The hamlet Tamsin spoke of lay deep within the fog-veiled woodlands, hidden at the meeting place of three rivers that no longer remembered their own names. It was a quiet place—not abandoned, but hushed, like a home where too many whispered prayers had soaked into the walls.
Elara felt the heaviness before she saw the first cottage. The air itself seemed thick with memory.
Tamsin walked ahead, guiding them down a narrow dirt path lined with stones. She was older than Elara had first thought, her posture wiry and strong. "This way," she said, voice firm. "You'll want to see the circle before the sun turns."
Kael stayed close to Elara, never drifting far from her side. His shoulders were tense, his eyes always scanning the treeline as if something unseen waited there. The Ghostborn simply glided ahead, humming a tune that felt too joyful for a place where the silence felt so heavy.
Elias kept glancing at Elara—checking on her, trying to read her. She pretended not to notice, though she appreciated it more than she said.
Finally, the path opened into a clearing.
Elara's breath caught.
The Well of Mourning wasn't a well at all, but a ring of ancient stones arranged in a perfect circle. Each one stood taller than a man, carved with sigils so worn she could barely make them out. Moss and roots grew over them like protective hands, and faint traces of silver gleamed beneath the dirt.
"It's beautiful," Elara whispered.
"It's dangerous," Kael corrected softly. "And powerful."
Tamsin nodded. "My grandmother used to say the First Healer once stood here. That the ground remembers her voice. If you listen closely, you can hear the echoes."
Elara stepped closer. The stones hummed under her fingertips—soft, like the vibration of a heartbeat. Her own heartbeat synced with it unintentionally.
The Ghostborn clapped his hands once. "Well then. Shall we begin the lesson? I assume we did not walk all this way merely to admire architecture."
Kael's eyes narrowed. "Your tone doesn't match the seriousness of this."
"It never does," the Ghostborn replied casually. "If I matched the seriousness of every apocalypse, I would be dreadfully bored."
Elias sighed. "Just teach us."
The Ghostborn stepped into the center of the stone ring and extended his hand to Elara.
"You first, little healer."
She hesitated only a moment before stepping forward. The air thickened, humming louder as she entered the circle. Silver light flickered faintly beneath her feet.
"Now," the Ghostborn said, "show me the thread."
"The thread?" she asked.
"Your magic," Kael said gently from outside the circle. "Let it rise. Let it shape itself."
Elara inhaled deeply. Her power stirred beneath her skin, warm and glowing, like light behind her ribs. She released it slowly, letting it flow through her palms.
The clearing brightened.
Her magic wove into the air like strands of soft golden silk, floating upward and weaving patterns.
The Ghostborn watched with a rare look of interest.
"Good," he murmured. "Now, weave it with shadow."
Elara blinked. "Shadow?"
Kael stepped forward, lowering his hood so she could see his eyes. "Our powers were never meant to be enemies," he said quietly. "They were designed to balance. Let my darkness meet your light."
He extended his hand, palm open. She hesitated—just long enough to consider how deeply connected their powers were becoming—then placed her hand in his.
Dark magic rose from his palm, cool and smoky, curling around her golden thread. When they touched, the air crackled.
The stones glowed.
Tamsin gasped. Elias steadied her.
The Ghostborn grinned. "Oh, delightful. The bond strengthens."
Elara felt the connection like a spark running up her spine. Their magic intertwined easily—too easily. It scared her how natural it felt.
Kael's breath hitched, but he didn't pull away. "Elara… slow your breathing. Let it settle."
She tried—but the power surged. Light and dark spun around them in a braided pattern. The stones responded with a low hum that grew louder, vibrating through the ground.
"Enough," the Ghostborn said sharply, eyes narrowing. "Release each other. Now."
Elara and Kael quickly stepped back. The power snapped like a broken thread, sending a small shockwave through the clearing.
Elias stumbled. Birds scattered from the trees above.
Elara pressed a hand to her chest, breath shaking. "W-what just happened?"
"You reached the second threshold," the Ghostborn said. "Not many can. Not many should."
Elara swallowed. "Is that good or bad?"
"Both," he said with a mischievous tilt of his head. "What you did can either save the world… or tear the seal faster."
Kael tensed at once. "Then we will practice control."
"Oh certainly," the Ghostborn said. "But the more you practice together, the stronger your bond grows. And the stronger the bond grows, the more the Hollowstar will hunger for it."
Tamsin looked concerned. "What does that mean for them?"
The Ghostborn smiled darkly. "It means fate is watching. And it is very impatient."
Later That Night
They made camp near the clearing. Kael kept to the shadows, silent and restless, sharpening a blade that didn't need sharpening. Elias spoke softly with Tamsin about the old sigils and their meanings.
Elara wandered alone toward the edge of the river. The moon cast ripples of light across the water.
She sat on a fallen log, hugging her knees. She felt powerful after the ritual—too powerful. And afraid. Afraid of what it meant. Afraid of what she was becoming.
"May I sit?"
Kael's voice was quiet behind her.
She nodded.
He lowered himself beside her, close but not touching. The river whispered between them.
"You did beautifully today," he said softly.
"I almost lost control."
"You controlled it long enough to stop," he said. "That is more than many could."
She didn't answer. He watched her for a moment.
"Elara… I saw your fear."
"And?"
"And I understand it." His voice cracked. "Because I feel it too."
She looked at him. His face was half-lit by moonlight, carved by shadows that didn't belong to the forest.
"When our magic touched," he said quietly, "I felt something… deeper. Something old. Familiar."
She swallowed. "The bond."
He nodded.
"It is growing," he said. "And I fear what it demands."
Elara forced the words out: "Kael… if the day comes where the bond becomes the seal—if it has to be me—"
"No." His voice broke in a way she had never heard. "Elara, don't finish that sentence."
"But we have to be realistic—"
"No," he repeated, more desperate now. "I will not let you die for this."
Her chest tightened. "Then we have to find another way."
His eyes softened with a grief she didn't understand. "We will."
And yet… something in his voice told her he didn't fully believe that.
The silence between them thickened until he gently reached for her hand.
"Your hands are cold," he murmured.
"So are yours."
He huffed a quiet laugh. "Then we are both in need of warmth."
Their fingers intertwined—not with magic, not with power, but with quiet understanding.
The moon rose higher, and for a few precious moments, the world felt still.
Safe.
Until—
A scream tore through the night.
Tamsin's.
Elara and Kael shot to their feet.
Elias crashed through the trees a moment later, breathless. "Hollowborn! They're here—right at the edge of the ward!"
Kael's eyes went black with shadow. "How many?"
"Two—maybe three," Elias gasped. "Smaller ones. Scouts."
Elara's heart hammered. "They followed us?"
"No," a cold voice said from the darkness behind Elias.
Marcellus stepped into the moonlight, sword drawn.
"They followed you."