Four #3
Callen notices too. His shoulders tighten almost imperceptibly as his gaze moves slowly around the room, measuring exits, distances, threats.
I find myself doing the same.
The Offerings from the Water Dominion are the easiest to recognise.
Their clothing is loose and flowing in shades of pale blue and sea-green, decorated with silver chains and small shells woven into the fabric.
They look softer than the others at first glance.
That feeling disappears the moment one of them meets my eyes.
There is nothing soft in the way he watches me.
The Earthborn stand together near the far wall.
Broad shoulders. Thick hands. Clothes in muted browns and deep greens that make them seem almost carved from the stone around them.
One woman among them is enormous, taller even than most of the men, with scarred knuckles and a stare that feels heavy enough to pin someone in place.
The Airborn look my age. Thin and pale, wrapped in layered white fabric that hangs loosely from their bodies like strips of cloud.
But it’s the Fireborn who draw the eye first. Maybe that's the intention.
They stand near the fountain as though the centre of the room already belongs to them.
Metal glints silver-red beneath the light spilling from the ceiling, their clothing structured and deliberate in a way that feels almost military.
The two younger men stand bare-chested under their breastplates; each marked with a scarred brand on one shoulder.
The third is older, tall enough that the others seem smaller around him without him needing to do anything at all.
His dark auburn hair is tied back loosely from his face, though strands have already fallen free around his jaw.
His arms are bare beneath reinforced leather and metal plating, revealing old burns and scars running across sun-bronzed skin.
He leans one shoulder casually against the fountain, watching the room with lazy indifference.
I look away quickly.
A movement near the far end of the chamber pulls everyone’s attention towards the crystal wall as another seam opens.
The room stills further. Even the Fireborn straighten slightly.
Shadow spills through the opening before the Offerings do. Not literal shadow. At least, I don’t think so.
The light around the doorway seems to dim strangely as three figures step through into the chamber.
The first is broad-shouldered and severe looking, with close-cropped dark hair and a face carved into sharp, unforgiving angles. His expression is unreadable, almost numb, as his eyes sweep across the room.
The second walks with his head lowered slightly, slender and quiet beside the others, his movements careful in a way that feels practised.
The third—I feel him before I properly see him.
A strange pressure settles low in my chest, sharp enough to steal my breath for half a second. Then he lifts his head.
Everything about him feels wrong. Not unnatural, but worse—intentional.
He is tall, though not as physically imposing as the older Fireborn, built with the lean strength of someone who knows exactly what his body is capable of.
His clothes cling closely to him, black layered with deep blue so dark it almost swallows the light around him.
His hair falls across his forehead in inky waves that should soften him.
They don’t.
His face is beautiful in a way that feels dangerous. Sharp cheekbones. Pale skin. Pitch-black eyes that settle on people like he’s already decided how easily they would break.
The room watches him carefully, but he moves through the attention like it means nothing.
His gaze lands on me, and the effect is immediate and deeply unpleasant. I feel suddenly visible in a way I haven’t felt in years, like every ugly secret inside me has been dragged into the light without my permission.
Heat crawls sharply up the back of my neck.
I want to look away. I should.
Instead, I keep staring half a second too long.
His expression barely changes, but something cold settles in his eyes. Curiosity? No—assessment. The kind someone gives a thing they’ve already decided is weak.
My stomach twists painfully, then, just as suddenly, he looks away. The pressure disappears with it, and only then do I realise I’ve stopped breathing.
Beside me, Marissa shifts closer. “We’re going to die,” she whispers.
I don’t ask what she means because I thought the same.
I raise my eyes to the crystal ceiling. The light above flickers and pulses, mirroring the wild beating of my heart.
Get it together. Breathe.
The Shadowborn move towards the far side of the chamber without speaking to anyone. The dark-haired boy folds his arms loosely across his chest as he leans back against the marble wall, posture relaxed enough to seem careless.
But his eyes never stop moving as he watches, calculating.
I understand instantly that he is the most dangerous person in the room. Every instinct in me whispers the same thing: Stay away from him.
And somehow, far more disturbing than that realisation, is the fact that part of me wants to keep looking at him anyway.