Chapter 25 Wren
WREN
They were running out of time.
Night had fallen over the encampment, shrouding Silver Unit in a delicate hush, but as Wren readied herself for bed, all she could seem to think about was her conversation with Quinn and Arthur. The way they had looked at her. The shame etched upon their faces. The regret burning in their eyes.
She hadn’t imagined it.
There was still hope left for Quinn and Arthur. Remnants of their humanity clawing their way to the surface. She was sure of it. And if she could reach them, if she could find a way to pull them to the light…then maybe they would help her.
Maybe that was Wren’s way out of here.
But time was dwindling. Wren’s window was closing—fast. Equinox was approaching, the festivities commencing the following evening. Which meant if she was going to try to do something about it…she had to act now.
Wren sprang out of bed. She slipped on her boots, fashioning her hair into a simple braid, and fished out the lock of hair she’d hidden beneath her pillow. But as she took a single step toward the tent’s entrance…something appeared in front of her.
Someone.
Edith Hughes materialized at the front of the tent from one blink to the next. Wren didn’t even have time to brace herself. She staggered to a halt, nearly colliding with the other girl, though she managed to stop herself before she could go barreling into her.
But this wasn’t the Edith that Wren had come to know since arriving at the encampment.
This…this was something else.
This was the version of Edith that Wren had seen in the Ether all those weeks ago. Her teeth were jagged and sharp. Eyes painted black by shadows. Slithering black veins rose from her neck, swallowing her jaw, crawling to her temples.
Edith cocked her head, watching Wren with a sickening grin.
“Hello, Wren.” She snapped her fingers and Wren’s entire body went rigid, her muscles once again frozen by Edith’s curse. “I think it’s best we resume our sessions now, don’t you?”
Wren Loughty succumbed to the darkness and
fell
back
into
time…
She walked among a forest of the dead. The trees, their bark gray and withered, loomed menacingly around her.
They seemed to whisper to her, beckoning her forward in their ancient tongue.
Beneath her bare feet stretched a path made entirely of charred leaves and sharpened bones.
She left a trail of bloody footprints in her wake, a path of crimson gleaming against the ivory floor, and yet… she felt no pain.
She felt wonderfully, blissfully nothing.
A perfect circular glade had been carved into the forest. Within the clearing, standing among a graveyard of ruins, was a single statue. A face chiseled from white stone and a pair of sapphires embedded in its eye sockets.
Afternoon light flickered through the naked branches surrounding the glade, illuminating dust particles floating aimlessly in the air.
Perched upon one of the trees sat a black-eyed raven.
It watched Wren, head tilted, as she ventured deeper into the clearing, approaching the stone statue that sat untarnished among the ruins.
A voice called out to her.
A voice she now knew well.
My sweet destroyer. My fated catalyst. The Soulless One hummed, deep and grating. I sense your soul awakening…our connection growing stronger.
“How…” Wren whispered, voice cracking. “How is this possible? How are you in my mind?”
The Soulless One chuckled.
You, my dear, invited me.
“I—” Wren broke off, shaking her head. “I didn’t.”
The Soulless One sighed and the ground beneath Wren’s feet rumbled.
Oh…but you did. With every dip back into your past, with every glimpse of your death, you welcome me in. Can’t you feel it? The prophecy stirs inside you. It waits for your command.
Fury surged through Wren, blotting out the fear that remained.
She lifted her chin, gaze boring into the statue’s crystallized eyes.
Throughout the years, Wren had often tried to envision what the ruthless leader of the Demien Order might look like.
A beast with pointed claws and sharpened teeth.
A celestial monster beyond comprehension.
But the face carved into stone, the face staring back at her, was undeniably human.
A boy—perhaps only slightly older than Wren.
His face, angular and sharp…handsome, even.
“I don’t care what your stupid prophecy says,” she said, seething. “I won’t destroy Blackwood. I won’t destroy innocent souls.”
Innocent? the Soulless One echoed incredulously. And what of the liar, the thief, the crook? What of the man that wields the book?
Wren shivered as his words fell over her like a sudden gust of wind.
“I despise Silas as much as you do, but destroying Blackwood doesn’t just mean removing Silas from power. It means wiping the slate clean. It means the destruction of all the students who walk those halls.”
The voice rumbled in displeasure.
Their loss will not be in vain. They will meet a swift, merciful end. A cleansing.
Wren ground her teeth together.
“You sound just like him.”
At this, the voice let out a terrible roar. The trees shrank back, shivering. The curious raven let out a shriek, taking off into the sky. But Wren remained rooted to the ground. She wouldn’t quiver beneath his ire.
I am nothing like him. The Soulless One growled. You understand so little, Wren Loughty. The fate that he steals, the fate that he writes. You have yet to see his virus, his sickness, his blight.
A pain blossomed behind Wren’s temples. A piercing ache.
“Enough riddles,” she groaned. “Speak plainly.”
But the Soulless One simply laughed.
In time, my sweet catalyst. In time.
Wren opened her mouth to speak, to retaliate, but no sound came out. She felt a pressure in her throat, a slithering current. And then streams of shadows were drifting out of her open mouth, choking her, snuffing out her breath—
Pain.
It welcomed Wren back to reality, twisting her insides, an unrelenting wave of agony coursing through her body. She gasped awake, blinking away the haze of the dream, only to find Edith’s scowling face staring back at her.
Clarity washed over her not a second later, a memory from the previous night slithering into her mind.
“I think it’s best we resume our sessions now…don’t you?”
Wren wasn’t sure how many times Edith had forced her way into her mind since dragging her back to the tent.
She wasn’t even sure how long she’d been here.
Had it been only a few minutes? Hours? Days?
She had to assume it was morning now, based on the faint light threaded through the gauzy fabric of the tent.
Had Equinox already passed? Had she missed her window?
She needed to tell August about the security cuff—about her suspicions that Arthur might be able to help—but how the hell would she get out of here?
She had no way of knowing how long it had been.
She’d relived her death more times than she could count, though it was clear that something was beginning to change.
In the most recent dip into her mind, Wren hadn’t seen her death…
she’d been in that forest. She’d seen the statue of the Soulless One… spoken to him.
What’s happening to me? Wren thought, biting back a sob.
Maybe the Soulless One was right. Maybe their connection was growing stronger.
Wren still had no idea how she was meant to become the catalyst—but maybe this was how it started.
Slowly losing control of her mind. A terrifying descent into madness.
“Welcome back.” Edith stepped closer, hands outstretched, but Wren flinched backward, angling her face away from the other girl’s grasp.
“Please.” Wren hated how the word tasted in her mouth, cringing at the pleading strain in her voice. She didn’t want to grovel, to succumb to her desperation, but the torment of seeing her death—of seeing her sister’s death—was becoming too much to bear. “Not again. I can’t—I can’t see it again.”
Edith’s eyes remained anchored on her face. “There is no other way.”
Wren whimpered as Edith stepped closer and pressed her fingertips against Wren’s temples. The shadows slithered closer, wrapping around Wren’s skull, a terrible anguish dripping into her mind.
Wren choked back a sob. “I’m begging you.”
Edith’s lip twitched—a small crack in her mask. But if it was disgust or pity, Wren couldn’t tell.
“Save your breath,” Edith hissed.
The shadows were pulling her under again. Wren could feel her consciousness slipping away, the darkness taking root, tightening its hold on her. Her voice cracked pitifully as she fought to speak.
“Haven’t you ever lost someone?”
Wren’s vision began to warp, fragmenting. Through the haze, she could see the surprise in Edith’s expression, the way her mouth parted, eyes widening slightly. For a brief, fleeting moment, Wren swore she saw a flicker of sadness in Edith’s dark eyes. A remnant of humanity.
“I know loss well, Wren Loughty. More than you will ever understand.”
Searing tendrils of fire coursed through Wren’s veins, a never-ending well of pain.
“Edith,” Wren choked out. “Please.”
And then, for what felt like the hundredth time that day, Wren Loughty fell back into time…