The forest had gone too quiet.
Even the wind dared not whisper.
Aelira felt it before she saw it—something ancient uncoiling beneath the ground, brushing against her soul like a memory she hadn't earned. She stepped back from the old altar, her pulse pounding.
Kaeln felt it too. He drew his blade, the steel whispering out of its sheath like a warning.
"Something's here," he said, low.
"No," Aelira breathed. "Something woke up."
Behind them, the altar pulsed again, a wave of cold sweeping over the clearing. The ancient sigils etched into the stone began to twist, shifting in shape—forming not runes, but eyes.
Not drawn. Watching.
Kaeln grabbed her wrist. "We need to go."
But Aelira stood rooted.
She wasn't afraid.
Not of this.
Because whatever had awakened in the dark—it wasn't trying to kill her.
It was calling her home.
---
Back in the coven's sacred archives, Nessa stood before the cracked mirror in the Hall of Seers, her breath fogging its glassy surface.
She didn't know why she'd come here. Only that something had pulled her like a magnet.
The seers never allowed initiates into their chamber. But the doors had opened for her. On their own.
A whisper tickled her ears—soft, like a lover's secret.
> Look deeper.
She leaned closer. Her reflection shimmered… and then changed.
She gasped.
Not herself. Not quite.
It was her face—but older. Sharper. Her eyes glowed like twin moons. Hair braided with starlight. Magic laced through her veins like silver fire.
And behind her stood a man with antlers and hollow black eyes.
"Who—" she whispered, reaching out.
The reflection vanished. The mirror shattered.
---
Hours later, Vyra stood in the upper tower, speaking to a crow with broken wings.
"They've touched the altar," she said calmly. "It has begun."
The crow didn't reply.
She fed it a scrap of raw meat. "The fae stir. The bones remember. The Grimoire bleeds again."
She turned to the window, her gold eyes reflecting the crescent moon.
"Saelwyn is waking. And I am not ready."
---
Aelira and Kaeln made camp by the glade, but neither of them slept.
Kaeln kept watch while Aelira studied the Grimoire's newest changes.
"Some of these pages weren't here before," she said, fingers tracing the ink. "It's rewriting itself."
"That's impossible."
"It's remembering," she said, "just like I am."
She flipped to the newest page.
It showed a door of bone and obsidian, carved into a mountain she'd never seen. At the top, etched in jagged script: THE COURT OF DUST.
Kaeln paled. "That's a dark fae gate."
"I thought they were just legend."
"They were," he said. "Until we burned them out."
Aelira looked at him.
"Do you ever wonder," she said softly, "if what we burned… wasn't evil?"
Kaeln didn't answer.
---
Elsewhere in Bloodroot, unrest grew like mold.
Among the younger witches, rumors spread—of Nessa waking screaming, of Aelira vanishing and returning touched by death. Of marks glowing. Of visions no one dared name.
Some whispered it was Saelwyn returned.
Others said it was the end.
In the kitchens, in the training halls, in the quiet between candles—fear crept in.
The coven was no longer sure who the enemy was.
And Vyra could feel her grip slipping.
---
That night, Aelira dreamed of silver chains and thorn-covered crowns.
She stood at the edge of a forest made of bone and ash.
Something called to her.
And when she turned, she saw them.
Not witches. Not humans.
Fae.
Dark and ancient, cloaked in shadows, eyes glowing like stars.
One stepped forward, his voice a rustle of leaves.
"You are hers. You wear her fire. You carry her blood."
Aelira blinked. "Who are you?"
The fae knelt. "We are your court, my queen."
---
She woke with a gasp.
Kaeln crouched beside her, eyes wide.
"I tried to wake you," he said. "You were glowing."
Her fingers trembled. The sigil on her palm had bled into her wrist—no longer a mark.
A crown now bloomed across her skin.
Kaeln looked pale. "You're not just remembering."
She met his gaze, her voice like thunder wrapped in silk.
"I'm becoming."