A Faint Whisper

The wind howled against the stone walls of Ravenglade Keep, a low, eerie moan that sent shivers down Seraphina's spine.

She and Alistair remained in the archive, neither speaking as the candlelight flickered between them. The words from the manuscript still lingered in the air like a specter:

*"When the blade calls again, the path shall open once more."*

Seraphina swallowed, her fingers brushing over the fragile parchment. "You felt it, didn't you?"

Alistair didn't answer right away. He closed the book in his hands, his silver eyes shadowed.

"I did."

His voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it—one she had heard before. Caution. Restraint.

Fear.

She studied him carefully. "This has happened before, hasn't it?"

A muscle in his jaw tightened. "Yes."

Seraphina exhaled. "With your brother?"

Alistair hesitated. Then, finally, he nodded.

She leaned forward. "What happened?"

For a long moment, he didn't speak.

Then, his voice came low and steady.

"He told me the sword was speaking to him."

Seraphina shivered.

She thought of the cold weight of the blade in her hands, the way the air had thrummed around her when she first touched it.

Had it been a whisper, too faint to hear? Or had she simply ignored it?

Alistair went on. "Ronan believed it was a sign. A calling. That the Vale was waiting for him."

He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face.

"But he was wrong."

Seraphina frowned. "How can you be so sure?"

Alistair's gaze locked onto hers.

"Because I watched him leave."

The words settled heavily between them.

Seraphina's chest tightened. "And you never saw him again."

Alistair didn't blink. "No."

The fire crackled in the hearth, throwing jagged shadows across the stone walls.

Seraphina looked back at the manuscript, its inked warnings now seared into her mind.

*"And those who return are never the same."*

A chill ran through her.

She took a slow breath. "I need to see the sword again."

Alistair stiffened. "That's a mistake."

"Maybe," she admitted. "But if it's calling to me, then I need to know why."

Alistair exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark hair. "You don't understand what you're asking."

"Then explain it to me."

His jaw clenched. "The more you listen, the more it takes. Ronan thought he could control it. That the sword chose *him*."

His gaze darkened. "But the blade has no master. Only a purpose."

Seraphina's heart pounded.

"And what is that purpose?"

Alistair's voice dropped to a whisper.

"To open the path to the Vale."

The words sent a chill through her.

Seraphina looked toward the corridor that led back to the armory. Back to the sword.

She inhaled.

Then she stood.

Alistair cursed under his breath. "Seraphina."

She turned to him. "I need to see it."

His silver eyes burned. "Then I'm coming with you."

---

The armory was silent when they entered, the torches along the walls barely flickering in the cold draft.

Seraphina's pulse thrummed as she approached the pedestal where the sword lay.

The Nightbane blade.

It was impossibly black, its edges catching the dim firelight in unnatural ways.

She hesitated.

Alistair stood close behind her, his presence grounding. "If you feel anything—"

"I know," she murmured.

Then, slowly, she reached out.

Her fingers brushed the hilt—

A whisper.

Not a sound, but a presence. A faint, curling thread of *something* against the edges of her mind.

Her breath caught.

She tightened her grip.

And the world tilted.

Cold.

The scent of damp earth. The distant rustling of unseen leaves.

A shadowed path stretched before her—twisting, endless.

A figure stood at its threshold.

Seraphina's pulse stuttered.

"Ronan?"

The figure did not move.

A gust of wind howled past, and suddenly—

The ground beneath her was gone.

Darkness swallowed everything.

A voice, distant yet near, whispered through the void.

*"The path is open."*

Seraphina gasped.

The vision shattered.

She stumbled back, the sword clattering to the stone floor.

"Seraphina!"

Alistair caught her before she could fall, his grip steady, his warmth anchoring her.

She pressed a hand to her forehead, her breath uneven. "I saw—"

Her gaze lifted to his, wide and uncertain.

"I saw the path."

Alistair's expression turned grim.

"Then it's already begun."

---