The Whispering Blade

The skies over Bellflower darkened too early.

Clouds like bruises rolled in from the east, and by evening, a cold drizzle began to fall. Lisa stood by the windows in the west wing gallery, watching nobles scurry below with umbrellas and coats, their jeweled heels clacking against the stone courtyards. She wasn't supposed to be alone, but Syra was near, standing like a silent shadow behind her.

"Rain," Lisa whispered. "It always follows something."

Syra touched her arm lightly and nodded, then pointed toward the horizon. Something was coming.

⸻

Down in the barracks, Caelum cursed under his breath as rain soaked through the training yard.

"You'll catch a fever barking at the wind like that," came a voice steady, cold, female.

He turned.

Captain Astra Velora stood with her arms crossed, soaked but unbothered, her black armor gleaming even in the storm. She always looked like she'd stepped out of a battlefield. Her jaw was strong. Her eyes, even stronger.

"You're late," Caelum said.

"I'm not on your schedule," she replied, tossing him a rolled-up scroll. "Patrol report from the southern gate. Three men tried to bribe the guards into letting them through with cloaked cargo."

"What kind of cargo?"

Astra's eyes narrowed. "Children. Drugged. Marked."

Caelum's face darkened. "Witches?"

"I'm not sure. But whoever's behind this, they know the checkpoints to avoid. Someone's guiding them from within."

A moment of silence passed between them.

Caelum finally said, "You trust anyone in this court, Captain?"

"I trust swords. And walls. Sometimes dogs."

"No people?"

Her lips twitched, almost a smile. "Least of all you."

But as she turned to go, he caught her wrist.

"Careful, Velora. That sounded like flirting."

She snatched her hand away. "If it was, you'd be bleeding."

And then she was gone.

Caelum smirked to himself, despite the weight of what she'd just delivered.

Trouble was leaking into Bellflower through cracks no one had seen. And Astra was right. They needed steel, not smiles.

⸻

Meanwhile, beneath the western halls of the castle, Rhys descended into the archives, the lower chambers kept locked from most.

He had a key.

The room was dust and parchment, sealed scrolls, and glass jars of forgotten things. Old magic.

And one person already waiting for him.

Elyra.

She stood in the candlelight with her hood down. Her dark hair spilled over her shoulders like silk. A silver thread ran across her sleeve, the same kind of fabric used in witch circles carefully hidden.

"You're early," he said.

"You're late," she replied, touching a book on a stand. "Did you know this place once held relics from the First Flame War?"

"Which means someone's moved them. Why?"

"Because relics of truth are dangerous."

Their eyes locked.

Rhys walked toward her. "Why are you still here?"

Elyra didn't flinch. "Because you'll need me when it begins."

"It's already begun."

"I meant the real war."

They stood in silence, tension thick. It wasn't romantic yet it was something else. Trust, maybe. Or what passed for it in a castle full of masks.

Rhys reached into his coat and pulled out a charm.

"This came from the girl who fainted. Look familiar?"

Elyra paled.

"Where did she get this?" she asked softly.

"You tell me."

"That symbol... It belonged to a splinter sect. They weren't witches. They were worshippers of something older than magic. They called it The Key of Flame."

Rhys froze.

Elyra continued. "If they're surfacing again... Lisa isn't the only one in danger. We all are."

⸻

At the top of the castle, Lisa stared at her own reflection in the rain-slicked glass.

Leonard hadn't come to see her.

Not since the council. Not since he called her a key and warned her not to be stolen.

She hated how cold he could be.

She hated more how her chest still tightened when he was near.

"Mi lady," Lydia said from behind her, hesitant. "His Highness has requested your presence in the Moon Hall."

Lisa turned. "Now?"

"Yes. And... not alone. They say the Southern Duchess arrived. And with her, a seer."

Lisa blinked. "A seer?"

"An oracle. They say she only speaks in riddles. But she's asking for the 'girl with the star in her blood.'"

Lisa's skin prickled.

⸻

The Moon Hall was vast and echoing, filled with silver tapestries that glowed beneath moonlight pouring in from the skylight above. At its center stood Leonard, his black coat dusted with rain. Beside him was the Southern Duchess, a tall, olive-skinned woman with piercing eyes and a smile that never quite reached her lips.

And beside her—

The seer.

A girl. Barefoot. Draped in black silk. Her eyes were milk-white, unseeing, yet when Lisa entered, she turned straight toward her.

She pointed.

"Found her," the seer whispered. "The key. She bleeds starlight."

Lisa stepped forward, heart hammering. "What do you want from me?"

"She will split the crown," the seer breathed. "One to rise. One to burn."

Leonard's eyes darkened.

The Duchess merely sipped from her goblet. "She speaks in riddles. You'll learn not to listen too closely."

But Lisa couldn't breathe.

The girl's words felt like prophecy.

"Split the crown?"

The seer raised a shaking hand. "Beware the one who comes in moon's guise. She carries ash in her eyes. A sister. A storm."

"A sister?" Lisa whispered.

"Or a shadow," said the Duchess with a smirk. "Sometimes riddles mean nothing."

Leonard stepped closer to Lisa, his voice low. "Come. We're done here."

Lisa didn't move. "I want to hear more."

"You've heard enough."

"Don't speak for me."

The Duchess laughed softly. "Ah. Fire and frost. What a pair you two make."

Leonard said nothing. But his hand gripped Lisa's arm a little tighter than necessary as they left.

⸻

That night, Lisa sat in her room, Syra asleep in a chair nearby.

She held the small wooden box Syra had brought her.

Inside, the fabric shimmered faintly now like it responded to her presence. She reached for it, but the moment her finger touched the thread, a searing light rushed through her.

And in her mind—

She saw the seer again.

Only this time, the seer bled from her mouth.

And in the flames behind her stood a woman who looked almost like Lisa...

But wrong.

Eyes black as night. A silver crown.

A twisted smile.

And behind her an army of witches and beasts.

Lisa screamed herself awake.

Syra rushed to her side.

But Lisa already knew what the vision meant.

She wasn't just a key.

She was a door.

And someone had already found the lock.