Chapter 137
Chapter 137
‘Jiselle‘
The world always goes quiet before it begins to circle.
After the sigil formed–after the spiral of violet light declared that the gate still breathed–1 expected a shattering. Some dramatic upheaval of earth or magic or sky. Instead, what followed was silence. Not the comforting kind, but the kind that watches. The kind that waits.
That was three days ago.
its
breath. And above us, the birds no longer
Since then, the forest had grown too still. The leyline beneath our camp pulsed slower, like it was holding sang when they passed overhead. The animals had drawn inward. Even the wind seemed reluctant to speak.
But word had spread.
Too fast.
Too far.
They knew I had woken.
They knew the violet flame had returned.
We hadn’t sent messengers. We hadn’t called anyone. But the moment the gate sigil shimmered into air, the ripple had gone out–through the leyline, through the tether of ancestral memory that no scholar had ever managed to map. It traveled not in footsteps, but in whispers. And now those whispers were coming home.
Scouts had begun reporting signs. Campfires where there should have been none. Movement on the southern ridges. Symbols etched into tree bark we hadn’t touched.
Some came seeking hope.
Others came seeking control.
And some, I was certain, came to end me before I could become something they feared.
I sat at the center of the clearing where it all began, my legs crossed beneath me, hands resting on my thighs. The spiral still hovered in the dirt before me, etched deeper now, like the earth itself wanted to keep the sigil sacred. The air smelled of smoke, but there was no fire.
Eva stood to my left, arms folded, her eyes scanning the trees. Ethan sat across from me, sharpening a blade he rarely used anymore but refused to let rust. Max was pacing, his movements tense and deliberate, like he needed motion to make sense of the stillness around us.
Nate stood behind me.
Always there. Not saying much. But steady. Unmovable
I wasn’t sure if he still knew how to separate me from the magic anymore. I wasn’t sure I did either.
Bastain arrived just after noon.
He looked exhausted.
Dust clung to the hem of his cloak, and his hands were ink–stained, as always. But his eyes were alert. Too alert. Like he’d seen something in his readings
that he hadn’t wanted to be true.
“You’ve become a beacon,” he said without preamble.
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Chapter 137
flooked up slowly. “I didn’t try to.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He moved toward the spiral and crouched, brushing his fingers just shy of its edge.
“The last time a sigil like this was formed, it heralded the split of the Veil. The lines between realms tore open, and the Council rose to contain its
“And Serina?” I asked.
He met my gaze. “They hunted her for trying to control what they couldn’t understand.”
My throat tightened. “And now?”
“Now you wear the same light.” He stood, brushing off his knees. “You carry a prophecy, whether you want to or not. And the world is listening
I heard it in his tone–some will worship you… others will want to claim or kill you.
I’d known that was coming. But hearing it out loud made something settle in my stomach like stone.
Max kicked a rock across the clearing. “We need to know who’s coming.”
“We already do,” Eva said, nodding toward the tree line where one of our scouts approached–sweat–soaked, pale, eyes wide with whatever news he
carried.
He stumbled forward, nearly collapsing before Ethan caught him by the arm.
“We’ve got movement,” the scout panted, stumbling into the clearing like he’d outrun something only adrenaline could outrun. Dirt streaked his face, his cloak torn at the hem, and sweat clung to his brow in thick beads. His chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven pulls. “Not rogues. Not Council. Something…
organized.”
The word hung in the air like a dropped blade.
Bastain stepped forward, sharp–eyed, his hands clasped behind his back. “How many?”
The scout wiped a shaking hand down his face. “Too many to count from a distance. At least four columns, each moving with purpose. Tight spacing. Structured pace. They’re carrying themselves like soldiers.”
My heart ticked faster.
“They’re holding formation–military style,” he continued. “Not like the Council’s force either. More disciplined. Precise. And they’re carrying no flags.”
“No banners?” Eva asked, brows knitting.
“No colors,” he said. “No identification. Nothing… except one.”
“What is it?” I asked.
The scout’s gaze flicked toward me, then down to the dirt, like speaking it aloud would solidify something he wasn’t ready to make real.
“A white circle. Empty in the middle. Burned into the canvas of their tents. Painted over their armor plates. Etched onto their blades.”
The clearing stilled.
Bastain stiffened like someone had cracked open an old memory behind his eyes. His jaw clenched, and his breath hitched just once before he masked it behind a slow, deliberate inhale.
“You know it,” Eva said quietly, watching him too closely to miss the shift.
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He gave a slow, reluctant nod. “It’s not new. It predates the Council. Predates the split
“Predates the gate?” Nate asked, stepping in.
Bastain’s voice dropped. “It’s the mark of the Gatekeepers.”
The name sounded ceremonial. Regal. But his tone was anything but reverent.
“They were a hidden order,” he continued, eyes now distant, locked on something none of us could see. “Scholars. Watchers. Enforcers. Their only allegiance was to the balance between realms. They saw the Veil not as a barrier–but as sacred law.”
Eva’s voice was low. “Sworn to protect it.”
Bastain nodded. “Or eliminate anything that threatened it.”
“Protect or destroy?” Nate pressed, arms crossing tight over his chest.
“Whichever is required,” Bastain said grimly.
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The wind picked up. Just slightly. Enough to rattle the leaves overhead..
The scout shifted uncomfortably, drawing our attention back to him. He tooked pale now–paler than when he arrived as if carrying the message had aged him.
He turned to me directly, and it felt like the whole world narrowed to the space between us.
“They sent a message,” he said.
The words landed like stone dropped in still water.
My breath caught. “What kind of message?”
He swallowed. Hard. His hand trembled as he pulled a crumpled parchment from his belt but didn’t hand it to anyone.
“He said,” the scout murmured, his voice cracking around the syllables, “he wants an audience with the Ethereal.”
Silence.
Not the stunned kind.
The dangerous kind.
The kind that waits to see who flinches first.
“And if he doesn’t get it?” Eva asked.
The scout looked at me again, helpless.
“The
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