Because the Council said my connection to the Veil is the strongest. Because apparently that makes me necessary. But I don’t exactly trust them to have my best interests in mind.
My boots rest on stone etched with symbols I don’t recognize, the runes glowing faintly beneath the frost. I keep my hands tucked into my sleeves, more for comfort than warmth, trying to remember the instructions that were explained to me only once, quickly, like they assumed I’d just…know what to do.
Around me, voices rise and fall in a language that isn’t mine. Chants layer over one another, precise and practiced. Everyone else seems grounded, certain, like this is just another tradition.
For me, it feels like being dropped into the center of a large city without a map. I focus on breathing. On staying still. On not drawing attention. And then something inside me shifts.
It’s not pain, not exactly; it’s more like pressure—an unfamiliar pull beneath my skin, as if something deep in my chest is waking up and stretching. My pulse stutters. The air around me feels suddenly tighter.
I glance down just as the rune nearest my boots brightens. Then another. A ripple of light spreads outward from where I stand, brighter than the rest of the circle, uneven and wrong. The chant falters—just a fraction—but I hear it. This is not supposed to be happening. I can feel it in my bones.
I lift my gaze to Nolan, who is across from me, and his eyes are wide and concerned. Before I can say anything, my magic flares.
Gasps ripple through the crowd. My heart slams against my ribs as the glow intensifies, answering something I don’t understand, reaching for a force I didn’t even know I could feel.
I don’t know what I’m doing.
I don’t know why this is happening.
All I know is that every eye in the courtyard is on me now—and whatever the Council thought they were placing at the center of this ritual…it’s more than they expected.
The light spikes again, bright enough that it makes my eyes water. I don’t know how to pull it back or even wherebackis.
The chant stumbles this time—audible now—and panic flares hot and fast in my chest. I try to step away from the glowing runes, but the stone beneath my boots hums, locking me in place as if the magic has teeth.
Then shadows move. Kael steps in behind me, close enough that his presence wraps around me. He settles at my back, firm and grounding, shadows curling forward to cradle my wrists andshoulders, absorbing the excess magic before it can spiral out of control.
“I’ve got you,” he says quietly, for me alone.
The pressure eases just enough that I can breathe.
Nolan steps forward. He doesn’t touch me at first. He just comes close, close enough that I can feel the calm focus rolling off him, hear him murmuring counter-phrases under his breath, adjusting the ritual’s rhythm aroundmeinstead of forcing me to bend to it.
“Just keep breathing, Lindsay,” he says softly. “The magic’s reacting. That’s all. Follow my voice.”
I cling to it. Then fur brushes my leg. Raiden. He’s shifted fully now, kitsune form moving with fluid grace as he presses into my side, a single tail curling protectively around my calf. His presence is grounding in a different way—ancient and fiercelymine.
I’m here, Little Fire, he says in my mind.We are all here, you’re safe.
My breath steadies on his words. The flare dims, and I feel as though I’m starting to gain some kind of control.
I finally risk lifting my head.
Dorian stands just beyond the inner ring, hands clasped loosely behind his back, expression unreadable. He’s watching closely, but he doesn’t step forward or interfere. I’m not sure he’s allowed to break the circle honestly.
Across the circle, I see Auron. For just a heartbeat, his composure cracks. He takes a single step toward me. A hand lands on his shoulder, stopping him. His father.
The grip is firm and unyielding. Auron freezes, jaw tightening as his gaze flicks from me to the hand restraining him, something cold and furious flashing through his eyes before it disappears behind polished control.
I’m not alone. It’s the single thought I have before I hear the voice that’s been calling me from the other side of the veil for over a week.
“My child…”
My heart slams so hard it steals my breath. The sound isn’t loud—not really—but it resonates inside my bones, familiar in a way that makes my chest ache. I gasp and instinctively push magic into the wards, feeding the ritual, strengthening the barrier between worlds.
The Veil shudders.
“Let me free,” the voice croons, warm and patient. “You already know how.”
