The next morning brought a heavy, uneasy silence. Even the Familiar seemed restless, hopping from shelf to shelf, squeaking nervously as if it could sense the weight pressing on our home. Kristina's hands twitched over her sketchbook, her pencil scratching lines that almost seemed alive.
Grandma's voice cut through the tension like a blade. "There's residual energy here. Malachor's scouts are close."
I felt a shiver crawl down my spine. "Scouts? Already?"
"Tier-Two shadows," Grandma replied, her eyes scanning the room with precision. "They are faster, smarter, stronger than before. They will test your defenses—and your bond."
Kristina's eyes widened. "We have to be careful. They're not like the Watcher from last time."
I nodded. "We'll be ready." But inside, I felt the weight of everything I'd learned yesterday. Every construct, every movement, every thought—it could change the world around us. The shadows weren't just attacks—they were reminders that our powers carried consequences far beyond play or imagination.
We moved cautiously to the basement, the usual air thick with an almost tangible tension. Even the walls seemed aware, small cracks forming faint glowing patterns under our feet. Dust stirred as if the house itself was holding its breath.
Kristina took a deep breath, drawing a shaky circle on the floor. "I… I'm ready," she whispered.
I glanced at her, feeling both pride and worry. "Together," I said firmly.
The shadows appeared suddenly, erupting from the corners with unnatural speed. They had humanoid forms, but their edges wavered like smoke, and their eyes glowed red, teeth glinting sharply. My stomach twisted in fear, but I forced myself to remain calm.
I imagined a protective dome—a bubble of light surrounding us—but it flickered as the shadows tested it, brushing against its edges like curious predators. Kristina reacted instinctively, drawing spikes along the edges with her pencil. Light and ink combined, forming jagged, shimmering walls that held the shadows at bay.
Grandma and Mom watched silently, arms crossed but ready. "Good," Grandma said calmly. "You are learning. But there's more. You need instinct, not just control."
Kristina's sketchbook glowed brightly. With a deep breath, she summoned a creature—a small wolf-like beast, its fur shimmering silver. It leapt through the shadows, scattering them with a bark that sounded almost like a command. I realized she had instinctively fused imagination and reality, giving life to her drawings in ways I hadn't yet mastered.
I focused on chains of light, imagining them wrapping around the remaining shadows. Reality bent to my will, the edges of the chains glowing as they coiled. One shadow shrieked as the chain tightened, dissolving into black mist before it could touch us.
We paused, chests heaving, sweat on our foreheads. The Familiar, perched on Kristina's shoulder, squeaked with excitement. "You did it! You actually did it!"
Kristina smiled faintly, a mixture of pride and exhaustion. "Together," she said, squeezing my hand.
Grandma's expression softened—just slightly. "Remember this," she said. "Even small victories carry lessons. Malachor observes every step you take. Every success and every mistake feeds his knowledge. The shadows you defeated are just his scouts. The real challenge is yet to come."
Mom stepped forward, placing her hand on Kristina's shoulder. "You girls and boys are stronger than most children your age. But strength alone won't protect you. You must trust each other, always."
I nodded, looking at Kristina. "We will."
She leaned her head against my shoulder, and I felt a flicker of fear in my chest—a cold, dark pulse that reminded me the Watcher was only the beginning. Something unseen had brushed against us during the fight. Something that whispered Malachor's name in the back of my mind.
That night, I stayed awake longer than usual. Kristina slept beside me, her breathing steady but uneasy. I traced the edges of my hands, remembering how heavy the last battle had felt. The Familiar nestled against my pillow, quiet for once, sensing the tension.
Outside, shadows moved silently through the trees, pooling in strange patterns that shouldn't exist. The wind whispered through cracks in the walls as if the house itself was alive, aware of unseen threats.
Far away, Malachor leaned back in his throne, a thin smile on his face. "Tier-One scouts will join the hunt next," he murmured, his voice dripping with malice. "They will test their limits. The girl may be strong, but the boy… the boy is a storm. Let him awaken fully, and the game will truly begin."
Inside the house, I hugged Kristina tightly. "Malachor doesn't know what he's facing," I whispered.
She murmured back, "Let's hope we're ready when he finds out."
And I knew in my bones that the next attack wouldn't just be shadows—it would be a reckoning, testing everything we had learned about power, control, and the bond between siblings.
For the first time, I realized the stakes weren't just our safety—they were the safety of every world we could imagine and every life that depended on us holding it together.