Elara POV
That evening, I couldn't stop thinking about the cipher.
The words kept echoing in my mind. Thirty to fifty percent survival. Reality collapse without me. Thousands dead either way.
I sat in my room with the scroll. The prophecy scroll Dorian had given me. The one with Theron's signature at the bottom.
Something about it felt wrong. Off. Like it was hiding something.
My mother's journal lay beside it. I'd read it so many times I had whole sections memorized. But tonight, one passage stood out.
The scroll is not just anchor. It's key and lock. Prison and escape route.
What did that mean?
I picked up the scroll. Studied it under the lamplight. The words looked normal. The same prophecy everyone knew. The twin-flame who would either save or destroy both kingdoms.
But something nagged at me. A feeling I couldn't shake.
I thought about what Dorian had said. About the cipher requiring my blood to decode. About magic keyed to my specific signature.
What if the scroll was the same?
I grabbed the knife before I could talk myself out of it. Pricked my finger. Let three drops of blood fall onto the yellowed parchment.
The moment my blood touched the scroll, everything changed.
The words shifted. Reorganized. Revealed text that had been hidden beneath the surface all along.
New writing appeared. Old. Faded. In my mother's handwriting.
Elara,
If you're reading this, you found the scroll. You used your blood. You're ready for the truth.
The Anchor Law isn't natural. It's manufactured. A spell designed to force completion of bonds within thirty days. But it's more than that. It's a timer. A countdown to detonation.
Your father and I discovered this too late. We tried to stop it. Tried to destroy the scroll. But by then, you were already conceived. Already marked. The scroll was already bound to your blood.
We ran. We hid. We tried everything to sever the connection. Nothing worked.
By the time you read this, the timer will be active. Thirty days from first marking. Counting down not to death, but to explosion.
The scroll doesn't just anchor you to the bonds. It channels every choice you make. Every bond you sever. Every moment of desperation. All of it feeds back through the scroll to its creator.
To Theron.
He needs that energy to open the Ashen Gate. Needs the pressure. The desperation. The power you generate trying to survive.
The scroll is the fuse. And you're the bomb.
But there's hope. The scroll is also the key. If you can unmake it—if you can sever your connection to it before the thirty days end—you break the spell. Stop the countdown. Save yourself.
But be warned: unmaking the scroll means unmaking part of yourself. The magic is woven into your blood. Your bones. Your soul. Severing it will hurt. Will leave scars. Will change you fundamentally.
We tried to do this for you. Tried to break the connection before you were born. We failed. And it killed us.
Don't make our mistake. Don't try to sever it all at once. Take it slowly. One thread at a time. Like unweaving a tapestry.
We love you. We're sorry we couldn't protect you better. But we believe in you. Believe you're strong enough to do what we couldn't.
Choose yourself, daughter. Always choose yourself.
Love,
Mom
The words blurred. Tears streaming down my face faster than I could wipe them away.
They'd known. They'd tried to save me. Tried to stop this before I was even born.
And they'd died trying.
I looked at the scroll with new understanding. It wasn't just a prophecy. It was a weapon. A tool Theron had created and my parents had tried to destroy.
And now it was in my blood. Part of me. Counting down to the moment I'd explode and open the Gate whether I wanted to or not.
Unless I unmade it first.
I touched the scroll carefully. Felt the magic pulsing through it. Felt how it connected to me. To the marks on my wrists. To the power in my chest.
Complex. Intricate. Brilliant and horrible.
But not impossible to break. Nothing was impossible.
My mother's words echoed. One thread at a time.
I closed my eyes. Reached for the connection with my Voidtouch. The same power that let me sever bonds. That let me unmake magic.
Found the thread connecting me to the scroll. Thick. Strong. Woven through everything I was.
And I started to pull.
Pain exploded through me immediately. Like ripping out my own spine. Like tearing apart my soul.
But I held on. Kept pulling. Kept unweaving.
One thread. Just one. That's all I needed tonight.
The thread resisted. Fought back. Magic that old didn't want to die.
But I was stubborn. Desperate. Determined.
The thread started fraying. Coming apart. Dissolving.
Reality cracked around me. The Unraveling responding. Reaching for the weakness I'd created.
But my shield held it back. That silver armor I'd forged during the trial. It protected me. Protected reality.
The first thread came apart completely. Vanished.
The connection weakened. Just a fraction. But enough.
I gasped. Released my power. Fell forward onto the bed.
My entire body shook. Sweat soaked through my clothes. Every muscle ached like I'd run for miles.
But I'd done it. Unmade the first thread connecting me to the scroll.
How many more were there? Dozens. Maybe hundreds.
But I'd started. Proven it could be done.
The scroll looked the same. But I felt the difference. Felt how the countdown had shifted. Become less certain. Less absolute.
Still dangerous. Still ticking toward explosion. But not as fixed. Not as inevitable.
Progress. Small. Fragile. But real.
The door opened. Mira slipped in. Took one look at me and cursed.
"What did you do?"
"Started breaking the connection." I managed to sit up. "Between me and the scroll. It's not just an anchor. It's a fuse. If I don't unmake it before the countdown ends, I explode. Open the Gate. Kill thousands."
She stared at me. Processing.
"Can you unmake it all?"
"I don't know. Maybe. But it'll take time. And it'll hurt. Each thread is woven through me. Through my blood and bones and soul. Pulling them out is like pulling out pieces of myself."
"How long do you have?"
I looked at the scroll. Tried to feel the countdown. It was fuzzy now. Unclear. But still there.
"Twenty days. Maybe less. Maybe more since I broke the Anchor Law link. The timelines are connected but not identical."
Mira sat beside me. "Two days until the parley. Are you still going?"
"Yes." No hesitation. "I need to hear what Theron has to say. See his proof. Understand what opening the Gate really means."
"And then?"
"Then I decide. With all the information. With all the truth. Not just his version. Not just Kaelen's version. My version. Based on what I've learned. What I've survived. What I've become."
She nodded slowly. "You're changing. Every day. Every trial. You're becoming something none of us expected."
"I know." I looked at my hands. At the faint silver lines running under my skin. Scars from the Moonfire trials. Marks from breaking what shouldn't be broken. "I just hope I become something good. Something worth all this pain."
"You already are," Mira said quietly.
I wanted to believe her, but the scroll on the bed told a different story. I was a weapon. A bomb. A tool created four hundred years ago to destroy or reshape everything.
The question was: could I become something else? Could I take what I'd been made for and twist it into something different?
Two days to find out. Two days until I faced both kings and heard both sides. Two days to prepare for whatever came next.
"Help me hide this," I said, gesturing at the scroll. "I need it close. Need to keep working on unmaking the threads. But I can't let anyone know what I'm doing."
"Not even Kaelen?"
"Especially not Kaelen." I met her eyes. "He'd try to stop me. Try to protect me from the pain. But this is something I have to do myself. No one can unmake this for me."
She nodded slowly and helped me tuck the scroll into a hidden pocket I'd sewn into my jacket. Close to my heart where I could feel it pulse with every breath.
Twenty days left on the original countdown, but I'd already started changing the rules. Breaking what Theron had built. Unmaking what my parents couldn't destroy.
One thread at a time until I was free. Or until I burned trying.
Either way, it would be my choice. My path. My future.
Not theirs.