bChapter /b215

*Jiselle*

The door creaked open before dawn.

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It wasn’t a sound I’d forgotten. Not a groan of weakness, not a burst of violence—just a steady push of air, a whisper of metal against stone, the kind of entrance made by someone who didn’t want to be seen. But the magic that clung to it–I knew that too. The pulse of old power, fractured and mended and aching still.

I turned my head slowly, blinking past the candlelight, and there he was.

Bastain.

Alive.

We had buried his sword. Held vigil in the ash chamber. Mourned him in silence because there hadn’t been enough pieces left to mourn out loud. But now–there he stood, worn and thinner, hair tangled and cloak torn, but unmistakably him.

“Bastain,” I whispered, my voice too small for the size of the moment.

Nate rose from the hearth immediately, already stepping between us, his hand brushing the hilt of the de he wore even in sleep. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The air told us something was wrong before Bastain ever opened his mouth.

Eva came to the threshold behind him and froze. “How?”

“I don’t know,” Bastain rasped. His voice was hoarse, and I could hear the dryness of smoke still caught in it. “I woke at the edge of the ravine. The leyline was quiet. The sky was ck. And something was standing over me.”

My hands tightened on the nket.

“What kind of something?i” /iEva asked, stepping forward cautiously.

“Not Hollow,” he said. “Not alive, either. But it wasn’t trying to kill me. It just watched. And when I stood… it disappeared.”

Nate narrowed his eyes. “And you came back here why?”

Bastain didn’t flinch. “Because the Gate spoke to me.”

That silenced everyone.

The fire crackled. Somewhere above us, a gust of wind pressed against the windowpane, rattling it faintly like a second heartbeat in the room.

“Not like before,” Bastain added. “Not with riddles. Not with mes. It spoke inly. Directly.”

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…

“And what did it say?” I asked, because no one else would.

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He looked at me then–really looked at me. His eyes were hollowed out with something more than exhaustion. Something like truth.

“It said the child is both anchor and weapon,” he said. “She will either ground this world or tear it apart.”

The baby stirred in the bass beside my bed, as if hearing her name even when it wasn’t spoken aloud. Eva moved to check on her, but her hands trembled.

“What does that mean?” Nate asked, jaw tight.

Bastain didn’t answer right away. He reached into his cloak, pulling something from the folds–thin parchment, sealed with an ancient wax mark I’d only seen once before. The Sovereign crest. But older. Faded and cracked with time.

He handed it to me.

“It’s from Serina,” he said. “One of thest things she ever wrote. Hidden beneath the altar of the first Gate. I wasn’t meant to find it. But the Gate let me.”

I broke the seal with shaking fingers, the wax crumbling like old bone.

Inside was a single scroll, ink dark as midnight, the script curved with urgency. I didn’t recognize thenguage –but I didn’t have to. As my eyes skimmed the first lines, the meaning unraveled itself in my mind, not as words, but as memory. Like something already buried inside me had been waiting to wake.

“Sovereigns were never meant to rule. We were meant to choose.”

I read the words out loud, and something inside me cracked.

Bastain nodded slowly. “They were created not to lead, but to decide. To judge the bnce between me and shadow. But Serina broke that purpose when she tried to seal the Hollow alone. She chose for the world, not with it. That’s why the Gate split.”

Nate folded his arms tightly across his chest, face unreadable. “So what does that mean for us now?”

“It means this child is the choice,” Bastain said. “She carries the final fragment. And she’s not going to stay a child for long.”

The words hit like a storm wind.

My heart pounded harder as I looked toward the bass. She wasn’t sleeping anymore. She was watching again. Head tilted. Silent. Still.

Eva took a slow step back, her hand brushing over her chest like she was trying to hold something inside. “She’s growing too fast.”

“She’s not just growing,” Bastain said. “She’s preparing.”

Nate moved to stand beside me, and for once, I didn’t lean away. I needed his closeness like a shield, even if

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…

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the words that followed cracked the earth under me.

“If she’s the choice,” I asked, “then what am bI/bb?/bb” /b

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Bastain’s mouth parted, just slightly. Like he meant to speak, to offerfort, rity–something that would make all of this easier to hold. But no words came. His jaw clenched. Then unclenched. Then clenched again. And finally, he closed his mouth altogether.

The weight of that silence hit harder than a scream.

Because it wasn’t hesitation.

It was calction.

He was already thinking it through–the variables, the cost, the lines that would have to be drawn. And I could see it, in the flicker of his gaze, in the way his fingers flexed like he was resisting the urge to reach for something that would make it all less human. Less cruel.

He didn’t answer.

Not right away.

Not when it mattered most.

And maybe that said everything.

I pushed the nket aside, moving slowly as I rose to my feet. The cold stone met my bare skin with a jolt, but I didn’t stop. My legs ached. My spine throbbed. But I kept moving until I stood upright, the scroll still clutched in my trembling hand. My other hand braced against the wall, steadying what little strength I had left.

The baby didn’t make a sound.

She just stared.

Wide–eyed. Alert. Ancient.

Like she already knew the question before I even asked it.

I looked at Bastain–not as a Sovereign, not as the me’s vessel, not even as someone hoping for a better ending.

Just as a woman.

Just as a mother,

“Tell me the truth,” I said, each word heavier than thest. “If it came down to it–if you had to choose between saving me or her–what would you do?”

The air in the room went still.

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Thick.

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Nate stirred beside me, shifting like his body already knew this would hurt. I felt the tension rising off him like smoke off smoldering coals. “Jiselle-”

I shook my head. “No.”

My voice didn’t raise.

It didn’t need to.

“I want to hear him say it.”

Bastain held my gaze. For once, there was no fire behind his eyes. No righteous certainty. No veiled promise of some higher purpose. Just exhaustion. Just weight. Just the sharp edge of knowing something he wished he didn’t.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

And when he finally spoke, his voice was rough. Unsteady.

“I’m not sure I can.”

Itnded like a knife. Not because it was cruel. But because it was honest.

He didn’t say her. He didn’t say you.

But the choice sat there between us anyway, thick and unavoidable. Written in every unspoken word, in every fracture of his expression.

He would do what needed to be done.

Even if it meant letting me die.

Even if it meant letting her be something we couldn’t control.

And the worst part was–some part of me understood.

The room quieted.

Even the baby had stopped breathing loud enough for me to hear. And there, in that breathless moment, I

felt it.

The death of something sacred.

The quiet crumbling of trust.

No me sparked in the hearth.

No light danced on the walls.

Only silence.

And it was enough to start a whole new war.