The Weight of Fate

  Ronan bolted upright, breath coming in ragged gasps as cold sweat clung to his skin. The room’s darkness pressed in around him, but it wasn’t the night that haunted him—it was the visions.

  He had seen it again.

  Elysia, slipping through his fingers. Again and again, over countless lifetimes, the outcome was always the same. The fire consumed her, shadows dragged her away, and his hands reached—too late, always too late. No matter how hard he fought, no matter how much blood he spilled, she was torn from him every single time.

  His chest heaved as he ran a hand down his face, forcing himself to breathe, to ground himself in the present. Elysia was here. She was safe.

  But for how long?

  He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, standing in one fluid motion. Sleep wasn’t an option—not when the past was clawing at the edges of his mind, whispering of a fate he couldn’t accept. Quietly, he pulled on a shirt and strode out of the room, going down to the war room.

  The space was dimly lit, filled with the quiet hum of monitors and the shifting of shadows as security feeds flickered across the screens. Maps, strategy outlines, and contingency plans covered the long wooden table in the center of the room.

  Dorian, as expected, was already there, lounging in one of the chairs with a glass of dark liquor in hand. He barely glanced up before smirking. “You look like shit.”

  Ronan ignored him, moving toward the monitors. “What’s the status on the new reinforced security?”

  Dorian sighed, setting down his glass. “Nearly finished. We’ve reinforced the outer perimeter, doubled the magical wards, and added a secondary lockdown protocol in case the first fails. Nothing is being left up to chance.”

  Ronan nodded, his jaw tight. He should have felt reassured, but his gnawing unease grew. His fingers traced the edge of the map absentmindedly, his mind still caught in the remnants of his nightmare.

  Dorian studied him for a moment before leaning back in his chair. “This isn’t just about security, is it?”

  Ronan clenched his fists, exhaling slowly. “I can’t shake the feeling that it’s not enough. That no matter what we do, it won’t matter.”

  Dorian arched a brow. “You’re not usually one to doubt yourself.”

  Ronan let out a humorless laugh. “I don’t doubt myself. I doubt fate.”

  For a long moment, he just stood there, staring at the restless ocean outside the window. Then, almost absently, he murmured, “The Eclipsed One will always walk beside the Phoenix, only to fall with her.”

  Dorian stiffened, his smirk fading. “Where did you read that?”

  “Many lifetimes ago.” Ronan’s voice was quiet, but the weight behind it was undeniable. “And every time, it’s come true.”

  Dorian didn’t respond right away. He knew better than to dismiss something that had followed Ronan through every reincarnation. Instead, he lifted his glass in a mock toast and tilted his head, a slow smile tugging at his lips. “Yes, but in the past, you didn’t have me."

  Ronan’s jaw tightened. “Not this time. I won’t let it happen again.”

  Dorian smirked, but his eyes were serious. “Then let’s make sure history doesn’t repeat itself.”

  Ronan turned back to the screens, his resolve hardening like steel.

  Whatever fate had planned, whatever prophecy whispered in the dark, he would tear it apart before he let it retake her.

  The Oracle’s Warning

  The streets of New Orleans were alive with music, laughter, and the scent of rain clinging to the air. Ronan and Elysia moved through the French Quarter purposefully, their presence swallowed by the city’s vibrant energy. The lights of Veil Fortuna flickered in the distance. Still, tonight, they sought someone older than the sanctuary’s walls—someone who had seen lifetimes pass like pages in a book.

  Madame Liora.

  Astrid had been certain the oracle could help. “She’s ancient, even by our standards. If anyone can help you piece together the truth, it’s her," she had said before sending them on their way.

  Standing before a weathered townhouse with ivy creeping up its iron railings, Elysia felt something stir deep within her. Something familiar.

  Ronan knocked once, the sound sharp against the quiet hum of the Quarter. The door creaked open on its own.

  Inside, the air was thick with incense, illuminated by a thousand flickering candles. The scent of aged parchment and dried herbs hung in the air. And at the center of it all, seated behind a round wooden table, was her.

  Madame Liora.

  Her dark, wrinkled hands traced the edge of an ornate tarot deck, her golden eyes lifting to meet theirs. She was small, draped in layers of midnight-colored silk, adorned with charms and talismans from a time long forgotten. But when she looked at Elysia, something in the atmosphere shifted.

  “Ah," Liora murmured, her voice like wind through old trees. “At last, you have come.”

  Elysia stiffened. “You know me?”

  The old woman did not answer immediately. Instead, her gaze flickered to Ronan, and a slow, knowing smile curled her lips.

  “Her constant.”

  The words sent a chill down Elysia’s spine. She turned to Ronan, searching his face, but he looked as taken aback as she was.

  “What does that mean?" Elysia demanded.

  Liora studied her, unblinking. “In every life, in every cycle, he has been there. The tether that remains when all else fades.”

  Elysia’s chest tightened. “I don’t understand.”

  Liora sighed as though she had seen this conversation unfold a thousand times before. “This cycle nears its end. Will you change it?”

  The words struck like a hammer to her soul. Change it? What did that mean? What cycle? Before she could ask, before she could even form the words, a shattering boom rocked the walls of the townhouse.

  Ronan moved first, pulling Elysia behind him as the front door burst open, splintering under the force of the attack. Dark-clad figures flooded the room, weapons gleaming in the candlelight—thalrasi hunters.

  Liora hissed. “You have little time. Go!”

  Ronan didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Elysia’s hand, yanking her toward the back of the house. The scent of gunpowder and blood filled the air as the first shot rang out, missing them by inches. Elysia’s pulse roared in her ears as they crashed through the back door and into the narrow alley beyond.

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  The rain had started again, slicking the cobblestone beneath their feet as they ran. Footsteps pounded behind them. A second gunshot rang out, striking the brick wall just to their right.

  And then, the visions hit.

  Not one. Not two. But dozens—flashes of past ambushes, shadows closing in, and bodies hitting the ground. The images blurred together, indistinct but painfully transparent in their endings. Fire. Death. Loss.

  She stumbled, gasping, the weight of it all nearly bringing her to her knees. But Ronan’s grip on her was firm, pulling her forward.

  “Not this time," he growled, voice fierce against the night. “We change it. Now.”

  They disappeared into the storm, the echoes of past tragedies chasing them as they ran toward a future not yet written.

  Fury and Fractures

  The moment they crossed the threshold of Veil Fortuna, Ronan’s grip on Elysia tightened. She was barely standing, her body trembling from exhaustion, the weight of the visions still clawing at her mind. He had seen her pale and shaken before, but never like this.

  Ronan cursed under his breath as he swept her into his arms, ignoring her weak protests as he carried her through the corridors. The golden glow of the sanctuary did nothing to temper the rage boiling inside him. He hadn’t wanted to take her outside—not now, not yet. He had been against it from the beginning. But Elysia had begged him, and he had never been able to deny her. And now, she was paying for it.

  He pushed open the doors to her room, settling her down on the velvet-lined chaise by the fireplace. The moment he let go, she slumped back, her breathing uneven.

  “Rest," he ordered, his voice sharper than he intended.

  Elysia managed a weak smile, though her eyelids were already fluttering shut. “Don’t—don’t yell at me yet. Too tired.”

  Ronan swallowed hard, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face. “I’ll yell at you later.”

  She was already drifting, her body surrendering to exhaustion.

  Ronan stood abruptly, turning away from her as his fists clenched at his sides. The heat of his fury had been simmering since the ambush. Still, back within the supposed safety of Veil Fortuna, it ignited into something far more dangerous. His mind replayed the moment repeatedly—the explosion, the Thalrasi hunters, the way Elysia had nearly collapsed in the rain, shaking, helpless.

  He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

  Astrid was waiting.

  She stood in the hall, arms folded, her expression unreadable. But Ronan wasn’t in the mood for games. He stalked toward her, his presence a storm barely contained.

  “You knew." His voice was quiet, but the fury in it crackled like lightning.

  Astrid didn’t flinch. “I suspected.”

  Ronan’s vision blurred red. She suspected.

  “You’re an Oracle," he snarled, stepping closer. “You don’t suspect, Astrid. You know.”

  Her lips pressed together in a thin line, but she didn’t deny it.

  His fists clenched. “You sent her into an ambush. You sent her to Liora, knowing damn well what would happen.”

  “I sent her to get answers," Astrid said evenly. “And she got them.”

  Ronan let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “She barely had a chance to speak before the attack. What answers could she have possibly gotten?”

  Astrid’s expression darkened. “Liora didn’t need time. The moment she saw Elysia, she gave her the only answer that mattered.”

  Ronan’s eyes narrowed. “Which was?”

  Astrid’s gaze was steady, unrelenting. “She called you her constant and asked Elysia the most important question of all: Will you change it?"

  Ronan exhaled sharply. The words hung between them, heavy, meaning he wasn’t sure Elysia was ready to grasp.

  Astrid continued. “You have always been there, Ronan. No matter the life, no matter the version of her, you were the one constant. The one thing that never changed.”

  Ronan clenched his jaw, his fury shifting into something darker. It was true. He had always been there. He had always found her, fought for her, lost her.

  Astrid took a step closer, her voice softer now. “Liora wasn’t telling her something new. She was telling her something she already feels, something she has always known, but hasn’t fully remembered yet. That her fate is tied to yours. That in every lifetime, the cycle repeats. And that for the first time, she has a choice.”

  Something flickered across Astrid’s face for the first time—uncertainty, perhaps even guilt. But she didn’t back down. “She was always going to be in danger, with or without me. At least now she knows. Now she has a chance.”

  Ronan clenched his jaw, his fury simmering just beneath the surface. “And what if knowing puts her in even greater danger? What if remembering only makes the Thalrasi more desperate to end her once and for all?”

  Astrid sighed. “Then we make damn sure they fail.”

  Ronan exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. “If you ever put her in that kind of danger again without telling me first—”

  “You’ll kill me?" Astrid finished dryly. “Noted.”

  He turned to leave, but her voice stopped him.

  “You love her.”

  Ronan didn’t turn back. “You didn’t need a vision to tell you that.”

  Without another word, he disappeared into the shadows, leaving Astrid alone in the hall, staring after him with something like regret in her eyes.

  A Dangerous Game

  Cassian moved through the underground corridors with practiced ease, his footsteps soundless against the damp stone floor. The air was thick with mildew and something more potent—secrets. He had chosen this meeting place for a reason. No ears, no eyes. Only the shadows bore witness.

  When he arrived, Selyne was already waiting. She stood with her back against the far wall, arms folded, her violet eyes sharp beneath the hood of her cloak. But this wasn’t just any informant.

  This was his aunt.

  Cassian had known for years that Selyne Morath wasn’t like the other Thalrasi. She had always been the outlier, the one voice of reason among a Council that only valued strength and conquest. She had risked much to keep him alive, and now, it seemed, she was risking everything to warn him.

  “You’re late," she murmured.

  Cassian exhaled, not in the mood for games. “You wouldn’t have risked this meeting if it wasn’t important. Talk.”

  Selene hesitated for half a second—a hesitation that told him everything he needed to know. It was worse than he thought.

  “The High Council gave the order," she finally said. “An assassination attempt outside of the sanctioned hunt. They want her dead, Cassian. No more games. No more waiting. The ambush in New Orleans was just the beginning.”

  A muscle in Cassian’s jaw twitched. He had expected the Council to grow impatient but act outside their decree? That meant one thing.

  Valrek was questioning his abilities.

  Cassian turned away, running a hand through his hair as his mind churned through the possibilities. He had been careful, feeding the Thalrasi half-truths, directing their forces into unwinnable fights, but now? If the High Council was bypassing him, his position was already unraveling.

  “They don’t think you can finish this," Selyne pressed. “If they act without you, you’re expendable.”

  He smirked humorlessly. “I was always expendable."

  Selyne’s gaze softened, something flickering behind her violet eyes. “No, Cassian. You were never expendable.”

  Cassian stilled. Something in her tone—something final—sent a chill down his spine. “What does that mean?”

  She hesitated but then squared her shoulders. “It means you were never just another Thalrasi warrior. You were Valrek’s son."

  Cassian’s heart stopped.

  He let out a sharp breath, his body going rigid. “That’s not possible. My mother told me my father was a warrior who died in battle.”

  Selyne sighed, stepping closer. “She told you what she had to. Amaris raised you away from the Council’s influence for a reason. If they had known the truth back then, if Valrek had known, he would have either shaped you into his perfect heir… or eliminated you before you became a threat.”

  Cassian swallowed hard. His mother—Amaris. The woman who had taught him to think beyond bloodshed, beyond the blind loyalty the Thalrasi demanded. His mother had given him a choice when the rest of them only sought control.

  Selyne’s voice softened. “You are so much like her, Cassian. All of her light, all of her empathy… it was never Thalrasi. It was never him. That’s why you were never expendable. You were his contingency, but you were also his greatest weakness. And now? Now, you need to leave."

  Cassian’s breath caught. “Leave the Thalrasi?"

  "Yes." Selyne’s expression was fierce. “You were never meant to be a follower, Cassian. You were meant to lead. And you can’t do that if you’re still bound to them. The longer you stay, the more dangerous it becomes—for you and for her.”

  Cassian forced himself to breathe. His mind reeled, a dozen memories crashing into him at once. Valrek is always watching him and testing him. The impossible expectations, the punishments when he faltered. Had Valrek known? Had he suspected?

  “You still don’t know how to reach her," Selyne guessed.

  Cassian’s silence was answer enough.

  “You’re running out of time," she warned. “Soon, it won’t matter what you want. If the Council succeeds, she’ll be dead before you ever find her.”

  Cassian clenched his fists. He knew that. Damn it, he knew.

  Elysia was slipping through his fingers, and the longer he hesitated, the closer the Thalrasi came to finishing what they had started.

  “You don’t have to do this alone," Selyne continued. “I have some friends outside. Go to the Bayou Widow in New Orleans and ask for Selmira Starfall. She will help you.”

  She reached into her cloak, pulled out a folded scrap of parchment, and handed it to him. “Give this to Selmira. Elira will be able to get you inside the Lux Arcana to see Elysia.”

  Cassian unfolded the piece of parchment. Elira Fenwick. He stared at the name, the weight of the choice before him pressing against his ribs.

  Selyne stepped back into the shadows, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “Decide quickly, Cassian. Or the decision will be made for you.”

  And then she was gone.

  Cassian remained silent, his mind a battlefield of choices he wasn’t ready to make. But one thing was certain—

  If he didn’t move soon, Elysia would not survive.

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