Chapter 7 WHISPERS OF THE CROWN

Silence descended upon the chamber after Kaelith's departure.

It wasn't the gentle silence that allowed one to breathe freely, nor the kind that cocooned you like a comforting blanket after a bout of fear.

No, this was a waiting silence, the kind that held one's breath in suspense, suggesting that something ancient was eavesdropping in the darkness.

I exhaled slowly, my arms tightly crossed over my ribs. The place where Kaelith's shadows had brushed me before he turned away still tingled. The memory was so vivid that it seemed as if the very air retained the imprint of his presence.

The crown hovered within its circle of runes. Shadow and light intertwined in slow, spiraling patterns, making it both beautiful and terrifying, and undeniably alive.

Kaelith had issued a warning.

“Do not touch the crown.”

I intended to comply.

However, the crown seemed indifferent to my intentions.

As soon as I took a step closer, the runes began to glow in a pulsating rhythm. A soft humming filled the room, initially faint, then growing stronger, and unmistakably directed at me.

“No,” I whispered, retreating. “Stop that.”

The humming deepened, like a secret whispered against someone's skin.

My pulse skipped a beat, and I froze in my tracks.

“Cease,” I said, raising a hand as if commanding a wild beast. “I'm not going to touch you.”

The runes brightened once more.

The entire chamber seemed to draw nearer. The air thickened to the point where my lungs struggled to expand against it.

A whisper caressed my ear, so faint that I almost convinced myself it was a figment of my imagination.

"Child of the seam…"

My heart leaped. “Who's there?”

No voice responded.

The crown pulsed once in reply.

I backed into the wall. The cold seeped through the stone and into my spine. My breaths came in rapid, loud gasps.

Another whisper, softer than the first, drifted across the chamber.

"The light that carries night…"

“No,” I exhaled shakily. “Don't speak to me.”

The torches dimmed.

A coldness like frost slid across my skin.

My magic instinctively welled up beneath the surface, a silver heat flickering through my veins.

The crown trembled.

Its whispers merged, then formed a single word.

"Seren…"

Everything within me went still.

It knew my name.

My mouth felt parched. “How do you know me?”

Silence returned. The runes dimmed. The humming faded until the crown seemed as silent as a stone.

As if it had only needed to utter that one word.

I didn't realize how violently I was shaking until my fingernails dug crescent - shaped marks into my palms. Kaelith had described the crown as a curse and a prison.

And prisons remembered those they were designed to confine.

Fragments of prophecy tore through my mind like shards of broken glass.

"The forbidden child will kill the Shadow Prince…"

But Kaelith insisted the prophecy was a falsehood.

So, what was the truth?

Before I could make up my mind whether to scream or faint, the door jolted with a heavy thud.

I tensed. “Kaelith?”

No answer.

The shadows along the walls recoiled, and this frightened me more than the knock itself.

The door slammed open.

I jerked back in alarm.

Lucen strode into the room, breathing heavily. His coat was torn at the sleeve, and a dark streak of blood stained his collarbone. It wasn't his.

“Lucen?” My voice cracked. “What happened?”

He shut the door sharply. The sound reverberated through the chamber like a warning shot.

He exhaled, leaning against the wall for a moment. “Your Seeker acquaintance reached the forest sooner than anticipated.”

My stomach dropped. “Is Kaelith—”

“Alive,” Lucen interrupted. “Occupied. Very much so.”

“Is he injured?”

Lucen's eyes flicked towards me. There was a complex look in them.

“He's bleeding,” Lucen said. “But everything here bleeds. It's nothing worse than what the curse has already inflicted.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means he'll survive,” he replied. “Whether the rest of us will depends on what you do next.”

I shook my head. “What can I do? I've done nothing.”

“You breathed,” Lucen said softly. He gestured towards the hovering crown. “And it awoke because of you.”

My breath hitched. “You heard it?”

“I felt it.” He glanced towards the ceiling. “The entire fortress felt it. The walls trembled.”

“I didn't touch it,” I whispered. “I didn't even get close—”

“You don't need to,” Lucen interjected. His eyes sharpened. “It recognizes you. That's more significant than touching it.”

I swallowed. “What do you think it means?”

Lucen approached me with the cautious grace of someone approaching a volatile spell. His presence was starkly different from Kaelith's. Kaelith was a quiet force; Lucen was a sharp bolt of lightning.

“It means,” Lucen said, “that history is stirring. And awakening history comes at a price.”

I stared at him. “Lucen, what are you implying?”

“That if the crown recognizes you, your magic is linked to the seam,” he said. “And anything born of the seam, anything capable of mending or tearing realms, attracts the attention of powers we should all dread.”

“I never asked for this.”

“Fate seldom asks for permission,” he said gently.

I pressed my palms to my temples. The crown's whispers echoed within my chest.

"Child of the seam…"

“I want to leave,” I said abruptly. “I can't stay here with that thing.”

Lucen nodded once. “Understandable.”

“Then why can't I leave?” I demanded.

“Because stepping outside this chamber puts you back within the Veil's grasp.” His voice dropped. “And the Seeker is in the Veil.”

A coldness seeped beneath my skin.

“He'll find me,” I whispered.

Lucen didn't deny it.

“Kaelith said this room conceals me—”

“It conceals you from the Veil,” Lucen clarified. “Not from the people traversing it.”

My pulse skipped. “What does that mean?”

Lucen's expression softened. “It means Kaelith is diverting the Seeker's attention. He's leading him away so he can't detect your magic. Or smell you.”

A hollow ache opened in my chest.

“He's risking his life,” I whispered.

Lucen nodded. “Kaelith always takes risks. But he's never risked himself for someone like you.”

“What do you mean?”

Lucen's smile was faint and sorrowful.

“You should decide how you feel about the man trying to save you,” he said, “before he convinces himself you're worth dying for.”

The breath left my body.

Lucen ran a hand through his hair. “He'll return soon. Don't wander. Don't touch the crown. And don't open the door unless it's Kaelith.”

“Why?” I whispered.

His eyes darkened. “Because something else is hunting in the Veil now. Something older than the Seeker.”

Then he left, closing the door with a finality that weighed heavily on my chest.

I turned towards the crown.

Its light flickered, and its shadows coiled.

Its whispers had now fallen silent.

Sleep tugged at the edges of my mind, soft and heavy.

But then, a slow exhale wafted through the darkness, warm enough to stir the strands of hair beside my ear.

My eyes snapped open.

Something was breathing inside the chamber.

The crown flared briefly and frantically, like a warning.

I pushed myself upright, my heart pounding, and stared towards the door just as the breathing drew closer.