Chapter 5: The Vigil’s Call

Erin froze as the door creaked open, its rusted hinges groaning like a wounded animal. Moonlight spilled into the cramped shack, illuminating dust motes that swirled in the air like restless spirits.

For a heartbeat, he feared the worst—a demon's gnarled claw,—but relief flooded him as Aria slipped inside, her silhouette framed by the pale glow. Her school uniform, patched at the elbows and frayed at the hem, hung loosely on her slight frame, and her cheeks were flushed from the night's chill. Before he could speak, she darted forward, wrapping her arms around him in a hug so tight it stole his breath. Her hair smelled of woodsmoke and pine, a familiar comfort that anchored him.

"I missed you," she murmured into his shoulder. "How was your first day with the Vigil?"

Erin hesitated, the weight of the unread letter in his pocket suddenly unbearable. The shack's hearth flickered, casting shadows that danced across the walls like mocking specters. "I didn't go," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I did get a letter from the Vigil."

Aria pulled back, her hazel eyes widening. "And I wasn't here to read it," she said, her tone laced with guilt. She swiped at a smudge of ink on her wrist—evidence of hours bent over spell diagrams—and held out her hand. "Where is it?"

Erin reached into his pocket, the parchment crinkling as he passed it to her. Her fingers trembled slightly as she broke the wax seal, the emblem of the Vigil—a lantern crossed with a spear—gleaming in the dim light. A grin spread across her face as she scanned the contents, her teeth flashing white against her wind-chapped lips. Then she gasped, clutching the letter to her chest. "You've been chosen as a member of the Vigil! Attend the new members' meeting today at noon!" She threw her arms around him again, her smile bright and contagious. "Erin, this is incredible!"

He forced a smile, though guilt gnawed at his ribs like a hungry rat. The meeting had come and gone, lost to his paralysis. Aria didn't know—couldn't know—about the fear that had rooted him to the floorboards, the shame that had kept him from confessing his illiteracy. Instead, he clung to the resolve hardening in his chest. "I'll be there first thing tomorrow," he said, squeezing her shoulders. "I hope they receive me."

Aria tilted her head, studying him. "Well, there were rumors at school today," she said, perching on the edge of their splintered table. "The Sentinels and the Wardens didn't take in a single contestant. Everyone who took their tests failed." She gestured to the letter, her voice softening. "So consider yourself a lucky one. You passed the Vigils trials."

Lucky.—The word pricked like a thorn. If only she knew how long he'd spent tracing letters in the dirt, how the symbols blurred and twisted like cursed runes. But he swallowed the bitterness, focusing instead on the pride in her eyes. —Everything I do, I do for her,— he thought, watching as she tucked a stray curl behind her ear. She'd sold her own pendant—a twin to the one he wore—to buy a spellbook, while he'd hoarded his like a dragon guarding treasure. She deserved more than this life, more than crumbling walls and empty stomachs. Her brilliance was a beacon, and he would fan its flames, even if it burned him.

"I bought you some dried bread," he said, retrieving a cloth-wrapped bundle from his satchel. The loaf inside was meager, hard as stone, but it was all he'd scavenged from the market's closing. "And here's a coin for candles. To study." He pressed the copper piece into her palm, ignoring the hollow ache in his own stomach.

Aria's smile wavered. "You shouldn't have—"

"I'll manage," he interrupted, turning toward his cot. The straw mattress groaned as he sank onto it, its frayed blanket scratchy against his skin. "I should get some sleep. Don't want to miss tomorrow's journey."

She nodded, shrugging off her uniform and folding it neatly—a small act of order in their chaotic world. Her undershirt was threadbare, the hem unraveling, but she moved with the grace of someone who wore invisibility like armor. "It's just tracing magical figures," she said, settling at the table with a charcoal stub and a scrap of parchment. "I'll finish quickly."

Erin watched her hunched form, the hearth gilding her profile. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she sketched, the lines precise, confident. —She was born for this,— he thought. —And I was born to make sure she gets it.—

Sleep came in fits, his mind churning with visions of tomorrow—the Vigil's stone-faced captain, Aria's disappointment if he failed, the cold finality of closed doors. —What if they cast me out? What if I'm too late?— The questions chased him into darkness, where they dissolved into fragmented dreams of his mother's voice, her hands pressing the wooden pendant into his palms. "Protect her," she'd whispered, her breath sour with fever. "Promise me."

***

Erin jolted awake before dawn, his heart drumming a frantic rhythm. Pale light seeped through the shack's cracks, painting silver stripes on Aria's face as she slept, her cheek smudged with charcoal. He shook her gently, his calloused fingers brushing her shoulder. "I need to go," he whispered.

She stirred, blinking groggily. "Okay… take care. Don't stay long." Her words slurred with sleep as she rolled over, pulling the thin blanket to her chin.

Quiet as a shadow, Erin unfastened one of the two pendants from his neck—a carved oak leaf, its edges worn smooth from years of touch. His mother's last gift. He looped it around Aria's throat, the cord catching on a tangle of her hair. Her own pendant was gone, traded for knowledge, but this one would stay. —A piece of me to guard her— he thought. Then he emptied his pockets, leaving two grimy coins in her patched schoolbag. All that remained was his father's pendant and shovel, its handle notched with memories.

The forest swallowed him whole as he trekked, the trees towering like sentinels. Frost clung to the underbrush, crunching beneath his boots, and the air tasted of iron and decay. Hours blurred into a monotony of aching muscles and labored breaths. He passed bone-white birches, their branches clawing at the sky, and crossed streams swollen with icy water that numbed his feet. Once, he startled a deer—its eyes wide, liquid black—and stood frozen as it bounded away, a phantom in the mist.

***

When the mansion loomed into view, Erin stumbled to a halt, his shovel slipping from his grip. It was no mere building—it was a fortress hewn from nightmares and grandeur. Black stone walls rose like a cliff face, studded with narrow windows that glowed faintly amber. Twin spires speared the clouds, their peaks lost in swirling fog, and the massive oak door bore carvings of twisted creatures locked in eternal battle. "Not what I was expecting," he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. "But better than a shack."

He'd taken three steps toward the entrance when the air rippled, a shimmer like heat on sand. Taro materialized before him. The Vigil's emblem gleamed on his breastplate. "Go back," he said, his voice a glacier's rumble. "You're already disqualified."

Erin's throat tightened. "Please—I didn't know—the letter—"

"You missed the invitation." Taro's gaze was pitiless. "No second chances."

Tears blurred Erin's vision, hot and stinging. He opened his mouth, but no sound came. Somewhere, a crow cawed, the sound jagged as broken glass. The world tilted, and he gripped his shovel like a lifeline, the wood biting into his palm. —Aria's face flashed in his mind—her smile, her hope—

He would not beg. Would not break.