The voice comes from everywhere and nowhere—smooth, laced with shadow. My pulse kicks hard against my ribs.
Wes and Gray close in immediately, flanking me without a word.
The Oath Chamber spreads before us, alive with motion. Dozens of Feeders move through the space, their footsteps quiet against stone traced with glowing Ether veins. The air hums with layered voices—oaths spoken low, power acknowledged, bonds forming one after another.
The mist rises around them like breath made visible.
But near the back wall, away from the flow, someone waits.
Nyx.
She’s paler than I remember. Frayed at the edges. Her shadows hang thin and weak around her shoulders.
I force myself forward. The crowd seems to part without meaning to, magic sensing the tension coiling between us.
“You didn’t hold up your end of the bargain,” I say.
Her mouth curves—not quite a smile. “Didn’t need to. You found your way in without me.”
Her tone is casual, but her eyes are tired. Haunted.
I stop a few feet away. Close enough to see the exhaustion carved into her face. “Then why are you here?”
Her gaze flicks past me, toward the veins of Ether winding across the floor, toward the Feeders stepping up to take their Oaths one by one.
“You think this will protect them?” she asks quietly.
“It already is.”
She shakes her head. “Not from him.”
Wes bristles beside me. “Him?”
Nyx’s attention shifts back to me, something sharp and knowing flickering in her expression. “Ethos.”
My breath catches. “What are you saying?”
Her voice drops, softer now. “He’s coming—and thanks to you, it seems he’s learned to feed on other types of magic. On them.”
Gray’s growl rumbles low in his chest. “You brought him here?”
“He doesn’t need to be brought.” Nyx’s smile is thin, bitter. “He follows the Source.”
The words settle like stones in my stomach.
“You came to warn me,” I say.
“I came because I don’t want to die when he arrives.”
Silence stretches between us. The mist curls tighter around my ankles, mirroring the tension crawling up my spine.
I study her—the way she holds herself, the exhaustion in her posture, the desperation she’s trying to hide.
“You still want the Oath,” I say.
“It’s the only thing keeping me alive.”
I glance at Wes, then Gray. Neither speaks, but I feel their silent question:Are you sure?
