion or severance.”
My throat closed.
But I nodded.
I reached for the dagger.
The second my fingers curled around the hilt, the world shifted.
The stone beneath my feet pulsed. The air thickened. The bond between us–me, Ethan, Nate–twisted taut like a golden thread pulled tight across a chasm.
me. Veil. Blood.
One mark on my back.
One on Ethan’s shoulder.
One on Nate’s chest.
All three began to glow.
The dagger lit up.
And I heard the voice again.
“Choose.”
I stepped into the circle.
<b>11:50 </b><b>Fri</b><b>, </b><b>Sep </b><b>5 </b>
And I chose.
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