Path to Ravenswatch

The fire has long since faded, but the words linger.

Rest in Ravenswatch… beyond their reach. But the path will not be unchallenged.

Etherion's whisper is a thread in my mind, unraveling with each breath. My fingers twitch at my sides, a phantom sensation crawling through my nerves. The Arcane Whisper ability—changed, expanded—feels like a living thing now, coiling beneath my skin, waiting to be tested.

So I test it.

I reach inward, drawing on that intangible current of knowledge and power. The world shifts—not physically, but perceptibly. I sense the remnants of magic that have long since faded, the echoes of spells long forgotten. The campfire's embers hum with the memory of fire. The wind carries traces of distant incantations, some too faint to decipher, others laced with intent.

And then, beyond all of it, something shifts.

A presence, not here, not now, but watching.

A sharp static crackles through my mind, like someone tuning a broken frequency. My breath catches as a shadow flickers at the edges of my awareness—too indistinct to place, but undeniably there. Watching. Listening.

The sensation is ripped away as suddenly as it comes, leaving me gasping, my lungs burning as if I'd been running for miles. Cold sweat trickles down my spine, a chill that seeps into my very bones.

"Aria?"

Cassian's voice, hoarse with worry, pulls me back to reality. I open my eyes, the world rushing back in sharper than before, colors more vivid, sounds more distinct. He's staring, concern shadowing his scholar's gaze, the firelight casting deep hollows beneath his eyes. The others are watching too—Miren with suspicion etched into her furrowed brow, Thorne with the wariness of a soldier who's seen too much, Elio with something unreadable behind his mask of indifference.

I exhale slowly, trying to steady my racing heart. "I heard him again."

Silence settles between us like a second nightfall, heavy and oppressive.

"Etherion?" Cassian finally asks, voice strained, as if speaking the name might summon something terrible.

I nod, running my fingers through my tangled hair. "He said Ravenswatch is our best chance to rest. But the journey to the Sanctum will be longer. Harder. And…" I hesitate, glancing at Elio before finishing, "My father won't be able to reach me there. Neither will the Accord."

Cassian's breath hitches. He doesn't speak immediately, but I see it—the war behind his eyes. Everything he's ever known, everything he's ever believed in, is unraveling thread by thread. The Accord—the governing body that has maintained what they call "peace" for generations—has been lying about the Arcanists all along. About magic itself. About me.

"The Accord erased the Arcanists for a reason," Miren mutters, drawing her cloak tighter around her shoulders as if to ward off an invisible chill. Her sigils gleam faintly beneath the fabric, ancient symbols of protection that she's spent a lifetime studying. "What if we shouldn't be digging this up? What if some knowledge was meant to stay buried?"

"They erased it because they were afraid," Cassian counters, voice tight with barely contained frustration. His hands ball into fists, knuckles white. "Of knowledge. Of power. Of anything they couldn't control." The anger in his words surprises me—the scholar I met in the Archives months ago would never have spoken against the Accord so boldly.

"Or because it was dangerous," Thorne says flatly, his weathered face impassive in the dying light. His hand rests on his weapon—a reflex, a habit born from years of survival. "Doesn't change our next step. We get to Ravenswatch. Rest. Regroup. Then decide if we keep chasing ghosts."

Elio says nothing, his gaze distant, lost in memories or calculations I can't begin to fathom. The firelight flickers in his eyes, unreadable as always. He's been with us since the Shadowfall incident, but I still don't know if I can trust him. His allegiances are as shifting as quicksand.

I don't argue. The whisper of magic still hums in my bones, but it's weaker now, distant. Whatever had been watching is gone… for now. The emptiness it leaves behind feels almost worse than the intrusion—like the moment before a storm breaks, pregnant with anticipation and dread.

"Three days to Ravenswatch, if we push hard," I say, breaking the silence. "We should leave before dawn."

No one disagrees.

We leave while the stars still claim the sky, packing our meager belongings in silence. The horses sense our unease, shifting nervously as we mount up. Cassian's spellbook is clutched tightly against his chest, as if he fears it might vanish if he loosens his grip. Thorne's eyes scan the horizon, ever vigilant. Miren mutters protection charms under her breath, sigils glowing faintly on her fingertips.

The road is quiet at first, the world painted in muted hues of blue and gray as night reluctantly gives way to morning. The ruins of old watchtowers loom along the horizon, forgotten relics swallowed by time and strangled by creeping vines. Monuments to a history the Accord tried to erase.

I find myself wondering how many other secrets lie buried in the shadows of the past. How many other truths have been twisted into convenient lies?

The ride is steady, tense. The weight of unspoken doubts presses against the quiet, making the air feel thick and difficult to breathe. My mind keeps circling back to the presence I felt—the watcher. Not Etherion, something else. Something colder. More calculating. But who? What?

Then, the air shifts.

Thorne is the first to notice, his instincts honed by years on the battlefield. His grip tightens on the reins, his gaze snapping toward the ridgeline ahead. "We're not alone."

A flicker of movement—too fast for a traveler, too organized for common thieves.

Bandits. No—mercenaries. Armed, waiting. This isn't a random ambush. They knew we'd be here.

"Trap," Elio says, voice low as he slides from his saddle, sword already in hand. The metal gleams with runes I don't recognize—old magic, forbidden magic.

"How did they know?" Cassian whispers, face pale with fear. "How did they find us?"

I have no answer, but suspicion coils in my gut like a serpent. We've been betrayed. But by whom?

The attack comes in a blur of steel and shadow. Arrows slice through the morning air, forcing us to scatter. I barely register the shouts before magic surges through me, instinct overriding thought. I reach for the new depth of my Arcane Whisper, trying to tap into that expanded awareness that had felt so overwhelming just hours before.

A pulse. A thread of spellwork, hidden beneath the surface of reality.

I pull.

The air folds.

A ripple spreads outward as the whisper guides my magic into something raw and unrefined—space bends, distorting the nearest attackers' footing, sending them stumbling where they should have stepped true. Reality itself warps at my command, an impossible manipulation of the physical world that I shouldn't be capable of. That no one should be capable of.

It lasts only a second, but that second is enough. Thorne cuts through the first assailant before they recover, his blade a silver arc in the dawn light. Blood sprays, crimson against the pale sky. Miren's sigils burn bright, deflecting a second volley of arrows that should have found their marks in our flesh. The protective symbols sear themselves into the air, leaving trails of blue-white light that linger like scars.

Cassian—he hesitates, his hands trembling before he forces himself to act, sending a bolt of raw kinetic energy into an advancing mercenary. The man flies backward, crashing into a tree with a sickening crack. Horror flashes across Cassian's face—the scholar becoming a killer before my eyes.

Elio doesn't hesitate at all. His blade is already wet, weaving through the battle with terrifying precision. He moves like water, like shadow, like death itself.

I reach for my power again, but this time there's resistance. Pain lances through my skull, sharp and sudden. My vision blurs, doubling, tripling. Too much. Too soon. My body isn't ready for this level of magic, not yet.

A mercenary charges toward me, blade raised for the kill. I stumble backward, desperate, defenseless—

Thorne intercepts, taking the blow meant for me. His armor holds, but he grunts in pain, blood seeping through a gap in the plates. Without hesitation, he drives his sword up through the mercenary's throat, face grim.

"Stay back!" he shouts, pushing me behind him.

The battle is fast. Efficient. We win, but not without cost.

Blood stains the dirt, turning dust to mud beneath our feet. My pulse pounds against my ribs like a war drum. Cassian vomits in the underbrush, the reality of killing catching up to him. Miren's hands shake as she tends to Thorne's wound, her healing sigils flickering weakly. We're all running on empty.

"They were waiting for us," Thorne says, voice grim as Miren binds his injury. "Someone tipped them off."

Miren mutters a curse, wiping blood from her cheek with the back of her hand. "Accord agents?"

"No," Thorne shakes his head. "Different tactics. Mercenaries for hire."

Cassian doesn't respond. He's still staring at the fallen bodies, his mind a battlefield of its own. The scholar who valued knowledge above all else now knows the weight of taking a life. That knowledge will change him forever.

Elio crouches beside one of the corpses, his expression unreadable as he searches for clues. "They knew we were coming," he murmurs, rifling through the dead man's pockets, "but they weren't expecting you to fight back." He looks up at me, eyes narrowing. "They weren't expecting magic."

I swallow hard, the implications settling like stones in my stomach. "They were sent to capture, not kill."

"To capture you," Elio clarifies, rising to his feet with something clutched in his hand—a small silver token bearing an unfamiliar crest. "Someone wants you alive."

The Arcane Whisper still hums beneath my skin, unstable but stronger than before. I can still hear it, like a half-remembered melody playing at the edges of my consciousness.

And then—

Ravenswatch is your refuge, but the Sanctum is your home. He cannot reach you there. Neither can your father. But the path is long. Be ready.

The words crawl through my skull, colder this time. More real. Like fingers tracing patterns on the inside of my bones.

I press my fingers to my temples, fighting back a wave of nausea. Who is 'he'? What does Etherion mean about my father? The questions pile up, each more disturbing than the last.

"We need to move," Thorne says, grimacing as he mounts his horse. "There could be more of them."

No one argues. We gather our belongings, strip the bodies of anything useful—weapons, supplies, coin—and continue toward Ravenswatch with renewed urgency. The morning stretches on, tense and watchful. Every rustle in the underbrush, every distant bird call, sets us on edge.

By midday, the trees begin to thin, giving way to rocky terrain. The ancient road narrows, winding through a pass flanked by steep cliffs. Perfect ambush territory. Thorne signals for us to dismount and proceed with caution, leading the horses by their reins.

"The old maps call this Widowmaker's Pass," Cassian says quietly, his voice steadier now. "It was a favorite spot for bandits during the Age of Strife."

"Comforting," Miren mutters, fingers tracing protection sigils in the air.

I walk behind Elio, watching his back, wondering not for the first time about his true motives. He joined us after the incident in the Archives, claiming to be an independent agent with information about Etherion. But there's too much he's not saying. Too many secrets in those calculating eyes.

The silence of the pass is unnatural—no birds, no insects, nothing but the sound of our footsteps and the occasional snort from the horses. My skin prickles with unease.

"Something's wrong," I whisper, stopping in my tracks. The Arcane Whisper stirs, a cold tendril unfurling in my mind. "We need to—"

A rumble cuts me off—distant at first, then growing to a deafening roar. The ground trembles beneath our feet.

Rockslide.

"Run!" Thorne shouts, dragging his horse forward.

We sprint toward the end of the pass as massive boulders crash down from above, dust and debris filling the air. I stumble, catching myself against the cliff face. The world narrows to a tunnel of chaos and noise.

A hand grabs mine—Cassian, pulling me forward. "Don't stop!"

We reach the end of the pass just as the worst of the slide hits, spilling into the valley beyond. The horses rear and whinny in terror. Dust coats our skin, our clothes, making it hard to breathe, to see.

When the rumbling finally stops, I look back. The pass is completely blocked. No way back.

"That wasn't natural," Miren says between coughs, her face streaked with dirt and sweat. "Someone triggered that slide."

"Or something," Cassian adds grimly. "The timing is too perfect."

I close my eyes, reaching out with my Arcane Whisper, searching... and there it is. A faint trace of magic, already fading. The rocks didn't fall by chance.

"We're being herded," I say, opening my eyes. "Like cattle to slaughter."

Thorne nods grimly, checking his weapons. "Then we'd better be ready for the butcher."

The road stretches ahead, winding toward the distant outline of Ravenswatch—a city of stone and secrets perched on the edge of the Forgotten Wastes. From here, it looks peaceful, almost inviting. But I know better now. Nothing is as it seems.