The old stones of the watchtower felt cold and wet, heavy with memories. Liora sat against the wall, knees pulled close, still holding the ring. It pulsed gently against her skin. The heat had faded, but it left a strange feeling, like invisible fingers brushing under her ribs. The silence between them was thick. Tomas paced across the cracked floor, glancing often at the shuttered window. Ysolde sat near the hearth, staring at the empty fireplace.
No one lit a fire. Not yet.
"The vapor hasn't lifted," Tomas finally said.
"It won't," Ysolde replied, her voice hollow. "Not until the Veil closes. And that's still far off."
Liora looked at her grandmother. The woman was not the one she remembered. Ysolde's once bright auburn hair was streaked with silver and tied in a loose braid. Her skin looked thin and stretched over sharp bones. Her eyes, once warm, were now too wide, too knowing. Too broken.
"You should have told me," Liora said quietly. "About Alwen. About me."
"We thought we were protecting you," Ysolde said, lips tight.
"You weren't," Liora said, her voice trembling with hurt. "You were waiting for me to become something you could use. Not someone you could love or protect but a tool. A key to unlock whatever ancient door you were too afraid to face alone. You watched me grow, pretending it was for my safety, but all along you were just counting down the days. You needed me powerful, not whole. And now that I am, you don't even see me. You see the magic."
"No," Ysolde said quickly, her voice tight with emotion. "We were waiting for the signs. Hoping they wouldn't come. Every day, we prayed that you'd be spared from this fate that the bloodline would fade, that you'd live a quiet, untouched life. We didn't want this for you, Liora. Not the weight, not the danger. We feared what it would mean if the signs returned. So we stayed silent, hoping against hope that we could change what was already written in your bones."
"Well, they've come," Liora said, rising to her feet as the blood roared in her ears like a storm, her hands trembled at her sides, clenched into fists, and her voice wavered between anger and pain. "All the signs you feared every omen you prayed to avoid they're here, and they're in me. You can't hide from it anymore. I'm not a child you can shelter with secrets. I'm the one it's calling, and now I have to face what you wouldn't."
"Ysolde stood too. "And now we do what must be done."
Tomas stepped between them. "Stop. Both of you." He looked at Liora. "What does the ring mean? You said it's alive?"
"It's not alive like a person," Liora said. "But it feels me. Like it's tied to whatever is behind the Veil. It burns when they're close."
Ysolde nodded. "That ring was made from the last drop of your grandmother's magic. She sealed it in iron, bound it with a bloodmark. It reacts to the Veil because it was made to fight it."
"And now it's waking," Liora said.
"Yes," Ysolde answered, her voice low and steady. "Which means the Veil is thinning faster than we thought faster than we hoped it ever would. What was once sealed away is now stirring, and the world is no longer safe behind its barrier. The balance is breaking, Liora. The warnings we dismissed, the omens we downplayed they were real. And if we don't act quickly, the things beyond the Veil will cross through."
"Why me?" Liora asked, her throat tight.
Ysolde didn't answer right away. She reached into her satchel and pulled out a folded piece of old parchment. She unfolded it to show a blackened sigil, burned into the paper. The lines twisted into a strange symbol that made Liora uneasy.
"What is that?"
"A burnt sigil," Ysolde said, laying it on the floor with care, as if the parchment still carried danger. "A spell that should never have been used never even whispered aloud. It's ancient and forbidden, the kind of magic that demands a price no one should pay. It binds not just power, but pieces of the soul. Once cast, it leaves a mark that lingers, long after the fire dies."
Tomas crouched beside it, frowning. "It looks familiar."
"It should," Ysolde said. "It was burned into the door of the old temple. The one your people sealed long ago."
Liora knelt next to it, her fingers hovering above the scorched edges. "What does it do?"
"It binds," Ysolde said. "And it brands. Whoever casts it ties part of themselves into it their blood, their soul. It was used to hold back things that don't belong in this world. Alwen used it once to seal the gate after it cracked."
"But it failed," Liora said.
"She wasn't strong enough," Ysolde replied. "Or maybe it was never meant to last."
The vapor pressed harder against the window. The room grew colder, as if something unseen had taken notice of them.
Tomas stood, uneasy. "So what now? Wait here while the shadows hunt us?"
"No," Ysolde said. "We return to Elderwood."
Liora's heart skipped. "But they said it's not safe."
"It isn't," Ysolde said. "But running is worse. That sigil must be burned again by the one who carries the mark."
Liora's hand moved to the ring. Me.?
"Yes," Ysolde said. "You."
"You want her to go into that place?" Tomas said, fists clenched. "Alone?"
"She won't be alone," Ysolde said. "I'll go with her."
"I will too," Tomas said.
Ysolde didn't argue. She just nodded.
Before dawn, they slipped through the forest, carrying only the ring, the sigil, and the cold wind. The vapor curled around Liora like it knew her, whispering nonsense in familiar voices. She tried not to listen, but one voice stuck.
You are opening
She shivered.
Elderwood came into view like a memory sharp, painful, half forgotten. The houses were silent, windows dark, as if the village was holding its breath. The council hall stood in the center, its door still slightly open from the night before. The wind carried a strange scent ash, herbs, and something foul.
They stepped inside, the floor was covered with broken charms and scorched runes. Some glowed faintly like dying embers. Others wept thick, tar-like sludge that smelled of rot. The walls bore deep claw marks, wild and angry. Dried blood stained the corners like forgotten prayers. The air was thick with sour magic, pressing on their skin like invisible hands. At the far end, under a shattered stained-glass window, was the sigil carved in darkness, still smoking, and hungry.
Not the paper.
The real one.
It was carved deep into the stone. Faint red light pulsed from it. Its edges twitched slightly, like it was alive. Heat came from it, smelling of burnt flesh and old blood. The symbols inside had changed shaped into things not meant for human eyes. Whispers rose from it, brushing their minds like cold breath. Liora staggered back. This wasn't just a seal. It was a warning. Something beneath it was listening.
She stepped closer.
The ring grew warm.
"Place the burnt sigil here," Ysolde said.
Liora did. The paper flared with golden fire but didn't burn. It floated above the carved mark, glowing. The room held its breath. Shadows danced strangely on the walls moving even when she stood still. A low hum came from the sigil. The stone cracked with a sharp sound. The golden light grew brighter. Tomas and Ysolde shielded their eyes, but Liora couldn't look away.
Something was forming inside the light. A figure. And it knew her name.
Ysolde moved her hands, drawing signs in the air and chanting in the old tongue.
The hall shook.
Vapor seeped through the cracks in the stone.
The shadows arrived.
They stepped from the corners of the hall tall and thin, faces wrong, limbs bending like broken branches. Tomas drew his blade and stood before Liora.
"You have to finish the spell!" Ysolde shouted.
"I don't know the words!" Liora cried.
"You don't need them," Ysolde said. "You are the word. Say your name."
"What?" Liora blinked.
"Your true name," Ysolde said. "The name bound in blood."
"I don't know it."
"Yes, you do. You've always known it."
The ring pulsed. The creatures shrieked.
Tomas slashed one it bled smoke.
Liora stepped forward. The sigil rose like a sun before her.
And from deep inside, a name came.
Not the one people called her.
Not the one in records.
A name that tasted of ash and stars.
"I am Liora of the First Flame," she whispered. "Daughter of the Veil's end. Blood of Alwen. Blood of Ysolde. Blood of"
The name stuck on her tongue.
But the power heard it.
The sigil exploded in light. The creatures flew backward. The stone cracked. The ring broke open, spilling golden light like molten dawn.
The shadows screamed.
And one voice cut through them.
"Liora."
She turned at the back of the hall, caught between light and shadow, stood Alwen.
Her grandmother Ysolde. Her gate. Her jail.
But something was wrong.
Her face twisted in pain.
Her voice shook. "It's not over."
The sigil pulsed one last time.Then shattered. Light filled everything.
And Liora was falling.