Chapter 41
FORTY-ONE
LINDSAY
Midnight feels different when you’re standing in the middle of something ancient.
Bonfires ring the courtyard, flames burning high and steady despite the cold. Their light reflects off snow-dusted stone and dark ceremonial cloaks, and the air hums—not loud—but dense, layered with magic that presses in from all sides. Every breath is unfamiliar.
I stand at the center of the ritual circle because I was told to.
Because the Council said my connection to the Veil is the strongest. Because apparently that makes me necessary. But I don’t exactly trust them to have my best interests in mind.
My boots rest on stone etched with symbols I don’t recognize, the runes glowing faintly beneath the frost. I keep my hands tucked into my sleeves, more for comfort than warmth, trying to remember the instructions that were explained to me only once, quickly, like they assumed I’d just… know what to do.
Around me, voices rise and fall in a language that isn’t mine. Chants layer over one another, precise and practiced. Everyone else seems grounded, certain, like this is just another tradition.
For me, it feels like being dropped into the center of a large city without a map. I focus on breathing. On staying still. On not drawing attention. And then something inside me shifts.
It’s not pain, not exactly; it’s more like pressure—an unfamiliar pull beneath my skin, as if something deep in my chest is waking up and stretching. My pulse stutters. The air around me feels suddenly tighter.
I glance down just as the rune nearest my boots brightens. Then another. A ripple of light spreads outward from where I stand, brighter than the rest of the circle, uneven and wrong. The chant falters—just a fraction—but I hear it. This is not supposed to be happening. I can feel it in my bones.
I lift my gaze to Nolan, who is across from me, and his eyes are wide and concerned. Before I can say anything, my magic flares.
Gasps ripple through the crowd. My heart slams against my ribs as the glow intensifies, answering something I don’t understand, reaching for a force I didn’t even know I could feel.
I don’t know what I’m doing.
I don’t know why this is happening.
All I know is that every eye in the courtyard is on me now—and whatever the Council thought they were placing at the center of this ritual…it’s more than they expected.
The light spikes again, bright enough that it makes my eyes water. I don’t know how to pull it back or even where back is.
The chant stumbles this time—audible now—and panic flares hot and fast in my chest. I try to step away from the glowing runes, but the stone beneath my boots hums, locking me in place as if the magic has teeth.
Then shadows move. Kael steps in behind me, close enough that his presence wraps around me. He settles at my back, firm and grounding, shadows curling forward to cradle my wrists and shoulders, absorbing the excess magic before it can spiral out of control.
“I’ve got you,” he says quietly, for me alone.
The pressure eases just enough that I can breathe.
Nolan steps forward. He doesn’t touch me at first. He just comes close, close enough that I can feel the calm focus rolling off him, hear him murmuring counter-phrases under his breath, adjusting the ritual’s rhythm around me instead of forcing me to bend to it.
“Just keep breathing, Lindsay,” he says softly. “The magic’s reacting. That’s all. Follow my voice.”
I cling to it. Then fur brushes my leg. Raiden. He’s shifted fully now, kitsune form moving with fluid grace as he presses into my side, a single tail curling protectively around my calf. His presence is grounding in a different way—ancient and fiercely mine.
I’m here, Little Fire, he says in my mind. We are all here, you’re safe.
My breath steadies on his words. The flare dims, and I feel as though I’m starting to gain some kind of control.
I finally risk lifting my head.
Dorian stands just beyond the inner ring, hands clasped loosely behind his back, expression unreadable. He’s watching closely, but he doesn’t step forward or interfere. I’m not sure he’s allowed to break the circle honestly.
Across the circle, I see Auron. For just a heartbeat, his composure cracks. He takes a single step toward me. A hand lands on his shoulder, stopping him. His father.
The grip is firm and unyielding. Auron freezes, jaw tightening as his gaze flicks from me to the hand restraining him, something cold and furious flashing through his eyes before it disappears behind polished control.
I’m not alone. It’s the single thought I have before I hear the voice that’s been calling me from the other side of the veil for over a week.
“My child…”
My heart slams so hard it steals my breath. The sound isn’t loud—not really—but it resonates inside my bones, familiar in a way that makes my chest ache. I gasp and instinctively push magic into the wards, feeding the ritual, strengthening the barrier between worlds.
The Veil shudders.
“Let me free,” the voice croons, warm and patient. “You already know how.”
My hands tremble.
For one terrifying second, I do know. The shape of the spell. The direction the magic wants to flow. It would be so easy to stop fighting, to loosen my grip and let the pressure ease—to let it through.
The urge coils tight and sharp in my gut, not violent, not cruel. Just insistent. Promising relief. Promising answers. Promising that whatever has been missing from me my whole life is right there, waiting.
Can anyone else hear that?
Stay strong, Little Fire.
Raiden’s voice cuts through the pull, clear and steady in my mind. Another one of his tails curls around my waist, warm and solid, brushing between Kael’s body and mine like a living anchor.
You’re here. With us. Don’t listen to it.
Shadows tighten at my back. Nolan’s murmured words thread into the chant, subtly reshaping the rhythm around me instead of forcing me to bend to it.
I clamp down on the magic, teeth clenched, lungs burning.
The voice doesn’t vanish. It withdraws slowly, slipping back into the dark with a soft, almost disappointed sigh—as if this was only a pause, not a defeat.
Then the final words of the ritual are spoken. The bonfires dim. The wards settle. The Solstice Rites end. But the excess magic doesn’t leave me.
It crackles along my skin in restless sparks, a hum under my bones that refuses to fade. I keep my hands curled into fists, willing it to stay contained, to not give anyone another reason to stare.
Too late.
Students watch me with open wariness now, whispers already starting at the edges of the circle.
Whatever I was before tonight, I’m not that anymore, because apparently using my magic changes it.
The Council’s gaze has changed too—threaded with something that looks uncomfortably close to awe and respect.
A silent recognition of a resource they didn’t fully understand until now.
All of them…except one.
Auron’s father doesn’t bother masking it. His eyes are cold and calculating, lingering on me like he’s already tallying costs and outcomes. I shiver despite the lingering heat of the ritual, suddenly very aware that whatever line I crossed tonight—he noticed.
And unlike the others, he doesn’t look impressed.
It’s only once we’re back inside the academy that my legs finally give out.
Not collapsing really, just… folding. As though my body waited until it knew I was safe before reminding me how much power I burned through.
Kael doesn’t let me fall. He doesn’t even hesitate.
One arm circles around my back and he scoops me up into his arms, shadows wrapping around me as Raiden moves to Kael’s right side.
He’s shifted back to his human form now.
While Nolan moves to his left. We probably make quite the spectacle to all of the students and teachers making their way back inside.
“We’re not leaving her,” Raiden says flatly.
Kael doesn’t say a word as he carries me toward his quarters, but every line of him is wound tight. The door barely clicks shut behind us before he sets me down on the edge of his bed.
“Stay here,” he murmurs.
I do more than that. I curl up, my head resting on his pillow. The mattress dips beneath me, and his shadows flow over my legs and up my body of their own accord. My fingers curl into the blanket beneath me, sparks of leftover magic snapping faintly along my knuckles.
“The voice pushed harder this time,” I say steadily, even as my pulse thunders. “It knew I could hear it.”
Kael doesn’t contradict me. He studies my face like he’s committing it to memory.
“And it still didn’t get what it wanted,” he says quietly.
I meet his gaze, then glance over his shoulder at Raiden and Nolan. “No. Because of you three.” I hesitate, then add honestly, “But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit part of me wanted to listen. What if—what if…” My throat tightens. “What if it can tell me what I am?”
The magic hums under my skin, restless but contained, like a storm locked behind reinforced glass. I flex my fingers and feel it respond. It feels obedient, more in control than I’ve had before.
Raiden sinks onto the foot of the bed, his presence grounding even without touching me. “I don’t think anything on the other side of the Veil gets to define you,” he says firmly.
Nolan clears his throat, pushing his glasses up as he always does when he’s choosing his words carefully. “Every historical source we have describes the Veil as a containment for monsters. Predators. Things that lost their place in this world.”
I look at him. “And what if that’s only because history is written by whoever trapped them there?”
The question hangs there, heavy and unanswered.