Chapter 17 #3
She lifted her own dagger, jaw tight, concentration furrowing her brow.
Fire flared instantly, too close to the steel, licking at its edge.
I stepped closer, placing a steady hand between her shoulder blades.
She jolted but didn’t pull away. “Straighten up. Breathe. Don’t force it, direct it.
You’re in control, not the fire.” Her eyes glowed faintly, the fire responding to the shift in her breath.
Slowly, shakily, the flame rose from the blade’s edge and swirled around it in a glowing halo instead of eating it alive.
Her lips parted in surprise, a smile breaking through. “I did it.”
“Good job,” I said, and for once I meant it. The words slipped out before I could think better of them.
She glanced back at me, her smile soft but tired. “Thanks, Aiden.” And gods help me, standing there with her fire curling steady around the blade, I felt for the first time since the bond, like maybe we weren’t always doomed to burn each other alive.
That evening, I stalked the halls of the academy, slipping between pools of candlelight and shadow.
No one noticed me. They never did when I didn’t want them to.
The bond with the Moon God had its advantages.
I slipped past the gates; my figure swallowed in black and disappeared into the tree line beyond.
The town just past the border of the grounds was silent, the streets still wet from yesterday’s storm.
The Arc. Familiar. Secluded. Barely still standing.
Just the way Derek liked it. I pushed inside.
The air reeked of old ale, damp wood, and smoke.
A few patrons slouched at the bar, heads low.
No one glanced up. Except him. Derek sat in the back booth, his honey eyes already locked on me.
He looked older than the last time I’d seen him, like the weight he carried had finally started to settle into his bones.
His short, sandy-brown hair brushed his brow, slightly unruly, and stubble framed the hard angles of his jaw.
A thin scar bisected his left eyebrow, a souvenir from some old training mishap, and his nose sat a little crooked from one too many blows.
He’d always had his father’s sharper features.
They suited him now. I slid into the booth across from him.
“You got anything for me?”
He nodded once and lifted his mug. “Something’s coming.”
“Something,” I echoed flatly, leaning in, arms resting on the scarred wood. “That’s not exactly helpful.”
He tilted his head. “It’s not exactly definable.” I waited. Finally, he leaned closer, voice barely audible. “The black magic being drawn from the Celetian Mountain… It’s growing. The people I trust say it’s not just corrupting magic anymore. It’s feeding on it. Warping it.”
My fingers drummed once against the table. “I’ve sensed it. It’s like a rot beneath the stone. My father’s been quiet about it, and when he’s quiet, it means he knows something he doesn’t want me to.”
Derek’s gaze darkened. “The High King’s been making moves, too.
Traveling to ancient places. Abandoned ruins.
A man I know intercepted part of a scroll pulled from a collapsed temple near the mountain.
” He reached into his coat, pulling out a folded scrap of yellowing parchment.
His eyes met mine as he handed it over. “This was written in the old tongue. Pre-Council. Barely anyone alive can even translate it.”
I scanned the jagged symbols etched in dark ink. “What does it say?”
Derek leaned forward, his voice like gravel underfoot. “When light forgets its name, and night no longer listens to the moon, the mountain will bleed shadow, and gods will fall like ash into the sea.” The air between us stilled. I read it again. Then again.
“You think it’s a prophecy?”
“I think it’s a warning,” he replied. “And one no one’s listening to.”
My pulse thudded in my ears. “You said the black magic is feeding. On what?”
“On us. On anything with power. The Fourfold. The gods. The bonds.” His voice dropped lower. “Some say the mountain was never a source of magic; it was a cage. And we’ve cracked it open.” The candle on the table sputtered, like it, too, was listening.
I sat back, exhaling slowly. “So what? You think something’s escaping?” He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Silence pulsed between us. The tavern sounds seemed distant now, as if we were sitting in the eye of something enormous and unseen.
After a while, Derek broke the stillness. “How’s my sister?”
I arched my brow. “She’s stubborn. Impossible to read.
Has a tendency to make reckless choices and nearly gets herself killed.
” He looked amused for a moment. But beneath it, something else.
Concern. Curiosity. Or maybe… recognition.
“But she’s catching on faster than I thought, she is surviving,” I added, watching him.
“Good. I’m glad she is doing well,” he replied, a smile twitching on his lips.
I’ve known Derek for a long time. His concern for his sister was understandable.
I stayed another hour, long enough to share intel, old jokes, and a few unspoken regrets.
But the longer I sat there, the heavier my chest felt.
Because something was moving in the dark.
And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t sure I could stop it.