Days stopped behaving like days.
They melted into each other—long, restless hours filled with whispered urgency, scattered notes, half-burnt candles, and Morwen's constant presence looming like an uninvited conscience.
Elara's antique shop no longer felt like home.
It felt like a battlefield waiting for its first scream.
Maps covered the old counter. Ancient books lay open, their pages yellowed and whispering secrets she wasn't sure she wanted to know. Bundles of herbs hung from every hook, filling the air with sharp, earthy scents that clung to her clothes and hair.
And at the center of it all—
Elara stood barefoot on the wooden floor, the locket pressed to her palm, sweat cooling at the back of her neck.
"Again," Morwen said calmly.
Elara exhaled through her teeth. "You said that five times already."
"And I'll say it five more if I must," Morwen replied. "Close your eyes."
Elara obeyed.
She closed her eyes and immediately felt it—the itch.
Everywhere.
Like invisible fingers crawling beneath her skin.
"I hate this part," Elara muttered. "It feels like my nerves are arguing with each other."
Morwen snorted. "That's because they are."
"That's not comforting."
"Magic rarely is."
Elara clenched her jaw. "I feel like I'm about to either explode or pass out."
"Good," Morwen said.
Elara's eyes flew open. "Good?"
"Yes. That means you're standing at the door instead of staring at it."
Elara sighed and shut her eyes again. Fine. Door it is.
She focused inward.
On the ground beneath her feet.
On Havenwood—the old stones, the mist, the slow heartbeat of a town that had existed long before her and would hopefully exist long after.
At first, it was chaos.
Static.
Noise.
Then—
Warmth.
A slow pull.
Like the earth recognizing her.
The locket hummed.
Elara gasped softly as the sensation deepened, spreading from her palm to her chest.
"Oh," she whispered. "That's… new."
Morwen's voice softened. "Don't grab it. Let it move."
Elara swallowed. The power wasn't wild now—it was curious. Testing her. Brushing against her thoughts.
And somehow—
Kaelen.
His face appeared without warning.
That sharp jaw. Those eyes that never stopped watching. The way his voice dipped low when he said her name, like it meant something dangerous.
Her pulse stumbled.
The warmth surged.
"Elara," Morwen snapped. "Focus."
"I am focusing!" Elara snapped back. "On something important!"
Morwen arched a brow. "If that something has fangs and unresolved trauma, you're doing it wrong."
Elara groaned. "You're impossible."
"And you're distracted," Morwen shot back. "Which will get you killed."
That sobered her.
Elara took a steady breath and pushed the image aside, though the ache it left behind lingered.
The energy settled.
The locket glowed faintly.
"There," Morwen murmured. "That's grounding."
Elara opened her eyes, chest rising and falling. "So basically, the town knows my name now."
"Yes."
"That feels invasive."
Morwen smiled. "Get used to it."
Elara wiped her palms on her skirt. "Please tell me the next lesson doesn't involve chanting or blood."
Morwen tilted her head. "Which one do you object to more?"
"Both," Elara said flatly. "Strongly."
Morwen laughed. "Relax. Tonight is about people."
Elara froze. "People people? Or… people?"
Morwen's smile turned knowing. "Both."
Elara stared. "You're joking."
"I never joke about councils," Morwen said. "They're tedious, dramatic, and absolutely necessary."
"A council of what?" Elara asked carefully.
Morwen ticked them off on her fingers. "Vampires. Shifters. A few Fae."
Elara blinked. "You said that way too casually."
"Oh, and a witch who once tried to curse me into a goat," Morwen added. "But we're civil now."
Elara rubbed her temples. "This is my life."
"Yes," Morwen said cheerfully. "Isn't it exciting?"
"No."
Morwen waved her hand. "They're already restless. The Collective's been sniffing around the lighthouse and the standing stones."
Elara's stomach tightened. "So this isn't optional."
"No."
Elara squared her shoulders. "Alright. What do I say?"
Morwen considered. "Tell the truth."
"That never goes well for me."
"Then don't embellish."
Elara snorted. "Right. 'Hi, I accidentally bonded with ancient magic and a very intense Guardian and now the world might end.'"
Morwen nodded. "Perfect."
"I was joking!"
"So was I," Morwen said. "Mostly."
Dusk crept in slowly, painting the shop windows in bruised purple and silver.
Elara stood by the mirror, tugging nervously at her sleeves.
"Do I look… powerful?" she asked.
Morwen squinted. "You look like someone who would stab a god if necessary."
Elara smiled weakly. "Comforting."
As they stepped outside, the mist wrapped around them like a living thing.
The locket pulsed.
Warm.
Steady.
I'm coming, Elara thought, though she wasn't sure who she was promising it to.
Between Roots and Ruin
Kaelen moved through the glowing forest with measured steps.
The land here was wrong—but not hostile.
Not yet.
He followed the tremor beneath the magic, the subtle pull that whispered of cracks between realms.
The locket burned warm against his chest.
"You're doing something reckless," he murmured.
A pause.
Then warmth.
His lips curved. "That's a yes."
He stopped at the edge of a clearing where the ground split like a scar, ancient runes pulsing faintly beneath the surface.
This was it.
A wound between worlds.
And something on the other side was waking up.
Kaelen rested his hand over the locket.
"Hold on," he whispered. "I'm closer than you think."
The ground beneath him shifted.
And far away, in Havenwood, Elara stepped into a circle of shadows and ancient eyes—unaware that the King's breath had just stirred the dark.