**Chapter 8: Threads of Fate and the Hollow Star**
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For the next three days, Seren felt like a cracked mirror—whole on the outside, but something inside her had shifted.
The mark on her hand had dimmed, yet it pulsed at strange moments—when she touched old books, when she dreamt too deeply, and worst of all, when Aether was nearby. It wasn't attraction. It was familiarity, like she'd brushed against something forgotten and buried in both of them.
And Aether… was watching her more closely than ever.
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That evening, she followed him.
She didn't know why—only that the mark on her palm flared as he passed her in the hallway, and something whispered: *Go.*
He moved through the Seminary's east wing, descending staircases that should have ended in archives. Instead, a wall slid open at his touch, revealing a stairwell spiraling down into black stone.
She crept after him, step by step, until the air grew heavy with something **old**—not just ancient, but forgotten by time itself.
Then, the stairwell opened into a massive chamber lit by flickering braziers that gave off no heat. At its center floated a black crystal in the shape of a star, slowly spinning.
Five figures in gray robes stood around it. They did not move. They did not breathe.
And Aether stood just beyond them, his back to her.
"I was wondering when you'd follow," he said without turning.
Seren froze. "You knew?"
"I hoped."
She stepped out of the shadows, slowly approaching. The room vibrated faintly, like a song on the edge of hearing.
"What is this place?"
"The Hollow Star," Aether said. "And they are Witnesses. They do not speak. They remember."
Seren's gaze shifted to the silent figures. Their robes shimmered like they weren't made of fabric at all—more like woven fog, shaped into the idea of people.
"And what do they remember?"
Aether's expression darkened. "The shape the world was **supposed** to take, before men and gods twisted it."
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He turned toward her now, and she saw the gleam of something impossible in his eyes—like he had seen behind the curtain of reality and returned with secrets too heavy to carry.
"You're changing," he said. "The mark has begun to reshape you."
She held up her hand. The faint silver glow traced itself in a perfect circle. "Because of the relic?"
"Because of what it **chose** to show you."
He reached into his cloak and pulled out a chain bearing a black pendant.
"This will hide the mark—for a while."
Seren took it, warily. "Why help me?"
Aether hesitated.
"Because I remember what it felt like. To be alone. To see the world cracking beneath your feet and no one believing you."
She didn't respond. Instead, she stared at the Hollow Star.
"Is this… a religion?"
He chuckled. "No. Religions ask for faith. This is older than faith. This is memory."
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Later, in her room, Seren stared into her mirror.
The pendant sat on her chest, pulsing in time with her heartbeat.
Then the glass **cracked**—not from the surface, but from within.
A second reflection appeared beside her own.
It wore her face. But the eyes were wrong—too deep. Too empty.
It smiled.
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Beneath the Seminary, Aether opened his grimoire.
A new sentence had etched itself onto the page in pale gold ink:
> "The mirror sees. The thread tightens. The echo walks."
He closed the book without emotion.
The Hollow Star pulsed once.
And the Witnesses lowered their heads.
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To be countinue...