Eighteen #3
I glance up. The Overseers are here—three of them, spaced in a triangle before me.
But they are wrong, too. Their forms shimmer, the edges broken by rippling light.
For the first time, they appear solid. I think I see an eye through the cracked glass of their masks.
They, too, are caught in a cycle, shifting back and forth between substance and spirit.
Each time the loop runs, they appear inches closer, converging on us. On me.
The air in my lungs turns to ice as Morwen’s body shudders, then relaxes. The blue returns to her eyes, and she wipes her bloody palm on a cloth napkin as if nothing has happened. The cut is already healed. She blinks at me, confused, as if waking from a dream.
Then, all at once, the Overseers unfreeze.
They glide towards me, and the hall recoils instinctively, backing away, chairs scraping. All except Kael. He rises from his chair, stepping towards me. But the Overseers don’t see him—they only see me.
The closest one stops a foot from my face. Its mask ripples. I see my own face in it—but it’s all wrong. The features are warped, mouth stretched wide, eyes too large. The hum of its presence is a physical pain in my skull, making my teeth ache.
It speaks, but not with its own voice. The sound is the ancient, booming voice of the Mother Shard, inside my head and in my ears, stripped of all kindness: “You are tipping the balance.”
I stare at it, unable to move.
Kael doesn’t move any further. He waits, fury leashed in his eyes, ready to strike at the first sign of movement.
“Play your part, my Champion,” she says, softer. “Nothing more.”
The Overseers withdraw, returning to their wandering. The room relaxes, the Fireborn sinking back into their seats, the Shadowborn and Marissa returning to theirs. Kael comes straight to my side.
I sit there, numb, with no idea what I am or what I’ve done.
I think about Morwen’s blood message: The deep calls. A fracture comes again. Seek truth. Come to the shadow.
I want to ask an Overseer what it means, but they only speak in riddles.
Kael is speaking to me, but the words don’t reach me.
The world won’t settle.
“I have to go,” I say, though it’s aimed at everyone and no one.
Kael shakes his head, his eyes flicking across my face, panic breaking through.
I get up and head for the door without another word.
I leave the hall with Morwen’s words burned into my skull, and the awful sense that something has already claimed me.
I don’t want to go back to my room, but there’s nowhere else to go. The Embrace is a spiral of corridors with only one destination: isolation.
I close the door behind me, careful not to let it click too loudly.
Every sound hits too hard—white-hot, splitting behind my eyes.
The golden veins on the floor and ceiling seem dulled, as if the Embrace is dimming with me.
I collapse onto the bed, not bothering to undress.
I press my face to the pillow, trying to suffocate Morwen’s prophecy inside my skull.
I am bone-tired, but my nerves won’t release me. I lie on my back, watching the cracks above, counting the seconds between the dull pulses, willing myself to stop thinking.
When the knock comes, I almost don’t answer.
Kael stands in the doorway, backlit by the harsher corridor light. He hesitates, as if he expects to be turned away. I’m not convinced he would leave, even if I refused him. Am I terrible to think of him like that?
I sit up, pulling my knees to my chest.
He enters, closing the door behind him and latching it.
“You didn’t come,” I say, the accusation leaping from my tongue, sharp and unbidden. “After the trial.”
Kael’s jaw tightens. “I wanted to. Nyxen and Vaelis cornered me. They... think you’re dangerous.”
He sits on the edge of the bed, his back to me.
“I’m dangerous?” I say, stunned. “I’m nothing.”
He turns, eyes fierce. “You don’t see what I see.” He lifts his hand, then lets it fall. “You’re not a game to me.”
I want to ask what he means, but I’m afraid of the answer.
He leans in until his face is inches from mine. “I want you,” he says, soft but brutal.
It lands wrong. Too deep. Too close to something I don’t want to name.
My breath stutters. My hands twist in my lap. “I... don’t like being held down,” I whisper.
He stills completely. Then nods—no questions, no hesitation. “Okay.”
He moves slowly, every gesture deliberate.
He undoes the collar of his shirt, pulling it off over his head. The inky black of his tattoos coils down his arms, sharp and alive. The scars on his ribs are pale and raised. I bite my lip, resisting the urge to reach out and trace them.
He reaches for the hem of my shirt but pauses.
I nod, letting him.
He pulls it over my head, careful, like he might break me. He runs a thumb over the old scar on my torso before turning me, his fingers following the jagged line of a scar that wraps around my ribs and onto my back. I wince. I want to be invisible again.
His mouth goes tight with anger. “Someone hurt you,” he says.
I nod, the tiniest movement. “Many someones.”
He is gentle. He presses his lips to the base of my neck, trailing down my spine with reverence. His hands cup my waist, strong but never tightening.
I turn to face him. He lets me lead, lets me touch him. I run my hand over the tattoos on his chest. The black is so dark it seems to vibrate, and the skin beneath is warm, almost feverish. I want to lose myself in him.
He lets out a shaky breath. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”
I nod. “I want this. I want you.”
He smiles—truly, for the first time. It makes my chest ache in a way I don’t trust.
We take our time, exploring. Our hands are cautious, learning the shapes of each other, our scars and their untold stories. When his lips press to mine, it is not with force, but with need. We kiss until my head spins, until fear loosens its grip.
We undress, piece by piece, until nothing separates us.
He guides me down, but leaves the choice in my hands. He hovers, letting me decide how far, how close.
I wrap my arms around him, pulling him against me.
He grinds his hips into mine, and I moan.
He is hard against me, and so am I. I stop knowing which of us is which.
His hand slips between us, and the world narrows to the heat of it—mine, his, impossible to separate.
It isn’t about control or pain. It’s about release.
About not being alone, just for a few minutes.
He builds the rhythm until I can’t think around it, the warmth of his touch overwhelming as he strokes us both. The friction pulls something sharp and bright out of me.
I don’t feel afraid. Not once.
I come first, shuddering, gasping into his neck. He follows a moment later, jaw clenched, sweat slick on his chest.
After, he gathers me up, holding me close. We lie tangled on the sheets, not talking, just breathing. Our heartbeats slow until they find a matching pace.
I feel it before I see it—a flicker of light, seeping from my skin into his, a gold vein travelling up his arm towards his heart. He stiffens, then laughs, low and amazed.
“What was that?” he asks.
I shake my head, too spent to care.
He kisses my hair. “You shouldn’t be able to do that to me.”
We lie like that for a long time, neither of us willing to break the moment.
Eventually, he tries to get up. I grab his wrist before courage can leave me.
“Stay,” I whisper. “I know I won’t wake up with you. But I want to fall asleep beside you.”
He nods, settling back against the pillow as he wraps his arms around me and buries his face in my hair.
We drift off together, not as Offerings—just us.
I know it can’t last.
But for tonight, it is enough.