A Song Beneath the Silence

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The snow fell in fine, ghostly threads—silken strands that whispered secrets to the trees as they drifted to the ground. Eldhollow had quieted beneath the weight of it, cloaked in a hush that felt reverent and uneasy, like the world was holding its breath.

Seraphina stood at the edge of the frost-laced courtyard, her breath fogging in front of her lips. The moon hung above the academy's tallest spire like a blade waiting to fall, pale and sharp and watching. Her fingers trembled where they curled around the leather strap of her satchel. Inside, the spellbook hummed with quiet menace, every page pulsing with memories that didn't belong to her—and yet did.

The mark beneath her collarbone burned faintly, as if the magic inside had tasted the winter and hungered for fire.

"I thought I'd find you here."

Rowan's voice arrived like a wind through the pines—low, slightly hoarse, but unmistakably his. She didn't turn. She didn't need to. She could feel him in the way the shadows shifted behind her, in the heat his presence cast even through the cold.

"You shouldn't be out," she said softly. "They're watching now."

"I know," he murmured. "But I'm done hiding."

His footsteps crunched lightly through the snow, slow and careful, like he was walking toward a ghost. Maybe he was.

When he reached her, he stood close enough for her to feel the heat of him but not enough to touch.

"I can feel it," he said. "The change in the air. The Veil's thinning, isn't it?"

Seraphina finally looked up at him. His eyes were storm-lit, the kind of gray that looked like it had swallowed lightning. "It's worse than that," she said. "It's bleeding."

They stood there for a moment, framed in white and silence, until she spoke again.

"Julian was right."

Rowan's jaw tensed. "About what?"

"My mother wasn't just Marked. She was the first."

Rowan closed his eyes.

"She carried blood magic," Seraphina continued, "and she passed it to me. Everything the Council feared, everything they tried to erase—it's in me."

"I don't care what blood runs in your veins."

She turned fully then, her voice trembling. "You should. Because it's not just magic. It's memory. Pain. Legacy. Every time I open that book, I feel her voice inside my skull. Not just her spells—her rage. Her grief. Her hunger."

Rowan reached out, slow and steady, and brushed the side of her arm. "And what do you feel now?"

Her lips parted, but no sound came.

Because the truth was terrifying.

She felt alive.

And something darker than that—powerful.

---

Later that night, Seraphina made her way through the silent halls of the west wing. Most students were tucked away, pretending they hadn't heard the whispers—of the girl with cursed blood, the girl who lit candles with a breath and cracked mirrors with her reflection. Her boots echoed down the corridor like distant war drums.

She descended into the lower sanctum beneath the library, where the stone walls dripped with damp and runes pulsed faintly in the floor, like veins beneath skin.

Julian waited near the arcane circle. A flame hovered above his palm, flickering gold and violet, casting dancing shadows on his face. His expression was unreadable—but his eyes gave him away. They always did. They looked like a storm about to break.

"You came," he said.

"I had questions."

He tilted his head. "I thought you might."

Seraphina crossed the threshold into the circle, feeling the prickle of ancient magic rush over her skin. "Tell me about the prophecy."

He blinked slowly. "Which part?"

"All of it."

He sighed, letting the flame vanish. "There was a legend, long before the founding of Eldhollow. Of a bloodline born from both shadow and starlight. A line that would walk the realms between the Veil. A line that could end the cycle—or repeat it."

"And I'm that line?"

"You are the last of it."

Seraphina clenched her fists. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Julian stepped closer. "Because you deserved time to be a girl. Not a weapon."

She hated the way his voice softened when he said that—like he was still trying to hold onto something that had already burned.

"And now?" she asked.

"Now, the weapon is awake."

The words sank into her bones like knives.

She reached into her satchel and pulled the spellbook free. "There's a ritual in here. A severing rite."

Julian's brows drew together. "You'd sever your blood?"

"I'd sever the prophecy. End the line. Stop the madness."

He stepped forward quickly. "That rite would kill you."

"Maybe," she said. "Maybe not."

Julian's jaw tightened. "And Rowan? Does he know?"

She shook her head. "Not yet."

Julian exhaled a long breath. "You're not a martyr, Seraphina."

She looked up, eyes hard as cut glass. "No. I'm the fuse."

---

When she returned to her dorm, her hands were ice and her thoughts were smoke. She collapsed onto her bed, the old quilt smelling faintly of lavender and dust. Her fingers touched the witch's mark, and it pulsed beneath her skin like a heartbeat out of rhythm.

Sleep came reluctantly.

And with it, the dream.

She was back in the forest where her mother vanished, but the trees were burning this time. Flames licked the bark like tongues of truth, and in the center of the blaze stood a figure in black. No face. No voice. Just the outline of power—radiant and cruel.

"You are her echo," it said, in a voice like shattered glass. "But you are not her."

"What am I?" she asked.

"The end of what never should have begun."

---

She woke screaming, her sheets tangled around her limbs. The mark beneath her collarbone was glowing, visible even through the fabric of her nightgown. Her magic surged, raw and wild, rattling the books on her shelf, cracking the windowpane, dimming every candle in the hall.

The door slammed open.

Rowan.

He crossed the room in three strides, grabbing her shoulders. "What happened?"

Seraphina's breath came in gasps. "The dream. The forest. The fire."

He looked down, saw the mark glowing. "It's starting, isn't it?"

She nodded, unable to speak.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her like he could anchor her to the world.

And for the first time, she let herself lean into it.

The warmth of him.

The safety of it.

The sorrow.

---

They stood in the observatory before dawn, stars wheeling above like witnesses. The whole world smelled of snow and salt and something older—something waking.

"There's something I need to tell you," Seraphina whispered.

Rowan didn't speak. Just waited.

"I found a rite," she said. "A severing spell. If I use it… I think I can stop this. Stop what's coming."

He stared at her, the silence between them growing sharp.

"You can't be serious."

"I am."

"It would kill you."

"Maybe," she said. "But what if it saves everyone else?"

Rowan stepped forward, eyes fierce. "I didn't bind my soul to yours just to watch you burn it away."

Her breath caught. "You did what you had to."

"I did what I felt."

And in that moment, there were no curses, no marks, no war.

Just a boy and a girl.

He touched her cheek, fingers brushing her skin like a question he didn't dare ask aloud.

"Then let me help you," he said.

And Seraphina, for once, didn't say no.

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