45. Bree
Bree
“Hello, Bree.”
I stop mid-step.
The voice comes from everywhere and nowhere—smooth, laced with shadow. My pulse kicks hard against my ribs.
Wes and Gray close in immediately, flanking me without a word.
The Oath Chamber spreads before us, alive with motion. Dozens of Feeders move through the space, their footsteps quiet against stone traced with glowing Ether veins. The air hums with layered voices—oaths spoken low, power acknowledged, bonds forming one after another.
The mist rises around them like breath made visible.
But near the back wall, away from the flow, someone waits.
Nyx.
She’s paler than I remember. Frayed at the edges. Her shadows hang thin and weak around her shoulders.
I force myself forward. The crowd seems to part without meaning to, magic sensing the tension coiling between us.
“You didn’t hold up your end of the bargain,” I say.
Her mouth curves—not quite a smile. “Didn’t need to. You found your way in without me.”
Her tone is casual, but her eyes are tired. Haunted.
I stop a few feet away. Close enough to see the exhaustion carved into her face. “Then why are you here? ”
Her gaze flicks past me, toward the veins of Ether winding across the floor, toward the Feeders stepping up to take their Oaths one by one.
“You think this will protect them?” she asks quietly.
“It already is.”
She shakes her head. “Not from him.”
Wes bristles beside me. “Him?”
Nyx’s attention shifts back to me, something sharp and knowing flickering in her expression. “Ethos.”
My breath catches. “What are you saying?”
Her voice drops, softer now. “He’s coming—and thanks to you, it seems he’s learned to feed on other types of magic. On them.”
Gray’s growl rumbles low in his chest. “You brought him here?”
“He doesn’t need to be brought.” Nyx’s smile is thin, bitter. “He follows the Source.”
The words settle like stones in my stomach.
“You came to warn me,” I say.
“I came because I don’t want to die when he arrives.”
Silence stretches between us. The mist curls tighter around my ankles, mirroring the tension crawling up my spine.
I study her—the way she holds herself, the exhaustion in her posture, the desperation she’s trying to hide.
“You still want the Oath,” I say.
“It’s the only thing keeping me alive.”
I glance at Wes, then Gray. Neither speaks, but I feel their silent question: Are you sure?
I’m not .
But I gesture toward a quiet corner anyway, away from the main flow of Feeders. Wes and Gray follow as I lead Nyx to the edge of the chamber where the light dims.
The Ether rises without me calling it, wrapping both of us in silver-white.
I speak the words—the invocation I’ll say dozens of times today. My voice is steady, certain.
Nyx repeats them, her tone trembling but clear.
For an instant, the circle holds. Light flares between us, bright and sharp.
Then it snaps.
The connection fractures into static sparks that fade as quickly as they appeared.
I stagger. Wes catches my elbow.
Nyx crumples to one knee, gasping.
“It won’t take you,” I say quietly.
She looks up at me, something breaking behind her eyes. “Then it’s already over.”
Wes takes a step forward. “Bree—”
I shake my head. “No.”
I don’t know why I do it. Maybe because I see myself in her—the desperation, the fear of being cast out, the ache of not belonging.
Maybe because mercy costs me nothing here.
I call the raven.
Shadow forms feathers mid-air, solidifying into wings and talons. It lands on my shoulder, tilts its head, then hops to Nyx’s shoulder.
She stares at it, wary. “What are you doing?”
“You wanted to be seen,” I say. “You are. ”
I channel a soft pulse of Ether through the raven. The chamber glows faintly, light rippling outward through the veins on the floor. The Feeders nearby pause, heads bowing instinctively.
The raven dissolves into nothing, leaving behind a single silver-black feather in Nyx’s palm.
“It’s yours now,” I say. “Not as mine—but as proof you were forgiven.”
Nyx stares at the feather like she doesn’t know how to hold it.
“He’ll come for you first,” she whispers.
“Let him.”
She backs away slowly, toward the archway. The light around her dims as she moves.
Feeders pause their work, watching silently as she vanishes into the outer mist.
Her last words echo faintly: “You don’t know what he’s become.”
Then she’s gone.
The chamber feels heavier now. The light subdued but steady. The gathered Feeders begin moving again, quietly resuming their Oaths as if nothing happened.
I exhale shakily. Wes steadies me with a hand on my back. Gray keeps his eyes on the archway, watching the space where Nyx disappeared.
“We keep going,” I say. “Every one of them through before nightfall.”
Gray nods once. “We will.”
The Ether veins flare suddenly—bright enough to sting my eyes—then pulse in rhythm with my heartbeat.
I turn toward the nearest Feeder, ready to help them through it .
Nyx’s warning echoes in my head: You don’t know what he’s become.
“He’s coming,” I say quietly. “Sooner than we think.”
Outside, thunder rolls again—the first heartbeat of the storm.