"That was five minutes ago. Where does your mind go, Aria?" She leaned closer, voice dropping to barely a whisper."Sometimes I think you're not really here at all. Like part of you is always somewhere else, somewhere the rest of us can't follow."
The truth of it stung. I was always partially elsewhere, tethered to the Gate even when I wasn't standing before it. But this morning, that tether felt different. Charged. Like holding a chain that had suddenly become a live wire.
"I'm here," I lied.
"No, you're not." Her hand covered mine briefly, a touch that would earn her penance if anyone saw. "You haven't been here since your mother died."
The bread turned to ash in my mouth.
"That's not?—"
"Five minutes are up," Natalia's voice cut through the hall like a blade. She stood at the high table, watching us with those cold grey eyes.
Ellie pulled her hand back, but not before squeezing gently. "Evening kitchen duty," she said louder. "I'll have the inventory ready."
I stood, legs steady through will alone. The walk to the high table felt like approaching an executioner's block. Every Keeper I passed bowed their head, murmuring the traditional greeting: "By blood and binding."
The words had never felt more like a curse.
I took my assigned seat between Natalia and Master Theron, the old archivist already lost in whatever text he'd smuggled to breakfast despite regulations against reading during meals. His fingers traced lines of text only he could see, lips moving in silent conversation with long-dead scholars.
"The meditation schedule has been posted," Natalia announced to the table at large, though her words were meant for me. "All Keepers will observe extended practice in preparation for the autumn ceremonies."
Autumn ceremonies. Another bleeding. Another binding. Another link in the chain that held us all.
I ate without tasting, drank without thirst. Around me, the senior Keepers discussed schedules and supplies, protocols and preparations. Master Theron muttered about manuscript preservation. Brother Francis predicted doom in seventeen different ways. Sister Margaret complained about the younger Keepers' lax discipline.
And beneath it all, like a bass note too low to properly hear, I felt it.
The Gate. Pulsing. Calling. Not with its usual patient hunger, but with something else. Something that felt almost like...
Recognition.
My spoon clattered against my bowl. Every eye at the high table turned to me.
"Apologies," I managed. "The morning ritual was... taxing."
Natalia's eyes narrowed. "Perhaps you require rest before meditations."
"No." The word came too quick, too sharp. "I mean, I'm quite well, High Keeper. Simply adjusting to the extended practices."
"See that you do adjust." She turned back to her meal, dismissing me without dismissing me, leaving me trapped at the table like a specimen pinned for display.
The rest of breakfast passed in a haze. When the bell finally rang for morning duties, I nearly fled. Nearly. Instead, I rose with practiced grace, bowed to the high table, and walked from the hall with measured steps.
The corridor outside was blessedly empty. I pressed my back against the cold stone wall, letting its chill seep through my robes. My bandaged hand throbbed in time with my heartbeat, and beneath the linen, I could feel something wrong.
The cut should have been healing. Our bloodline always healed quickly, ready for the next bleeding. But when I carefully unwound the bandage, the wound was still fresh. Still open.
And at its edges, thin lines of gold spread beneath my skin like cracks in porcelain.
"Aria?"
I spun, yanking my sleeve down to hide my hand. Master Theron stood in the corridor, those watery blue eyes magnified behind thick spectacles.
"Master Theron. I didn't hear you approach."
"Old men learn to walk quietly in places like this." He studied me with an intensity that belied his absent-minded reputation. "You seemed troubled at breakfast."
