Elara sat on the floor of her shop, her knees pulled to her chest, her back pressed against the counter like it was the only thing keeping her upright.
Dust clung to her skirts. Her hair had slipped loose from its tie. The shop smelled of burnt herbs and old wood and something sharp—fear, maybe.
The locket lay in her palm.
Cold.
Too cold.
She rubbed her thumb over its surface again and again, as if warmth might come back if she tried hard enough.
"It closed," she whispered.
Her voice sounded wrong in her own ears. Thin. Broken.
"The portal… I watched it close."
Morwen didn't answer right away.
She stood near the shelves, quiet as the shadows between jars, her amber eyes fixed on Elara with a look that held too much knowing and not enough comfort.
The old grandfather clock ticked.
Tick.
Tick.
Each sound felt like a countdown.
"He's gone," Elara said again, louder this time. Angry now. "He promised he wouldn't disappear like that. And then—" Her throat burned. "He did."
Morwen sighed and lowered herself slowly to the floor beside her, joints popping like dry twigs.
"Gone is a strong word, child," she said gently. "Lost is closer."
Elara let out a bitter laugh. "You say that like it's supposed to help."
Morwen's lips twitched. "It's not. It's just the truth."
She reached out and rested a hand on Elara's shoulder. Her grip was firm. Grounding.
"A Vane doesn't vanish so easily," Morwen continued. "Especially not one with old blood and unfinished business."
Elara swallowed. Unfinished business.
"He barely knows me," she said, though her heart betrayed her by racing. "We fought monsters together. That doesn't mean—"
"Oh, hush," Morwen interrupted, waving her hand. "I've lived long enough to know the look of a man who's already halfway ruined."
Elara blinked. "Excuse me?"
Morwen smirked. "That man looked at you like you were the last solid thing in a world that keeps shifting under his feet."
Heat crept up Elara's neck. "You're exaggerating."
"Am I?" Morwen leaned closer, eyes sharp. "Tell me, dear. Did he stand too close? Speak softer when it was just the two of you? Look like he wanted to touch you but didn't trust himself to start?"
Elara looked away.
That silence was answer enough.
His breath at my ear. His hand hovering, never landing. Like he was afraid of what would happen if he did.
"He called me reckless," Elara muttered. "Right before he got trapped."
Morwen chuckled. "Ah. That's Vane affection for you."
Elara scoffed. "He's probably furious."
"Oh, undoubtedly," Morwen said. "Terrified too. Guardians don't take well to losing what they've decided is theirs to protect."
Elara's fingers tightened around the locket. "I didn't ask him to protect me."
"No," Morwen said softly. "But you let him."
That hit harder than Elara expected.
She stared at the floor. "What am I supposed to do now?"
Morwen's gaze dropped to the locket. "You start by accepting who you are."
Elara's chest tightened. "I don't want this power. I screamed and things died. I didn't even think. I just—felt."
"That's how it begins," Morwen said. "And how it ends badly if you don't learn control."
She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small carved box, setting it between them.
It smelled like rosemary and rain.
"Training," Morwen said simply.
Elara frowned. "You're serious."
"As a heart attack."
"You're going to teach me magic?" Elara asked. "Like spells and chanting?"
Morwen snorted. "Please. Magic isn't a performance. It's a conversation. With yourself. With the land."
She opened the box.
Inside lay stones worn smooth by time, dried herbs tied with twine, and a thin leather journal.
"You already touched the power," Morwen said. "Now you learn to listen before it screams back."
Elara exhaled slowly.
Outside, the mist pressed against the windows like it was listening too.
"And the Collective?" Elara asked. "They won't stop."
"No," Morwen agreed. "Which is why we won't be alone."
Elara frowned. "There are others?"
Morwen's smile turned sharp. "Havenwood is full of secrets. Some bite. Some howl. Some pretend to be librarians."
Elara huffed despite herself. "Great. That's comforting."
Morwen stood. "Get some rest. Tomorrow, we begin."
Elara nodded—but her eyes drifted back to the locket.
It pulsed faintly.
Warm now.
Like a heartbeat.
Somewhere Between Worlds
Kaelen stood still long enough for the forest to breathe around him.
The portal was gone.
Not fading.
Gone.
He pressed his hand to his chest, where the locket rested against his skin.
Warm.
Steady.
She's alive.
Relief hit first.
Then rage.
"Damn it," he muttered, slamming his fist into the silver-barked tree beside him.
The tree shuddered.
The forest whispered.
"I told her not to do that," he growled. "I told her—"
He stopped.
Closed his eyes.
Saw her face.
Defiant. Scared. Furious at him for trying to shield her.
She never listens.
His mouth curved despite himself.
"Stubborn," he said quietly. "Reckless. Brave to the point of madness."
He exhaled.
"I should be there."
He reached out with his senses.
Nothing.
No signal. No response. The pocket dimension swallowed magic whole.
He was alone.
"Well," he muttered, staring at glowing vines. "This is inconvenient."
He started walking, deeper into the forest.
The ground hummed beneath his boots.
The King was stirring.
And somewhere beyond realms, a woman with fire in her blood was learning who she truly was.
Kaelen's fingers brushed the locket again.
"Don't get comfortable without me, Elara Thorne," he said softly. "We're not done yet."
The forest shifted.
Something answered.
And far away, the locket in Elara's hand flared brighter—just as the mist outside her shop thickened, curling like claws against the glass.