Pain flares beneath my ribs, sudden and searing.
A summons. Burned into my skin like a brand.
I exhale sharply, already burying the part of me that wants to react. Wants torun. I have to be composed. Controlled. Exactly what they expect.
Stellan sighs. “And here we go.”
He steps back, his expression softening for just a breath.
“You know nothing about her,” he says. “Remember that.”
I don’t answer.
And then the Council takes me
The magic pulls me sideways through space, twisting light and shadow into a corridor of sound. And then I’m there.
The Chamber of Five is already in session.
The thrones encircle a shallow basin of mirrored stone, carved into the floor like a scar. Each seat is sculpted from the material of its wielder's domain—Elemental, carved of molten rock and ice-cracked crystal.Shifter, a throne of twisted roots that pulse like veins. Seer, moonglass streaked with fractures of time. Mentalist, polished steel that reflects nothing.
So gaudy it’s almost offensive. But of course the Mentalists would demand a seat that reflects nothing and still manages to scream importance.
My place, as always, is last in the circle. Set slightly back. Lower than the others. A block of matte black stone—unadorned, unpolished, utilitarian. It doesn’t glow or hum or shimmer. It just absorbs.
Like we do.
I sit without ceremony. Let them see how little I care for the theatrics they cling to.
Valdris is pacing, flames hissing softly beneath her boots. She never sits unless she’s about to burn something.
Nyx is draped sideways across her throne, all predator grace and performative boredom. She’s watching me without blinking. Never a good sign.
Eris leans forward, her silver eyes blank with prophecy. She doesn’t blink at all.
And Marcus, of course, is already staring at me like I’ve broken protocol just by existing.
“You’re late,” Valdris says, not even looking in my direction.
“I wasn’t invited,” I reply. “Just summoned.”
Nyx’s mouth quirks. “Still defensive, Feeder?”
“Still obsessed with me, Shifter?”
She smiles. Sharp and slow. She always does love it when I bite.
It’s easier for her to pretend she’s not circling when the others are in the room.
“Enough,” Marcus says. He doesn’t raise his voice. Doesn’t need to. His tone cuts through everything like frost.
“The surge,” Eris says, voice hollow, drifting. “It broke something. Time bent.”
“No,” Valdris snaps. “Not time. Power. It cracked open and screamed. That wasn’t elemental. Not even close.”
“It wasn’tanyof us,” Nyx says, pushing upright. “That was Scarborne. Pure. Unfiltered. Like it used to be.”
“So the line survived,” Marcus says. “Despite our efforts.”
