Chapter 8: The Bone That Speaks

The wind howled through the trees like voices mourning the dead. Aelira followed the fae guide in silence, her breath fogging as they moved deeper into the northern woods. The forest here was wrong. Too still. No birds, no insects. Just the creak of old boughs and the low hum of power older than memory.

She could still feel Vyra's voice in her bones from their last confrontation. Burn her again, she had said. The words echoed in Aelira's skull like a curse.

Kaeln was behind her, blade in hand, eyes scanning the woods. Nessa kept close to Aelira's side, pale and still bruised from the ritual. None of them spoke. Not since the Grimoire revealed what it held.

The path opened suddenly. Before them stood a jagged cliff carved into the shape of broken ribs, hollowed and bleached by time. A massive ribcage of stone.

"Drithmoor," the fae said, bowing her head. "The Veiled Seers dwell beyond the bone."

Aelira's pulse quickened.

No one who entered Drithmoor without a purpose returned whole. That was the legend.

They passed between the stone ribs, and the light dimmed. Magic grew thick in the air, tasting of iron and smoke. Carvings covered the walls—symbols unfamiliar even to Aelira's rising power. This place was sealed to time itself.

Down a narrow tunnel they went, until the ground fell away into a dome of crystal and bone. Dozens of curved tusks spiraled upward to a point where an orb of glass floated, swirling with color and shadow.

And beneath it, seated in a circle, were the Seers.

Six hooded figures. Eyes stitched shut. Skin pale as candle wax. Each cradled a carved bone—femur, jaw, scapula—etched with moving runes.

One turned toward Aelira without looking.

"You bear the mark that was sealed. The fire that returns."

The voice was brittle. Layered. Not one speaker, but many through one mouth.

"You have awakened. And now, the forest remembers."

---

Kaeln shifted beside her. "We need answers. About the prophecy. About Saelwyn."

Another Seer spoke. "You seek what was stolen. You seek the end of the beginning."

Aelira stepped forward. "I want the truth. About why I was burned. About who betrayed me."

The Seers whispered together, and the orb above glowed brighter.

One of them held out a bone blade. "Then bleed. Memory costs."

Without hesitation, Aelira sliced her palm. Her blood dripped onto the runes—and the chamber darkened.

The orb exploded in light.

Visions hit her at once. Flames. Screams. A child torn from her arms. Nessa. Her own voice chanting a forbidden spell to save a dying soul. And then—Vyra. Younger. Afraid. Watching from the shadows as other witches condemned Saelwyn.

"She carries the seed of destruction," one voice had said.

"Or salvation," another had whispered.

The scene twisted.

Saelwyn's lover—Kaeln—holding the torch. Tears streaming down his face. She smiled before she died.

Then the vision broke.

Aelira collapsed. Kaeln caught her again.

One Seer rose. "The prophecy is older than your lives."

Another finished: "She who burns shall rise again. Flame-crowned, heart-cursed. Three shall stand beside her: one of guilt, one of blood, one of shadow."

Nessa stepped forward. "Who are they?"

The Seers turned to her.

"You are one."

Nessa staggered back. "Me? I—I don't understand."

Aelira looked at Kaeln, whose face had gone pale.

"And him?" she whispered.

"The guilt," the Seers said.

Kaeln didn't deny it.

Aelira's voice was hoarse. "Then who is the shadow?"

The Seers were silent.

Then, in unison:

"She is coming."

The orb dimmed. Aelira's palm still bled.

One Seer leaned forward. "The Immortal will fall. The Betrayer will kneel. The forest will feast. Choose who dies, and who you will become."

Suddenly, the ground trembled. Dust fell from above. The orb cracked.

A Seer screamed. Another chanted to hold the vision in place.

Kaeln drew his blade. ."she found us"

From the tunnel they came—witches with white eyes, cursed by corrupted magic. Not alive. Not dead. Sent by Vyra.

The prophecy had been heard.

And war had begun.