28. The Chain of Echoes
28
The Chain of Echoes
Ren
It was as if reality had split wide open, and I was caught between worlds both present and past, here and somewhere far away. The chain in my hands pulsed with a ferocious heat, like holding onto a living star. The metal seemed to breathe, its surface rippling like mercury beneath my fingers. The runes carved into its surface began to glow with an otherworldly light, first silver, then deep violet, then a shade of blue I'd never seen before. It was the color of midnight in midwinter.
The mark on my forehead blazed in response to the chain's power, but unlike its usual dark energy, this felt... different. Like recognition. Like coming home. Our magic twined together as if we'd been made for each other, death magic calling to death magic in a way that made my previous connections feel shallow in comparison. Even my bond with Dorian seemed to pale against this ancient power that promised to make me whole.
I couldn't think. Not clearly, anyway. It was as if my mind was swarming with too many voices, too many feelings, too much everything . My skin burned where the chain touched me, like I was holding something both foreign and intimately familiar. The runes on its surface glowed with a soft, ethereal light, their patterns shifting as if they were alive, breathing in sync with the frantic beat of my heart.
“Ren—”
Dorian's voice reached me through the haze, a lifeline that seemed too far away. I tried to focus, but the overwhelming flood of sensation threatened to drown me.
The air vibrated around me, pulling on my very bones. I felt something in the room— no, something in me, something ancient and weighty, pressing in, filling every empty space in my chest. The magic from the chain wrapped itself around my heart, pulling at the edges of my consciousness, pulling at the darkness .
It was like a thread was unspooling inside of me. My magic had always felt like a quiet hum beneath the surface. But this? This was different. This felt like the pull of a thousand souls, reaching for me, pulling at me. I gasped as I felt them all—ghosts and spirits, long lost, each with their own desires, their own pains. It was like I could see through their eyes, feel what they felt. Each flicker of emotion, each whisper of memory, flooding me at once.
I barely had time to process it before another wave of sensation hit. I couldn’t focus on just one. Too many memories. Too many emotions. My fingers clutched the chain tighter, the cold metal sinking into my skin as if it had fused with me.
The weight in my chest grew unbearable, the pressure so intense it almost felt like I was being crushed. Panic clawed at the edges of my mind, but I couldn’t even remember how to breathe.
“Ren!” Dorian’s voice broke through the storm, sharper now, filled with urgency. I couldn’t see him, but I could feel his presence and his concern. It was like a grounding force, pulling me back to reality, even if only for a moment.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to steady myself. I can’t lose control.
But the chain— whatever this was —it was tugging at something inside me, something raw and uncontrollable. I felt it then. The pull of the magic, a dark, hungry force, wrapping around my soul, demanding. It wanted to consume, to merge , to pull something out of me.
What is this thing? I couldn’t understand how the chain was doing this to me. It was just a piece of metal, a few runes carved into it, but it was alive . The magic was alive.
I felt it before I saw it. It was like an invisible hand pulling me, twisting my body from within, dragging me away from the world I knew. The chain in my hands burned hotter, its metal biting into my skin, and the world around me began to unravel.
It was like I was being ripped apart at the seams, caught between two worlds. The air grew thick, suffocating, and the weight in my chest became unbearable. I gasped for breath, but it didn’t come. My vision blurred, the edges of reality fraying until everything around me collapsed into darkness.
Then, suddenly, there was light. It was dim and flickering like the last, desperate breath of something long dead.
I was no longer in the lab, no longer in the academy. The ground beneath my feet was soft, like damp earth after autumn rain. Mist curled around my ankles, carrying the sweet-sharp scent of decay, fallen leaves, mushrooms, and something older, something that reminded me of the carefully preserved specimens in Dorian's study. The air itself seemed to hold its breath, waiting.
I wasn’t alone.
A figure emerged from the shadows, ethereal and shimmering like a wisp of smoke. Its shape shifted, an indistinct blur of limbs and form, but it was there . It hovered just beyond my reach, its presence drawing me in, tugging at something deep inside me.
I instinctively reached out, feeling the pull of magic, of necromancy. My own magic resonated with it, responding to the spirit’s silent call.
“Help me.”
The voice was faint, like a whisper carried on the wind, but it pierced my mind with painful clarity. It sounded desperate, trapped. I felt my heart tug in response.
“Please... I need you. You’re the only one who can set me free.”
I froze. My stomach twisted with an odd mixture of fear and sympathy. The spirit’s voice was so fragile, so full of suffering. It tugged at something inside me. Something that had always been there: my empathy for the lost, the forgotten. My connection to the dead.
“Who are you?” I asked, my voice trembling despite myself.
The figure shimmered again, its form shifting like smoke, and then the spirit spoke.
“I was once a student at Blackstone Academy, like you. Trapped by the chain, bound by dark magic. I’ve been waiting, waiting for someone like you to come... to release me.”
I took a step forward, drawn in by the sadness in its voice. The spirit’s glowing form flickered with what felt like hope .
“I know you’ve felt it, Ren,” it whispered, and I felt a cold shiver run through me as it called my name. “I know what it is to be lost... to be bound to something greater than yourself. I can feel your magic. You have the power to set me free.”
I swallowed hard, my heart racing. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. But the voice... the presence... it felt so real . It felt like a plea for help, and something deep within me ached in response.
“The chain,” the spirit continued, “I was bound to this world through it. But if you bring it to the old academy, the place where my bones rest... I can be released.”
The words wrapped around my mind like a net, drawing me in deeper. I could feel my pulse pounding in my ears, my hands trembling as I held the chain tighter. The weight of it had shifted somehow, no longer just metal but alive , vibrating with the pulse of this spirit’s desperate need.
“In exchange ,” it murmured, extending a spectral hand. “I can give you what you’ve always wanted. The power to be whole, to be complete. The body you’ve always felt should have been yours. No more hiding. No more doubt.”
A shiver ran down my spine. My breath hitched .
“You’ve fought with it, haven’t you? That sense that something’s wrong, that your body doesn’t match who you really are. I can make it right. I can show you how to move into a body that fits you, one that aligns with who you truly are, one that will never be questioned.”
It was as if the spirit had seen into me, into the deepest parts of myself that I barely acknowledged, even in my own thoughts. The struggle, the doubt, the frustration of never fully feeling at home in my own skin.
“You'll have everything, Ren,” it whispered. "The body that reflects who you truly are. No more dysphoria. No more explaining yourself to people who can never truly understand. Even your magic would flow more naturally through a form that matches your soul."
The words were like silk, wrapping around my thoughts, weaving a spell of promise, of hope. It wasn't just the promise of change that drew me in. It was the understanding in the spirit's voice. The way it spoke of my struggles without judgment or confusion, the way it saw past all my carefully constructed walls to the truth I'd barely admitted to myself. Even Dorian, for all his kindness and acceptance, couldn't fully understand this part of me. But this spirit... it knew.
It was so convincing. So tempting.
I could feel the warmth of the chain, its pulse echoing like a heartbeat beneath my fingers. The power thrumming through it wrapped me in a sense of belonging I hadn’t realized I was searching for. I closed my eyes, letting the spirit’s promises wash over me. It was the answer to everything, the power, the confidence, the sense of being seen fully for the first time.
“Just bring the chain to the old academy ,” the spirit urged, its tone soft but insistent. “Bring it to where the magic began. Set me free, and you’ll be free too. You’ll have everything you’ve ever dreamed of.”
I felt the weight of the chain growing heavier, but my heart felt lighter, filled with something I hadn’t felt in so long: hope. It was the kind of hope that filled the dark corners of my mind, sweeping away all the doubt, all the insecurity, all the fear that had clung to me for as long as I could remember.
It was too good to be true. Too simple. Too perfect.
But I didn’t care.
I opened my eyes, gasping for air, my heart pounding in my chest. The room was dim, the shadows of the cottage pressing in around me. But Dorian was there, kneeling next to me, his face etched with worry.
“Ren,” he said, his voice soft but urgent. His hands were warm against my shoulders, grounding me in reality. The familiar scent of his cologne helped clear my head “Whatever you saw, mo stóirín, whatever it promised you...” Dorian's voice was gentle but firm, his Irish lilt thickening with concern. “Spirits are like badly edited books, showing only the parts of the story that serve their purpose. And sometimes the most tempting promises hide the darkest costs.” The academic metaphor was so perfectly Dorian that it almost made me smile, despite everything. His thumb brushed against my cheek, and I realized I had been crying.
Dorian’s gaze flickered from me to the chain, his expression shifting between awe and concern. “You... activated it, didn’t you?” His voice was filled with disbelief, and he glanced at the chain again, as though he couldn’t quite process what had just happened. “Ren, this is... it’s incredible. I’ve been working with this thing for months, and no one’s been able to do what you just did. How did you—?”
“I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head, the weight of the chain suddenly heavier in my grip. “It just... happened. I felt something, like it was pulling me in.”
Dorian’s eyes softened, but the concern didn’t leave his face. “That’s not how this should work,” he said, his voice quiet, but filled with wonder. “Tell me everything.”
I hesitated. It was one thing to tell him there was a spirit that needed our help, but the rest? Dorian wouldn’t understand. How could he? He’d never known what it was like to feel uncomfortable in his own skin like I did.
The spirit’s words echoed in my head, promising something I’d never dared to hope for. The body I was meant to have. The power to be seen for who I really was. It was tempting, too tempting to ignore. But I couldn’t tell Dorian about that. It felt... wrong. I couldn’t ask him to understand a thing he couldn’t possibly relate to.
Instead, I clutched the chain tighter, my voice steadying as I met his gaze. “I saw a spirit,” I said, keeping my words simple, my voice tight with something that felt like both resolve and fear. “It’s trapped inside the chain, waiting to be freed.”
Dorian’s brow furrowed as he processed this new information. “A spirit? Inside the chain?” He shook his head, his disbelief written clearly on his face. “The chain is a soul transfer device, so I suppose it’s possible, but… There’s no telling what sort of spirit we’re dealing with. We must be careful.”
I nodded, but deep down, I already knew. It wasn’t just about freeing the spirit. There was something more. Something that felt right, even though the consequences were unclear.
“I know,” I said quietly. “But it doesn’t feel wrong. It feels like... like I’m supposed to help it.”
Dorian studied me, his gaze searching my face, as though he were trying to read the depths of my mind. For a moment, the weight of his concern felt like it might break through my resolve. But then his expression softened, and he nodded, though the worry never fully left his eyes.
“All right,” he said quietly. “But we do this carefully. No matter what, you’re not doing this alone. We’ll figure it out together.”
I met his gaze, feeling a flicker of warmth in my chest at his words. It wasn’t everything I needed to hear, but it was something. “Thanks,” I said, my voice steadier than before. “But... I think I need to go to the old academy to free it.”
“Well,” Dorian said, smoothing his hands over his shirt, “luckily, we were planning to head there anyway to put a stop to this business with Alistair. I see no reason we can’t just… take the chain along and free the spirit while we’re there.”
I nodded, a sense of quiet determination settling over me. There was something inevitable about this, something inescapable. I didn’t fully understand what was at play, but I was certain the old academy held the answers.
“Saturday morning, then,” Dorian continued, his voice firm. “We’ll go to the old academy first thing. We’ll take the chain with us, figure out how to free the spirit, and stop Alistair. The sooner, the better.”
I glanced at him, a faint smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Sounds like a plan.”
Dorian pulled me closer, and I let myself sink into his embrace. His cardigan was soft against my cheek, worn in all the right places from years of late nights spent grading papers and researching obscure necromantic texts. He smelled like home, like safety and possibility, all wrapped up in one person.
“Just promise me you'll be careful,” he murmured into my hair. His voice carried that particular tone of worry he seemed to reserve just for me, the one that made my heart ache in the best possible way.
“I promise,” I said softly, even as guilt gnawed at my insides. I wasn't lying, not exactly. The chain's promises sang through my blood like a siren's call, but Dorian's arms around me offered their own kind of magic. One spoke of instant transformation, of finally being seen as I truly was. The other promised patient love and acceptance of my journey exactly as it unfolded. I wasn't sure which path terrified me more: the quick solution the spirit offered, or the slower, harder road of becoming myself one day at a time.
The chain hung heavy in my pocket, its presence a constant reminder of the spirit's promises. But Dorian's arms around me were real and solid, offering their own kind of magic. One that didn't require bargains or ancient artifacts. Just trust, and time, and the courage to be honest.
I wasn't sure which scared me more.