The strike came with no warning.
One moment, Esmé was tracing symbols in silver chalk across the library's stone floor, her fingers steady, breath deep, mind tuned to the pulse of the Veil. Luca stood beside her, watching with quiet intensity as she formed the ancient sigil of Preservation, meant to reinforce boundaries between worlds.
The next moment—silence shattered.
Not a scream.
Not a spell.
A soundless rupture. Like the air itself had been torn.
The candles flared and died.
The torches on the walls hissed out in a blink.
And then came the cold.
A pulse of pressure slammed through the room, cracking two of the pillars near the arched window and sending shards of stained glass raining to the floor.
Luca reacted instantly—stepping in front of Esmé, hand raised, shadows twisting at his fingertips like silk drawn from bone. His other arm caught her shoulder, steadying her as the floor trembled.
"Stay behind me."
But Esmé wasn't the same girl who'd flinched in the courtyard weeks ago.
She summoned the silver charm Livia had taught her to anchor and pressed her fingers into her palm until blood surfaced. She reached for the Veil—not with fear, but with will.
It answered.
And she saw them.
Three figures cloaked in red and black, stepping from the far end of the chamber as if melted from shadow. Their faces were hidden behind masks carved to resemble saints—cracked, mouthless, expressionless.
One held a twisted censer leaking black smoke.
Another carried a blade carved from bone.
The third—taller, gloved—spoke first.
"You should not have opened the door, Veilborn."
Esmé's pulse skipped. She knew that voice.
It was the same man who had watched her in the garden.
"You trespass on sacred ground," Luca growled, fangs bared now, voice dipped in something primal.
"This ground has been forgotten," the man replied. "We come to cleanse it."
And with that, the censer was thrown.
Smoke exploded into the room—not natural, not scented—but screaming. It shrieked through the walls, clawed at the air, bent light. Esmé covered her ears, but it echoed inside her bones.
The Council had warned her.
The Crimson Faith didn't fight with swords.
They fought with memory.
Esmé saw flashes—images not her own:
Her father, face twisted in terror.
Flames consuming the glass shop.
Luca, crumbling to ash.
The Veil torn, bleeding, broken.
She stumbled, falling to her knees.
But then—her blood hit the chalk.
The sigil she had drawn lit up, blinding white.
And for a single moment, the smoke parted.
Luca surged forward with supernatural speed, shadows launching from his palms like spears. The masked figures darted back, the tall one raising his hand—
And Esmé saw it:
A mark burned into his wrist. A rose encircling a flame, inverted. Twisted. Alive.
"Valtheran," Luca hissed.
The masked man paused.
"Not yet," he said coldly.
Then he and the others vanished—melted back into the Veil.
The room fell silent.
The fire did not return.
————————————————————
Minutes later, the Council chamber roared with fury.
Esmé stood in the center, still bleeding from her palm, flanked by Luca and Livia.
"They dared strike here," one of the Elders said. "Here!"
The Faith has grown bolder.
They know the girl's power is awakening.
They seek to break her before she learns.
Esmé raised her voice.
"Then let them come."
The Council fell quiet.
"They think I'm weak. That I'll run. That I'm just a bloodline on parchment. But I've bled for this. I've seen their rot. And I won't give them the satisfaction of fear."
Even Livia looked surprised.
Luca didn't.
He stepped forward.
"She's right. The Veil isn't a wall. It's a thread. And they're already tugging it loose. We have days—days—. If we don't strike first, we won't be able to strike at all."
The Elders conferred in silence.
Then, at last, the silver-haired woman spoke.
"Prepare her."
————————————————————
That night, Esmé sat by the fountain in the garden.
Her palm still throbbed. The wound burned faintly under the bandage.
She watched the stars ripple in the water.
Luca sat beside her, quiet.
"When I stepped into the Veil tonight," she said, "I didn't just feel them. I saw what they wanted."
He looked at her. "What did you see?"
"Me. Bound. Bleeding. The Heart Below torn open."
Luca said nothing for a long time.
Then: "You scare them."
Esmé turned her head. "Do I scare you?"
"Yes," he whispered.
And then, softly: "But not in the way they do."