The halls of Bloodroot had never felt this silent. Even the flames in the sconces along the stone corridors flickered warily, as if sensing a storm gathering within the coven's walls. Shadows seemed to stretch longer now, whispers carried farther, and eyes lingered a moment too long. Something was unraveling.
And Nessa could feel it in her bones.
She sat in the library alone, a thick book opened before her but long forgotten. Her fingers tapped anxiously against the worn table as she stared into the firelight. Her thoughts circled like wolves — around Aelira, around Vyra, and around the things she wasn't supposed to know.
There was something wrong with Aelira. Not in a dangerous way, not exactly — but in the way her presence made the hairs on Nessa's arms rise. In the way her voice sometimes echoed as if layered over someone else's. In the way magic sparked around her even when she wasn't casting.
And in the way she looked at Kaeln.
Nessa's lips twisted in a tight frown. It wasn't jealousy, exactly. It was suspicion. Fear.
What if Aelira isn't who she thinks she is?
She remembered the moment the mark appeared on Aelira's skin. The flicker of something ancient in her eyes. The way Kaeln had pulled her into the shadows, shielding her like a secret.
And now, rumors spread like mold between stone cracks.
Whispers of hidden grimoires. Of forbidden magic awakening.
Of Saelwyn.
Nessa closed the book and stood, pacing the room. The other witches had started watching her differently. Not quite with fear, not yet. But with expectation. As if she were somehow part of something larger — a prophecy or a plan she didn't understand.
Mother Vyra's voice echoed in her memory:
"She is not the one... but she is close."
Close to what? Close to power? Close to danger?
Nessa shook her head. She had come to Bloodroot for belonging. For purpose. She had admired Aelira — adored her strength, her quiet brilliance. But now... she wasn't sure what she was standing beside. A friend? Or a fire?
The door creaked open behind her.
Aelira.
Her cloak dusted with ash, her expression unreadable. But her eyes burned — with purpose, with something more.
Nessa straightened. "You went into the tunnels, didn't you?"
Aelira didn't deny it.
"There's a book," she said softly. "A grimoire. Saelwyn's."
Nessa's heart pounded. "Why do you care about her so much?"
Aelira stepped closer. "Because I was her."
The room fell still.
Nessa stared at her. "You—what?"
Aelira's voice didn't waver. "She's not just a myth, Nessa. She lived. She was burned. She came back."
"And you're saying... that's you?"
"I didn't believe it either," Aelira whispered. "But the dreams, the magic, the mark — they weren't dreams. They were memories. And now Vyra knows."
Nessa's knees weakened. "Then we're all in danger."
"No," Aelira said. "Just me. Unless you stay away."
But Nessa stepped forward.
"I won't leave you."
"You might have to."
A sound snapped their attention — the window flung open by a gust of unnatural wind. Papers scattered across the floor, and in the silence that followed, a voice hummed through the air. Not loud. Not human.
"The blood remembers. The ashes awaken."
Aelira and Nessa locked eyes.
The storm was coming.
And they were standing at the edge of its eye.
---
In another wing of Bloodroot, the senior witches gathered — those too experienced to be fooled, and too frightened to speak aloud. Names were whispered: Saelwyn. Kaeln. Aelira.
One younger witch, Maire, whispered to her sisters in the dark:
"I saw the mark myself. On her palm. It pulsed when she touched the old ward-stones."
"Vyra knows," another muttered. "She's preparing something."
"What if the prophecy is real?"
"What if Saelwyn wasn't the villain?"
Silence followed. And then a voice — older, tired — said:
"Then we've been killing the wrong witch all along."
---
Back in the library, Nessa placed a trembling hand over Aelira's.
"If you're Saelwyn," she said quietly, "then I was the child you saved."
Aelira's breath caught.
Nessa smiled sadly. "I remembered it... when you touched the book."
Aelira's voice broke. "Then you've always been meant to find me."
And outside, lightning flashed.
The storm had arrived.
And so had fate.