Chapter 26 Bree
Bree
I stand in the doorway of the bedroom—my bedroom—looking back at the circular chamber we walked through to get here.
It's different now. The same curved walls rising to the domed ceiling, the same silver script pulsing like a gentle heartbeat.
But something has changed while we were inside.
Seven doors now stand around the perimeter, spaced along the curved walls where before there was only smooth stone.
Each one glows faintly with something warmer than light. More personal.
I walk slowly across the polished floor, drawn by wonder and something deeper. Something that makes my chest feel full in a way I've never experienced.
The first door pulses with steady heat, warm stone framed with symbols that look like flames frozen mid-dance. Rhett's door. The sanctuary somehow knowing he needs a space that won't burn under his touch.
Next to it, another door practically vibrates with restless energy. Pale wood carved with flowing lines that suggest wind and movement. Jace's door, for someone who needs space to move and think and probably throw knives when the world gets too loud.
A door of polished dark wood catches my eye—no ornamentation, just smooth craftsmanship that speaks of quiet competence. Gray's door. For someone who finds peace in steady, reliable things.
The fourth door makes my breath catch. The frame is covered in symbols that seem to shift when I'm not looking directly—flowing script that might be prophecy or poetry. Theo's door, for someone who sees patterns in everything.
At the far end, a door that makes my chest tight with recognition. Warm wood carved with intricate designs that suggest growing things, but there's something else too—symbols that speak of emptiness waiting to be filled. Wes's door.
And then there are two more.
One made of silver-veined black stone, elegant and somehow predatory. The other carved from pale wood that seems to shimmer with its own inner light. I don't understand why they're here, but something in my stomach flutters when I look at them.
Something shifts in my chest when the mist touches that shimmering pale door. Not fear, exactly. More like... exposure. Like being seen in a way I'm not ready for. I try not to think about it.
"Well," Jace says behind me, "this is either really cool or really weird."
I turn to find him staring at his door with something between appreciation and concern. "So, uh, anyone want to guess why mine looks like it belongs in a high-security training facility?"
Wes appears beside him, looking at his own door with quiet intensity. "Hey, if this door is based on what I need, does that mean it has snacks and an industrial-strength lock?"
"Probably a whole kitchen," Rhett says, emerging from the bedroom. "And soundproofing."
The easy banter should make me laugh. Instead, heat crawls up my neck as I realize what this means. The Ether didn't just create space for me—it created space for all of them. Because it somehow knows what I want before I do.
"I didn't mean for..." I start, then stop. Because how do you explain that your magic apparently has opinions about everyone you care about?
"What if we add someone new?" Jace asks, grinning. "Does it just pop up another door?"
"The Ether will adjust," a voice says quietly from behind us. "That's what it does."
We all turn. Stellan stands at the entrance to the chamber, gray eyes taking in the doors with something unreadable in his expression. His gaze lingers on the pale shimmering door—the one that made my chest flutter—and something passes across his face too quickly to catch.
"It responds to connection," he continues, voice careful. "To... need."
The words hang heavy in the charged air, and I feel that flutter again when his eyes meet mine for just a moment before looking away.
Thane appears beside him, silver gaze cataloging the doors with typical precision. When he sees the black stone door, his jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
"Seven," he says quietly.
"Should there be more?" Theo asks, stepping out from his own doorway. "Or fewer?"
"There should be exactly as many as there are," Stellan answers, but there's something in his tone that makes me think he's not entirely comfortable with his own inclusion.
Before anyone can respond, something shifts in my chest. Not painful—more like a gentle tug, like someone calling my name from very far away. I press my hand to my sternum, where the sensation seems to originate.
"Someone's here," I say, the words slipping out before I understand them.
Theo's expression sharpens. "What do you mean?"
"I don't know." I'm already moving, drawn by instinct I don't recognize. "But someone's at the door."
I pass the others as I walk, feeling their attention like weight on my shoulders.
Thane appears just behind me, his voice low but firm. “We’ve got her.”
The guys hesitate—Rhett half a step forward, Wes tense in the doorway, Jace watching me like he might follow anyway.
But one by one, they nod. Not fully at ease. But trusting.
Behind me, I hear footsteps—Thane and Stellan falling into step, shadows drawn by something they can't name either.
The front entrance reveals itself as I approach—a door I’m certain wasn’t visible before, made of pale wood banded with silver that gleams in the warm light. My hand rises, drawn without hesitation.
“Wait—” Thane’s voice cuts through the air, sharp and low. Protective. Commanding.
But I don’t. I don’t want to wait.
I touch the handle.
Behind me, Stellan chuckles under his breath. “Of course she does.”
And then I pull the door open.
A small family stands at the threshold, and my breath catches in my throat.
The woman is perhaps forty, with weathered hands and kind eyes that crinkle at the corners.
Her partner stands beside her—broad-shouldered and solid, with the quiet strength of someone who works with his hands.
And between them, a boy who can't be more than sixteen, all wide eyes and uncertain hope.
The boy sees it first—the Ether pulsing gently around me, yet still calm, almost expectant. He whispers something urgent to his parents, pointing.
And then, all three of them kneel.
“Please, please don’t do that,” I stammer, stepping back. “Get up, I don’t—”
“You’re the Source,” the woman says, voice thick with emotion. “The one who called us home.”
“I didn’t call anyone,” I protest, but my voice sounds small even to me. “I’m not—I still don’t know what this place even is.”
The woman rises slowly, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“But you are. The Ether wouldn’t have awakened if you weren’t.
” She reaches out like she wants to touch me, then stops herself.
“Most didn’t believe it was real. Said the old bloodlines were gone, that the sanctuaries would never wake again.
But we heard your call, love. Clear as anything. ”
She gestures to her family. “We’ll earn our keep. I cook—I’m good at it, learned from my grandmother before her hands gave out. My husband can work the land, fix what needs fixing. The boy’ll do whatever’s needed.”
The man nods—quiet, respectful. The boy stands taller, pride flickering through his nervousness.
“We didn’t come to be served,” she finishes. “We came to serve something that’s been waiting a long, long time.”
My chest tightens. Not this. Not more people expecting me to lead something I don’t understand. Not kindness I haven’t earned.
I take a half step back, voice cracking. “I don’t—I don’t have anywhere to put you. I don’t even know how to—”
The words die in my throat as the Ether responds.
A ribbon of silver mist curls out from around my feet, flowing across the garden path like water following a channel. We all watch, breath held, as it slips between the trees and gathers over a patch of empty earth.
The mist swirls once, twice, then slowly dissipates.
In its place stands a small house.
It's modest but beautiful—stone walls that match the sanctuary, windows that catch the afternoon light, a door painted the same blue as the sky. Like it's always been there. Like it belongs.
The woman gasps, pressing both hands to her mouth. Her partner reaches out blindly, gripping her shoulder for support. The boy just stares, mouth hanging open.
The woman steps forward, eyes shining with tears.
“We meant it—we’ll earn our keep,” she says, voice trembling but sure.
I try to speak, but emotion clogs my throat. Because this—people wanting to stay, wanting to help, wanting to build something together—undoes something in me I didn't know was broken.
I nod, smiling shakily. "Okay. Then welcome home."
The woman starts crying in earnest then, and her partner's stern expression softens into something approaching disbelief. The boy grins like I've just handed him the sun.
"I'm Mairen," the woman says, wiping her eyes. "This is my husband Torn, and our son Kellan. We've been searching for so long..."
"How did you find us?" I ask.
"The Ether led us," Torn says simply. His voice is quiet, gruff with disuse. "Started a week ago. Felt like... like coming home."
"We packed everything we owned," Kellan adds, excitement making his voice crack. "Mom said we might be walking into nothing, but the pull was too strong to ignore."
I glance back and find Thane standing just inside the threshold, his expression carefully neutral. Watchful. Guarded.
And beside him, Stellan—still and silent, his gray eyes fixed not on the house, but on me.
"Stellan," I say softly, moving toward him. "They said they wanted to help. I couldn't say no."
He doesn’t answer right away. His gaze flicks between me and the family, then to the house that appeared from mist and will alone. He watches Mairen’s tears, the boy’s awe. The miracle of it—unasked for, undeserved.
"No," he says finally, his voice lower than I’ve ever heard it. "Of course you couldn’t."
There’s no mockery in it. No edge. Just something quiet. Measured. Like he’s observing something he never expected to witness.
The family begins moving toward the house, their footsteps soft on the garden path. Mairen talks gently to Kellan as he runs ahead, Torn following behind them, head bowed. Like they’re giving us the moment. Or maybe the Ether is.
I want to say more—to explain, or maybe to ask—but the words don’t come.
So I walk with them instead, silver mist rising gently around my feet in response to their joy. And as the sun dips toward the trees, I turn back toward the sanctuary.
The mist curls up through the light like breath.
And for once, I don’t flinch.
For the first time in my life, I’m building something that lasts.