Chapter 31 Lindsay
THIRTY-ONE
LINDSAY
The observatory tower smells old. That’s the only word that comes to mind as I pace the space waiting for the guys.
The domed ceiling is open tonight—no clouds, just a clear black sky pricked with stars that feel too close, too watchful.
I suggested Kael’s private quarters first, but he had refused.
“Too many memories,” he’d said quietly. “They’d crowd the room before we even started.”
So, we’re here instead. Neutral ground. High enough that no one can overhear. Open enough that we can all breathe.
Tamsin arrived first. She set up a small circle of protection candles around the low table in the center—nothing fancy, just enough to keep stray magic from leaking out or prying eyes from wandering in.
She’s leaning against the railing now, arms crossed, pretending to watch the quad far below while she really watches me.
The others trickle in one by one.
Nolan first—notebook already clutched to his chest like armor, glasses slightly fogged from climbing the stairs too fast. He gives me a small, steady smile that says I’m here, whatever this is.
Raiden next—tension rolling off him in waves, tails half-shifted and lashing once before he forces them still. His eyes scan the room as if he’s checking for threats, then land on me and soften—just a fraction.
Kael steps out of a pool of shadow near the far wall as though he was always there. He doesn’t sit. Just leans against a telescope mount, arms folded, shadows curling restlessly at his boots. And it reminds me of yesterday morning when he found Dorian and me here.
Dorian last—silver hair catching the starlight, grin already in place, even though his eyes are serious. He drops into the chair beside me without ceremony, thigh brushing mine in silent solidarity.
Tamsin straightens.
“Okay,” she says briskly. “This is where I make my graceful exit.” She points at the spiral stairs that lead down to an iron door.
“I’ll be right outside. Guarding. Judging.
Eating the snacks I brought. If anyone starts growling, biting, or shadow-choking anyone else, I’m coming back in with a bucket of cold water and zero chill. Clear?”
Raiden snorts. Dorian flashes her a wink. Nolan gives a small, appreciative nod. Kael just inclines his head—silent acknowledgment.
Tamsin looks at me one last time—you’ve got this—then slips out. The sound of her feet on the stone stairs fade until the click of the door shutting echoes back to us.
Silence settles, thick and expectant. I take a breath.
“I cast the spell,” I say without preamble. “The one from the grimoire. The one that shows what’s hidden.”
Nolan’s pen freezes mid-page. Raiden’s tails snap once. Kael’s shadows flare outward—sharp, involuntary—then snap back like they’ve been burned. Dorian leans forward, elbows on knees, all teasing gone.
“I saw everything,” I continue. “The real prophecy. Not the broken version I have been seeing. The full words.”
I recite them from memory—every line, every clause, every choice laid bare.
“A child born of two worlds, marked by the Veil’s own hand, shall stand at the thinning edge.
Five hearts bound to hers—five powers woven through her blood—will either mend the tear or widen it beyond repair.
The shadow prince must choose mercy over duty.
The fox must choose loyalty over blood. The scholar must choose courage over caution.
The watcher must choose truth over games.
The cursed must choose love over obedience.
Only then can the conduit become the bridge instead of the blade. ”
The last word hangs in the air.
Nolan is the first to speak. Voice soft. Awed.
“That’s… not what I’ve heard before.” He flips back through his notebook, pages rustling. “They said it was a single chosen one. A sacrifice. Not… six.”
Raiden growls low in his throat. “Loyalty over blood. That’s my family. My pack. I’ve already been severed from the clan.” His eyes meet mine. “If it comes to them or you…I’ve already chosen.”
Kael’s shadows coil tighter around his ankles. He hasn’t moved, but the air around him feels colder.
“Mercy over duty,” he repeats quietly. “My father’s voice is still in my head every time I look at you.
Telling me you’re the threat. Telling me to end it before the prophecy fulfills itself.
” He finally lifts his gaze. “I’ve been fighting that voice since the day you came back through the Veil. I’m still fighting it.”
I wet my lips and hold his clear gaze. The anger at his secrets faded at some point, because now all I feel is an ache in my chest and a need to feel his wings cocooning me. His eyes soften, and he nods as though he can hear my thoughts. The bond between us glows warm, magic sparkling in the air.
“But I’ll choose you, every single day, sunshine,” he adds.
Dorian exhales through his nose—a small, humorless laugh.
“Truth over games,” he repeats, softer this time. He glances around the circle—meeting each pair of eyes in turn—then looks back at me. “Guess the universe knows me better than I thought.”
He exhales, running a hand through his hair, messing it in a way that makes him look younger, less polished.
“I’ve spent my life watching,” he says, voice low enough that the wind through the open dome almost steals it.
“Playing angles. Keeping everyone at arm’s length so no one gets close enough to hurt me.
Or so I told myself.” His gaze flicks to Kael—brief, deliberate—then away again.
“But the truth is… I stopped letting people in a long time ago. After—” He stops, jaw tightening for half a heartbeat.
“After I lost the one person who actually saw past the charm and the bullshit. The one who didn’t care that I was a prince or a flirt or a watcher. He just… saw me.”
Kael goes unnaturally still. Shadows coil tighter around his boots, but they don’t lash out. They just…wait.
Dorian’s mouth curves—small, bittersweet.
“We were inseparable,” he continues, eyes on the floor now.
“Best friends. Closer than brothers. Sneaking into restricted archives at three in the morning, laughing until we couldn’t breathe, planning stupid escapes we never actually took.
He was the only one who ever called me on my games without making me feel small for playing them.
And then I—” His voice cracks, just barely.
“I chose wrong. I told his father where he was hiding. Thought I was saving his life. Instead, I handed him back to the cage he was trying to break out of. I didn’t even think to look for another option. ”
Kael’s shadows flare then settle again. He doesn’t speak or move. But his eyes are locked on Dorian now, light blue and unreadable.
“I’ve been watching ever since,” Dorian says quietly.
“Watching everyone else get close to people. Watching you—” he nods toward me, then the others “—build something real. And hating myself a little more every day because I threw away the one connection that ever felt like home.” He looks at Kael again—longer this time, and I see the old connection between them.
“I’m done pretending this is just another game.
Whatever comes next…I’m in. All the way.
No more angles. No more distance. If the prophecy wants truth, then here it is: I miss my best friend.
And I’m not losing anyone else because I was too scared to choose the people who matter. ”
The silence that follows is heavy and alive.
Raiden’s hand flexes on my shoulder. Nolan’s pen has stopped moving entirely; he’s staring at Dorian as though he’s seeing him for the first time. Kael hasn’t blinked.
Finally, Kael speaks up, his voice raw. “You think saying it out loud in front of everyone fixes what you did?”
“No.” Dorian meets his gaze without flinching. “I think saying it out loud is the bare minimum I owe you. The rest…that’s up to you.”
“I still hate what you did,” he says quietly. “But I don’t hate you anymore. Not the way I used to.”
Dorian exhales—shaky and almost relieved—and nods once.
Nolan clears his throat. The sound is small, almost apologetic, but it pulls every eye in the room to him. He’s still clutching his notebook like a shield, but his knuckles are white around the edges. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with one trembling finger.
“Courage over caution,” he says, repeating his line from the prophecy. His voice is quiet at first—hesitant, the way it always is when he’s forced to speak about himself instead of facts or formulas. But then he straightens, shoulders squaring as though he’s decided something irreversible.
“I’ve spent my entire life being careful,” he continues.
“Researching every possible outcome. Mapping every risk. Staying in the library instead of stepping into the fight because… because if I stayed small enough, safe enough, nothing could hurt me. Nothing could change me.” His gaze flicks to me then away again.
“My family always said I was too soft. Too bookish. That I’d never survive in a world that demands blood and teeth.
And I believed them. Being a half-blood cemented that fact for me, with the students here.
So, I built walls of paper and ink instead of letting anyone close. ”
He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing.
“Then you walked into the academy. And suddenly, all my careful plans felt…small. Pointless. I kept telling myself I was helping by staying back—analyzing, supporting, never pushing. Never risking. But the truth is…” He meets my eyes again, steady this time.
“The truth is I was terrified. Terrified that if I stepped forward, if I chose you—really chose you—I’d prove them right.
That I’m not enough. That I’d fail you when it mattered most.”
Dorian leans forward slightly, listening without his usual teasing smirk.
Nolan’s voice drops lower, almost a whisper.
“But courage isn’t the absence of fear. It’s choosing anyway.
So I’m choosing. I’m choosing you. All of you.
” He glances around the circle—Raiden, Kael, Dorian—then back to me.
“I’m choosing to step out of the library and into whatever this is.
Whatever comes next. Even if I’m scared.
Even if I fail. Because the alternative—watching from the sidelines while the people I—” He stops, cheeks flushing crimson.
“While the people who matter most face this alone…that’s worse than any failure. ”
The bond flares again—warm, bright, the threads weaving themselves stronger.
Raiden lets out a low, approving rumble. “Good man.”
Dorian’s smile returns. “Welcome to the fire, scholar.”
Kael inclines his head. Shadows ease back from his boots as though they’re giving Nolan space.
I reach across the space and cover Nolan’s hand with mine. His fingers are cold, trembling slightly, but he turns his palm up and laces our fingers together without hesitation.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He squeezes once. “I should have said it sooner.”
“I already knew you were all in,” I say with a smile.
“But, one is still missing,” Nolan points out. “The prophecy said you need all five of us, that it is six of us choosing right that will save everyone.”
I look toward the empty doorway again. “Auron didn’t come,” I reply.
Raiden’s growl is immediate. “Then we stop waiting for him to grow a spine.”
Kael pushes off the telescope mount, shadows rippling around him like dark wings unfurling. “We go to him.”
Dorian stands, stretching with deliberate laziness that doesn’t quite hide the tension in his shoulders. “I do love a dramatic confrontation. Shall we drag the bloodborn into the light?”
Nolan closes his notebook with a decisive snap, tucking it under his arm. “We’ll need a plan. Contingencies. If he lashes out—”
“He will,” I finish softly. “But we’re not giving him the option to run anymore.”
I stand.
The observatory feels charged now—alive with five different kinds of magic humming in harmony. Raiden’s warmth at my back. Nolan’s steady light beside me. Kael’s cool shadows brushing my left side. Dorian’s glow on my right.
We head for the spiral stairs together—footsteps echoing in perfect rhythm.
Auron can push us away. He can hide behind every wall his father ever built. But five of us are coming for him. Because, without him, we’re all doomed.