Elanor’s head snapped toward her with sudden, sharp clarity.

  “That’s where you’re wrong, child,” she said, voice like flint. Her eyes dropped to the emerald glinting on Imogen’s finger. “Your path and his are moving in opposite directions. If you don’t let go, he’ll drag you into the dark with him.”

  Imogen’s hand froze mid-stir, the spoon trembling in her grip. She met Elanor’s eyes, frustration and sorrow tangled in her chest.

  “What does that make me then?” she asked, voice cracking. “If I leave Aiden like everyone else did, what does that make me?”

  Elanor didn’t flinch. Her gaze was stone.

  “I don’t know,” she said softly. “But I do know that if you stay… you’re more foolish than you are kind. He will ruin you, Imogen. Twist you until you can’t tell what’s yours and what’s his. You’re cut from a different cloth, girl. Stronger. Brighter.”

  Elanor stepped closer, her voice firm now. Urgent.

  “I need you to see that. Before it’s too late. You mustn’t confuse pity for love, Imogen. He will try to control you, and if he can’t, he’ll break you. Just like his uncle did.”

  Anger bloomed hot in Imogen’s chest. Her fingers curled tight around the spoon, knuckles white.

  “Before what is too late?!” she snapped. “I may not have noble blood, but I do love him. And I love him enough to stand by his side!”

  Elanor’s voice cut like a blade.

  “Even if he kills dragons in the process? Even if he silences every woman who dares to speak her truth?”

  She shook her head. “You’ve heard that boy, he worships his uncle like some kind of prophet. And every time you open your mouth, he calls you a dragon sympathizer. You know what that means around here.”

  Imogen opened her mouth, but the words caught in her throat.

  Elanor’s gaze hardened, her voice quieter now, but no less sharp.

  “Do you really want to end up like Gareth and Serenya? Hanged while the man you tried to save watches with empty eyes? Because that’s the path you’re choosing.”

  She stepped back, jaw tight with fear and fury.

  “If that’s what you want… then I’ve got nothing left to say but good luck to you, girl.”

  Elanor turned away, shaking her head, not in hatred, but in heartbreak.

  She went back to the cauldron and resumed stirring, quieter this time.

  The silence settled between them, filled only by the soft bubbling of the brew and the rhythmic scrape of pestles on stone.

  Imogen busied herself with the last of the dried sun petals, gently folding them into a ceramic bowl lined with wax paper. She exhaled slowly, letting the simple motion steady her nerves, trying to push the weight of the conversation from her mind.

  But then… something strange happened.

  The petals beneath her fingers began to shimmer.

  At first, she thought it was just the candlelight playing tricks. But as she moved, a faint golden glow pulsed from her palms, tracing the contours of her fingers like liquid sunlight, dancing just beneath the skin.

  The herbs responded, brightening at the edges, reversing the drying process that made them useful, as though they were just recently harvested.

  Elanor turned just in time to see it.

  “Oh… ” she breathed, a gasp of startled delight escaping before she could stop it. “Imogen!”

  Imogen looked up, startled. “What?”

  But Elanor was already stepping closer, eyes wide. “Your hands… gods above, your hands. Do you feel that?”

  Imogen looked down. The glow was already fading, flickering like dying embers before vanishing into her skin. “I… I thought it was just the light…”

  “No,” Elanor said sharply, voice trembling. “That wasn’t candlelight. That was you.”

  Imogen froze, heart racing, her breath caught in her throat. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Exactly,” Elanor whispered, stepping back. Her expression shifted, delight replaced by something colder.

  Something worse.

  Fear.

  “Aunt Elanor?” Imogen asked, her voice small. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

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  But Elanor didn’t answer right away. Her hands pressed to her mouth, eyes locked, not on Imogen’s face, but her hands.

  Finally, she spoke. Quiet. Urgent.

  “Imogen… has anything like this ever happened before? Glowing? Anything?”

  Imogen shook her head slowly. “No. Never. I swear.”

  Elanor grabbed her wrist gently, but firmly. “Then listen to me, and listen carefully. You do not tell anyone. Not Aiden. Not your friends. No one.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because there’s magic…” Elanor’s voice dropped, low and grim. “And then there are kinds of magic the world tries to forget. The kind people fear without understanding. And if someone sees that glow and takes it the wrong way…”

  She leaned in, barely above a whisper.

  “…they won’t wait to ask questions before dragging you away.”

  Imogen yanked her hand back, eyes wide. “No. No more cryptic warnings. What was that, Aunt Elanor? What was that?”

  Elanor looked torn. Her fingers flexed at her sides like she wanted to wring out the truth but couldn’t bear to speak it.

  “You need to trust me,” she said instead. “It’s safer if you don’t know yet.”

  Imogen stepped closer, anger breaking through her fear. “I glowed. My hands glowed and made sun petals bloom like they were still alive, how do I not get to know what that means?”

  Elanor’s jaw tensed. “Because if you ask the wrong person, at the wrong time, you won’t just be in danger… you’ll put a target on both our backs.”

  Imogen’s breath hitched. “You’re scared.”

  “Yes,” Elanor snapped. “I am.”

  The silence that followed was thick and heavy. Even the cauldron seemed to gurgle nervously, as if it, too, was holding its breath.

  “I need answers,” Imogen whispered. “I deserve them.”

  Elanor closed her eyes for a long moment. When she opened them, they were weary, older than Imogen had ever seen.

  “You do,” she admitted quietly. “And one day… I promise, I’ll give them to you.”

  Imogen’s shoulders slumped. “But not tonight.”

  “No,” Elanor said, brushing a lock of hair behind Imogen’s ear. Her voice softened, though the weight of her words still pressed between them. “Because the moment I do… you can’t go back to who you were yesterday.”

  She hesitated, then added, “You remember what I told you before… about you and Aiden? That you were cut from different cloths? Nobility had nothing to do with it..”

  Imogen stared at Elanor.

  Elanor continued, voice almost a whisper. “This is why. And I need you to have a few more yesterdays first… before the world demands something more from you.”

  Imogen looked down at her hands, still now, steady. But she could feel it: that shimmer beneath the skin, that quiet hum in her blood.

  She didn’t argue.

  But deep inside her, something stirred.

  And it wasn’t going back to sleep.

  That night, the cottage was quiet.

  Too quiet.

  Imogen lay on her side beneath the quilt, eyes open, staring at the wooden ceiling above her bed. Her fingers traced the seam of the ring Aiden had given her, the metal now cold against her skin.

  She couldn’t sleep.

  Eventually, she slipped from her bed and padded barefoot to the window, lifting the curtain just enough to peer out.

  The sky was clear above her, but only just. In the distance, far beyond the hills, a wall of storm clouds loomed. Dark and unmoving. Like they were waiting for permission to roll in.

  She hugged her arms around herself, chin resting on the windowsill.

  “I didn’t ask for any of this,” she whispered to the night. “I just wanted to help people. To be enough.”

  But something inside her had changed. She could feel it now. Like a thread had been pulled loose and the world would never sit quite the same again.

  Downstairs, candlelight flickered faintly under Elanor’s door. Imogen assumed she was still tidying up from the day, or maybe reading, like she always did when sleep wouldn’t come.

  She didn’t know Elanor was writing.

  In the small workroom, Elanor dipped her quill again, her handwriting tight and precise as it flowed across the parchment. The candle beside her trembled with the draft of the open window.

  To Whom It May Concern in the Outer Circles,

  The girl has begun to show signs.

  It was faint, barely more than a flicker, but it came from within. No sigils. No invocation.

  It was light, golden and steady. The old kind.

  I don’t believe she is safe anymore. I’ve done what I can to protect her, but it may no longer be enough.

  They will come looking.

  When you receive this… be ready.

  She paused, pressing her lips into a thin line, then folded the letter and sealed it with a wax stamp bearing the symbol of a broken ring, a sign few would recognize anymore.

  Elanor stood and held the letter out the window. A moment passed… and then a small shadow darted down from the rooftop, a raven, silent and waiting.

  She tied the message to its leg with trembling fingers.

  “Fly fast,” she whispered. “And don’t let anyone see you.”

  The raven launched into the dark, wings slicing through the still air, vanishing into the storm-hinted sky.

  Elanor watched until it was gone, her heart heavier than it had been in years. She turned from the window and returned to the quiet rhythm of the workroom, unaware of the violence that had followed.

  Far above, barely a minute into flight, a streak of purple lightning tore through the night silent, swift, and merciless.

  It struck the raven mid-air, the impact so fierce it burst into a cloud of black feathers, scattered like ash into the midnight wind.

  There were no witnesses.

  Only the stars saw the message die.

  And upstairs, Imogen remained at the window, eyes fixed on the clouds that refused to move.