Chapter 15 Promises and Prophecy #2
Her brow furrows. “You mean you don’t have the mate marking?” Her eyes cut to me. “Brielle wasn’t here or of age when the last eclipse happened, but that,” she points at Griffin’s exposed forearm, “supersedes any marking.”
“We don’t have a Mate. Period,” Lochlan swipes his hand across his phone. Words suddenly appear like a holographic projection across the wall.
“In the age of dusk and dawn, when the realms align, shall be born five guardians, each bestowed with the might of the elements. Born under stars of fate, they will bear the strength of all, yet each will command one above the rest—fire’s fury, ground’s steadfastness, water’s grace, air’s freedom, and soul’s depth.
These guardians shall protect the lands of Bryxton, wielding their gifts to uphold balance and peace. Their powers unmatched, their hearts steadfast, they shall stand as shields against the encroaching darkness. Their Vestra a true and eternal seal.
But woven into the tapestry of their destiny lies a shadow of sorrow. For the elements they command, the balance they preserve demands a sacrifice. Their hearts shall beat, but never feel, for their unity must remain unbroken by a Mate’s allure.”
I read it twice and then a third time, before shaking my head. “What is this?”
“Our prophecy,” Holden says.
That ache in my chest becomes a gnawing sensation as Kai catches my eye. He’s silent, watching me. Watching my reactions. Watching me spiral.
I try to make him see my utter indifference.
Scarlet turns to me, worry etched across her brow. “Then how did the imprint…?”
“That’s what we want to know,” Lochlan says.
Griffin shakes his head. “Prophecies have been wrong before.”
“No, they’ve been misinterpreted,” Holden corrects him. “And we’ve debated what most of it means but have always known what that final line translates to.”
Their hearts shall beat, but never feel, for their unity must remain unbroken by a Mate’s allure.
It’s undisputedly the clearest part of the prophecy.
Scarlet brackets her head with both hands as she stares at the words, looking confounded, while I feel utterly lost and slightly relieved to understand why Lochlan viscerally hates me.
“Clearly we didn’t interpret it correctly,” Daire says. “Like Griffin told you, we can sense her. Feel her. Know where she is. This isn’t some imitation bullshit. It’s a bond.”
“Bullshit. I have a rune on my fucking chest that tells me wherever the hell you are,” Lochlan argues.
“But if she isn’t your Mate, is she a Veilbreaker…?” Scarlet glances at me, and I catch the flicker of wariness in her eyes as her entire body bows ever so slightly away from mine.
A familiar sting rises in my chest.
“No,” Griffin grinds out.
“Veilbreakers aren’t our only enemy,” Kai says.
Scarlet shakes her head. “That… It doesn’t make sense.” Her words sound like a plea. Like a question.
“She may not even know that she’s being used as a pawn,” Holden says. “She could be an innocent in this, which is why we’re treading carefully. We need to find out who did this so we can find out what in the hell their motive is.”
The idea of being someone else’s weapon twists something deep in my chest while simultaneously making me want to laugh out loud. Me. A traitor? A pawn?
Yet I can feel how easily that lie could be spun into a web to not look only plausible, but true.
I don’t understand the rules of Bryxton yet.
I don’t understand elements, or the prophecy, or why five men who barely know me are suddenly divided over what I might become.
But I do understand that ignorance is dangerous.
And if I don’t survive long enough to learn what I am, someone else will decide it for me.
“The Council already knows about our prophecy,” Griffin says, his blue eyes pleading with me to understand. “Which is why we had to cover the imprint and why you can’t tell anyone. Not until we know what’s going on.”
Questions crowd on my tongue, but the tension in the room holds me silent. I know from experience that once someone fears you, it’s usually too late.
“Which is why you got dragged into this.” Lochlan looks at Scarlet. “Either you have some special shield or… someone wanted to involve you.”
It takes me a full second to process his accusation.
“Me? I would never!” I face Scarlet, fearing she assumes the same.
She stares at me, expression unreadable.
“I don’t even know what a shield is, much less how to make one,” I insist.
“What if someone altered our prophecy?” Daire asks.
Scarlet shakes her head at the same time Holden says, “No.”
“They’re spelled,” Scarlet says. “If someone tries to alter or add any ink, the individual would be cursed, and their sigil would be left.”
“Does everyone have a prophecy?” The question leaves me before I can remember my role to be silent.
They share a look before Holden clears his throat. “No.”
“This evening, we have some Vestra business we need to address.” Lochlan’s words might be cutting if I hadn’t already mentally withdrawn from the conversation. From the possibility that I mean anything to them, or they mean anything to me.
“We’re not leaving shit like this,” Griffin says, stepping forward. “Maybe this isn’t about us. Maybe we were wrong.”
Lochlan gives him a scathing look.
“I’ve studied Soul Mate bonds extensively. They’re not something that can be faked or forced through magic. Regardless of what the prophecy means, or if it’s yours, the imprint is real. You saw how Griffin reacted at the healing center.”
No one speaks.
Gwen crosses to me, offering a cup of steaming tea. “I’ve lived a long time and have seen and heard of prophecies fulfilled in ways no one anticipated. Words can sound precise and still have endless interpretations.”
Lochlan scoffs.
She eyes him with one raised brow, as though daring him to argue.
To my surprise, he doesn’t.
“Right now, it doesn’t matter what the prophecy means,” Kai says. “What matters is what everyone believes it means. If the council perceives her as a threat, they won’t wait and ask questions.”
Griffin’s shoulders go rigid.
“Exactly,” Holden says, “And this is why we need more time to figure out what in the hell’s going on and how to proceed.”
I’ve seen this pattern before.
Fear dressed up as caution. Silence mistaken for safety. Decisions made about you instead of with you.
My gaze drifts from the prophecy to the men arguing beneath it, arguing over what I might disrupt.
I swallow hard and straighten my spine.
If this place is going to turn me into a problem, then I need to understand the rules before they use them against me.
I won’t survive Bryxton by being harmless.
I’ll survive it by making sure no one decides who or what I am before I do.