29. TWENTY NINE #2
I glanced anxiously at Fionn. As curious as I was, I didn't know if I was ready to face a vision I couldn't control. Worse still, what if Namarelle showed me that either Torin or Fionn was meant for me? I wasn't ready to deal with the consequences of a fated choice.
My voice came out quieter than I intended.
“What if Namarelle shows me I am bonded to one of you?” I asked.
“Are you ready to hear that?”
For a moment, Fionn’s unreadable blue eyes darkened. “If it shows any of us, we will face it,” he said, his voice ice cold “Better to know the truth now than to live through what is coming blind.”
Beside Seraphina, Torin smirked, his voice cutting through the tension with effortless arrogance. “If it shows you are my bond, sweet Tilly, it’ll only confirm what I already know,” he said, shooting me a slow, wicked wink that made Cillian’s grip tighten until his knuckles turned white.
“That I’m destined to win, my love.”
Even though Cillian’s hand pinned me in place. I needed to know their intentions. What if none of you are bonded to me? What's next?
Cillian stayed close beside me. His hand moved and settled at the small of my back, urging me forward towardNamarelle."Then let’s find out what she can show, shall we?"
But the thought of surrendering to a vision I couldn’tcontrol made my skin prickle.
Icouldn’ttell if I was more afraid of what Namarellemight show me, or of the way the brothers knowing what was about to be shown made me feel.
And even then, part of me kept asking. Dothey really believe these visions are true?
Fionn treats them like law, Torin like destiny that works in his favour.
But what ifthey’rewrong? What if it all turns out to be a lie?
Icouldn’t help but doubt this, and then, faintly, the voices stirred.
Or maybe it’s both… truth and lie. Which will you believe?
"Tilly, place your hands on the orb at the same time asNamarelle and the brothers,"Seraphina said.
The air thickened as Seraphina stepped into thecentreof the room, her presence commanding in a way that had nothing to do with the silk of her gown or the regal tilt of her chin.
Shadows danced across the walls, their movements restless, as if the Manor itself sensed what was about to happen. Cillian approached.
"It's time for the truth."
I thought of the invisible music, the one moment when I had silenced the voices. If I were capable of doing this once, perhaps I couldcontrol this, too. But the whisper inside me hissed,
Do not believe what you see.
"Shut up," I snarled inside my own head. Clenching my jaw, I refused to let them win.
“Let’s see what Namarelle wants to show me,” I said, approaching the Orb
***
The brothers placed their hands on the orb first. One by one.
Torin, Cillian, then Fionn. I glanced at all three and followed apprehensively.
Namarelle’s blue talons brushed against mine, and suddenly any fear or hesitation vanished.
It was gone in an instant, swallowed whole.
A heady euphoria washed over me, leaving me warm and lightheaded.
I felt myself lift, my body becoming weightless.
As I gazed down, I saw myself drifting higher above the room, and I realised I was leaving my physical body. The air thinned. The edges of the world warped. Then the Sternlit Halle was gone, replaced by a flickering chamber.
The floor beneath my bare feet was no longer polished wood but freezing stone. Overhead, a single, sickly light flickered. Silver moons, planets, and symbols were carved into the walls, glinting like cold metal. The air was thicker. I was not on earth.
Namarelle’s voice rang through my skull.
“Elora” She whispered. “You are not in your own past.
Four boys, no older than seven to twelve, huddled together, black, blond, and copper hair matted with sweat and dust, their small bodies trembling from exhaustion and fear.
One stood at the front, shielding the others, while the three pressed in behind him as if he’d stepped forward to take the brunt of whatever waited for them.
His small body was battered, with yellowing bruises on his ribs, with open wounds as if he had been frantically beaten.
He stared down at his hands as if trying to understand the crimson smeared all over them.
Tear tracks cut through the dirt on his cheeks, but as he looked up, it was his eyes that shattered me. They were light blue, cold and piercing, with a scar that ran down his eyebrow. I would know those eyes and scars anywhere.
“Fionn,” I whispered, the name catching in my throat.
His small frame shook so violently I could hear his teeth chatter as he tried to stifle his cries. My chest tightened until I couldn’t breathe and a sick feeling of dread settled into my gut .
Two Ecliptuari loomed over him with mythic weapons, their towering silhouettes casting long shadows over the boys, making their masked faces unreadable.
“Look at her, Fionn,” a male voice spoke through the mask.
“The soul is marked, and because you are Elysium, you are the hand that must detach the soul from the body. Your strength will become Elora’s salvation. Her sacrifice is your burden.”
Fionn looked over to the body lying at the centre of a silver etched star, its faint glow mirroring the symbol on his wrist.
Those piercing blue eyes were drowned in a young boy’s terror.
He clutched his hands to his chest as if trying to hide the tremor in his fingers.
“I… I didn’t want to,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of pain no child should ever carry.
The Ecliptuari’s hand blurred as he backhanded Fionn for his hesitation. Fionn didn't fall. He simply spat blood onto the freezing floor and stepped back in front of Cillian.
The Ecliptuari moved forward his grip tightened on his shoulder.
“This is how you are made, Starling. We break the boy so the Hunter can rise.”
Behind him, another boy bearing the scar, Cillian stepped forward, not hiding, not shrinking. His hair hung in dusty strands, but his expression was still, nothing like the charming smile I was used to. He placed a hand on Fionn’s back, not in comfort, but in solidarity.
“We won’t fail the Prophecy, nor you, Sire,” Cillian said quietly.
The second Ecliptuari stepped toward him.
Cillian didn’t flinch, though his small fingers curled tighter into Fionn’s tunic, seeking the brother who was only a few inches taller to stay by his side.
The Ecliptuari’s hand blurred, but instead of a backhand, the gloved fingers caught Cillian’s chin, tilting his face up into the sickly light .
With the other hand, the Ecliptuari pressed a sharp, silver needle into the raw flesh of Fionn’s wounded shoulder. Fionn let out a low, guttural hiss of pain, his knees buckling. Cillian’s eyes went wide with fear.
“Smile, Cillian,” the Ecliptuari whispered in a feminine voice, twisting the needle just a fraction until Fionn’s sobbed in pain.
“Cillian, if you cannot find your charm while your brother bleeds, you are useless to the Order. Enchant me, or I will take his eye.”
Tears pricked Cillian’s eyes, but through the sheer terror of losing Fionn, he forced his lips to curve. It was a beautiful, horrifying lie of a smile, the very one I had seen many times since arriving at the manor.
“Careful, little Starling,” the voice hissed, satisfied.
“Your face is the Order’s greatest snare. We must not mark the beauty that will steal the breath from the Marked.
Remember your conditioning, enchant the heart until it beats only for you, then switch off the light when they refuse to bind.
The young girl whined on the floor gasping for breath.
The Ecliptuari’s shadow leaned closer, her voice a low, seductive rasp.
"Now, go to her. Speak to the girl on the floor as she breathes her last breath. If she dies in terror, you have failed. If she dies smiling at you, you are ready and you stop your brother from losing an eye.”
Cillian’s gaze flickered to the girl wincing in pain in the centre of the silver star. His fingers let go of Fionn’s tunic, and he moved toward her with a grace that was too perfect.
Beside them, Torin’s wide eyes glistened with fear.
The female Ecliptuari stepped toward Torin, she didn't reach for a needle, instead, she grabbed Torin’s small, wrists and guided him toward the girl lying on the floor, forcing his hands into the pool of blood that surrounded her .
“The youngest must learn the weight of the aftermath,” the Ecliptuari rasped, dragging Torin’s palms through the crimson puddle that surrounded her.
“Your brothers do the work, Torin, but you will carry the stain. If you cannot look at the blood without trembling, you are a liability to the Order.”
Torin was shaking violently, a sharp, choked sob breaking from his chest as the girl’s blood stained his skin.
But then, the Ecliptuari leaned down, her mask inches from his ear. “Don’t weep, little pup. Paint with it. You can play in the blood or drown in it. The choice is yours.”
Torin’s sobbing stopped mid-breath, replaced by a terrifying, glassy-eyed focus.
He didn't pull away. Instead, he began to drag his fingers through the red puddle in slow, rhythmic circles, watching the patterns as if he were mesmerized by a toy.
He looked at his own dripping, red hands and let out a high, hysterical chuckle, a sound that didn't belong in a child's throat. It was the birth of the mask I saw him wear now, if the world was going to be this disgusting, he would simply laugh at the gore.
In the shadows, I couldn’t believe who I saw. The fourth child, Donte watched with a stillness that made my blood run cold.
Then, the female Ecliptuari turned away from Torin as he played in the blood, his hysterical laughter still echoing off the stone. She walked straight toward the deepest shadows where the fourth boy stood.
Donte didn't move. He didn't tremble like Torin or hiss like Fionn. He simply watched her approach, his face smooth, the only one unmarked by Vareth.