The chamber of the Watcher Council was colder than memory, the frost-white pillars stretching toward the vaulted ceiling like frozen sentinels. Ancient runes twisted in spiraling patterns along the stone, their faint luminescence pulsing faintly, almost like the heartbeat of a world unseen. Each breath Aiden drew rang sharply against the walls, carrying with it the weight of judgment and expectation.
He stepped forward, not as a soldier at attention, but as something more fragile—a Watcher on the edge of a personal reckoning.
The Council Elders regarded him in silence. Their agescape faces, carved by centuries of vigilance, bore no expression at first, yet their eyes penetrated deeper than any blade. One by one, Aiden sensed the quiet judgment: disappointment layered with ancient authority.
Seraphiel, eldest among them, his eyes dull like winter stars, broke the stillness with a long, careful sigh.
"Aiden," he said, voice low and carrying the weight of centuries, "we observe your heart… it grows heavy once more."
Aiden's posture remained calm, yet beneath it a storm twisted in his chest. Each word he heard felt like a shadow pressing into him.
"You know why we have called you," Seraphiel continued, voice patient but firm. "You linger too close to the mortal world… and closer to her."
"Yes," Aiden said steadily, though the word felt bitter on his tongue. "Because she is in danger. And she—deserves protection."
A low murmur of disapproval rippled through the chamber.
From the shadows of the high seats, Velaria rose. Her posture was rigid, her voice precise, cutting like ice.
"The mortal named Ryan," she said, "has shown interest in the Marked. A situation we warned you about. Are you aware of the consequences?"
Aiden's jaw tightened.
"Yes," he replied, though inside, a surge of pain coiled in his chest.
Velaria stepped closer, gaze sharp as frost. "Perhaps. But I wonder… does your heart understand? Or does it chase desire at the cost of order?"
Silence followed, heavy and unrelenting.
"I watch him from the corridors," she continued, "and I see it. Your jealousy. Your attachment. You conceal it poorly, Aiden. Your longing is visible to all who know where to look."
Aiden's hands curled into fists at his sides, fingernails biting into his palms. Do they not understand? he thought. I do this not for desire, but because she needs a shield in the shadows. Because I cannot look away while darkness stalks her steps.
"She is not the same as other mortals," he said softly. "Something about her… is not ordinary."
Murmurs spread across the Council.
"Your seeing what you should not see," Velaria pressed, "is dangerous. A mortal's heart is fragile. It can be uplifted—or it can be destroyed. And when a Watcher's heart entwines with mortal longing… the consequences can shatter more than a single life."
Aiden's chest tightened. I cannot have her… he thought. Yet my soul cannot turn away.
Velaria's gaze did not soften. "If this mortal boy—this Ryan—grows closer to her, your turmoil could fracture the veil between worlds. You cannot act on what you feel, Aiden. Your role is observation, protection, not possession. The law is clear."
There was a sting in her words, sharper than any blade.
"Yes," Aiden admitted, voice low, "Ryan is… part of this. His presence reminds me of what truly matters. But I will not… I cannot… I will not interfere with her mortal heart."
Shock rippled through the Council.
Velaria's voice cut through the silence, icy and precise. "You must understand. Your attachment is not a privilege. You are warned. Do not cross the line that marks your kind from hers. Mortal love is not yours to claim, and it never will be."
Aiden bowed his head slightly. A memory unfurled in his mind—Elena's voice, calling softly in the dark, a song tangled among the stars. He had watched her grow, witnessed her courage and fragility, her laughter in sunlight. He had stood at the edges of danger, shielding her without her knowing, and his heart had learned what mortal eyes cannot see.
"I do not wish to become mortal," he whispered to himself, barely audible, "and yet my heart is bound to her light. I will not act, yet I cannot unsee."
Seraphiel's voice softened, almost tenderly, but remained firm. "A Watcher's role is clear. You observe. You guard. You do not intervene in mortal bonds. You protect, and that is the limit of your hand. Anything beyond… is forbidden."
Aiden's breath hitched, the weight of truth pressing on him. He could not claim her, could not be her partner, could not even step fully into the warmth of mortal love. And yet, the pull of her presence in his life was a gravity he could not resist.
"I know my vows," he whispered, "and I have kept them. Yet… I cannot ignore her when shadows stalk her steps. I cannot turn away. My role… my duty… it demands presence, not distance, even if my heart breaks in silence."
Velaria's eyes narrowed, but beneath the cold exterior, a flicker of understanding passed. "Your path is perilous, Aiden. Caring for her is a weakness, not a strength. If her mortal heart is ever harmed by your actions… you will bear the consequences, far beyond your own understanding."
Aiden closed his eyes for a moment, the ache inside him like a deep wound. I cannot have her. I will not interfere. I must respect the law… but my heart will always watch.
The Council fell into silence, the only sound the soft hum of ancient runes.
Finally, Seraphiel leaned back in his chair, eyes luminous. "We will observe, Aiden. But remember this: the path of the Watcher does not bend to mortal longing. You are warned. Step carefully, and never forget who you are. Who you must be."
Aiden bowed deeply, the weight of their judgment settling on his shoulders.
When the Council dissolved, he walked the corridor alone. The echo of his footsteps was a lonely drumbeat, yet something stirred within him—a mixture of fear, hope, and longing. A dangerous, unyielding hope that he could still guard her from the shadows, even if he could never touch her heart.
He had watched mortals before. Many. But none had made him feel watched in return. None had bound his soul so tightly to theirs without permission.
She was alive, vibrant, fragile… and untouchable. He could not act on what he felt. Yet in the silent corners of his mind, he vowed: he would remain her unseen shield. He would walk beside shadows so that her light might remain unbroken. And perhaps, in a world he could never claim, that was enough.