Chapter 9: Echoes of the Past
Aurenya's POV
The night air was thick with tension, as though the earth itself held its breath. Jasmine vines clung to the stone columns outside Seraphine's chamber window, their pale blossoms trembling in the breeze, a deceptive sweetness riding the air. Inside, the atmosphere was stifling with worry. A fire crackled low in the hearth, casting long shadows that danced across the walls like restless spirits.
I stood by the door, arms crossed tightly over my chest, forcing myself not to wear a path in the plush rug beneath my boots. Seraphine lay curled in bed, the thick woolen blanket tucked tightly around her frail form. Her skin had lost its usual golden hue, replaced with a pallid sheen of sweat. Her brow was furrowed even in sleep, lips slightly parted, murmuring words none of us could understand.
Elara sat beside her, her touch careful and precise as she wiped Seraphine's brow with a damp cloth. The scent of chamomile, valerian root, and lavender clung to the air. The tea. It was supposed to help her sleep, to ease whatever darkness had wormed its way into her blood.
"She's stable for now," Elara said, her voice gentle but edged with tension. Her hand lingered a moment on Seraphine's temple. "The tea should lull her into a deeper sleep soon."
I nodded but didn't feel any calmer. My gaze drifted to the wooden side table where the half-finished cup sat. We'd added honey to mask the bitterness, but Seraphine had only managed a few sips before her body seized with another fit of shivers.
As if pulled by our concern, Seraphine stirred.
Her lashes fluttered, then lifted, revealing glassy, unfocused eyes. But when they found me, a flicker of light kindled in them.
"Aurenya?" she rasped, her voice dry and brittle.
"I'm here," I said quickly, kneeling at her side. I took her hand—it was icy, trembling. She clutched mine weakly.
Her mouth moved, but only breath escaped. Her lips parted as if she were about to say something, but the words withered on her tongue. Then her eyes drifted shut again.
Elara sighed softly. "The sedative herbs worked faster than expected. Good. She needs rest. But you're right—Madam should know about this."
I stood, heart pounding in a slow, insistent rhythm. Something about this wasn't right. And I couldn't shake the feeling that the amulet—now locked away upstairs—was behind all of it.
"Where is Aunt Liora now?" I asked.
"In the west garden," Elara replied. "She said she needed air."
I didn't wait another moment.
---
The wind had picked up, rustling the vines climbing over the stone arches of the garden. The moon hung low, heavy and yellow against the black velvet sky. I spotted Aunt Liora by the nightshade grove, kneeling in the soil, her fingers buried deep in the roots.
She looked up as I approached, eyes tired but alert.
"Aurenya? Is Seraphine—"
"She's resting," I cut in, stepping closer. "But I need to speak with you. Now."
She stood, brushing soil from her skirt. "What's happened?"
"It's the amulet," I said, lowering my voice. "There's something wrong with it."
Liora's brows drew together. "Amulet? What amulet?"
I hesitated. "Seraphine found one… in the garden. Near the grove. It was buried, half-covered in earth. I thought it was just a trinket, but she unearthed it with her bare hands."
Liora went still. "Buried?" Her voice thinned. "Where exactly?"
"Just behind the old stone bench. Under the hawthorn tree."
She stared at me, the color draining from her face. "That grove was sealed decades ago. No one should've been digging there."
"She wasn't digging," I said. "She said it felt... warm. It called to her."
Liora looked as though I'd struck her. "And you didn't tell me this sooner?"
"I didn't know it was dangerous. Until now."
Her gaze sharpened. "Take me to it. Immediately."
---
Back in the manor, the study smelled of old parchment and flickering candle wax. The box that held the amulet rested on the desk, its iron clasps gleaming in the low light.
Liora waited by the doorway, tense.
I stepped forward alone. Slowly, carefully, I unlatched the box and lifted the lid.
The air changed. Again. Heavier. Sharper.
There it was. The stone. Obsidian black, unnervingly smooth, carved with faint silver rings that shimmered like breath on glass. It pulsed faintly—like a heartbeat just beneath the surface.
I felt drawn to it. Against my better judgment, I reached for it.
"Aurenya—!" Liora's voice snapped, but it was too late.
My fingers closed around the stone.
The room fell silent.
The fire dimmed.
The shadows thickened.
A voice—low, ancient, and cold—whispered across my mind.
> "So long... I've waited..."
I gasped.
"Who are you?" I whispered aloud, unable to stop myself. My breath misted in the air. "What do you want?"
> "You already know... Aurenya."
Chills raced down my spine.
"No," I murmured, shaking my head.
> "Say my name."
The voice wasn't in my ears—it echoed in my bones.
> "Say it..."
"...Malrik," I breathed.
The name felt like ash on my tongue.
The shadows recoiled.
A beat of silence.
Then—
> "Yes."
I tore my hand away, stumbling backward. The lid slammed shut.
The cold retreated.
The air snapped back to normal—if anything about this could still be called that.
---
Aunt Liora was already in motion. She rushed to the desk, her face a mask of fury and... fear?
"Don't ever touch that again," she hissed, grabbing the box and locking it with a sigil I'd never seen her use before. It shimmered gold, then sank into the metal.
"What was that voice?" I demanded. "It knew my name."
Elara entered then, just in time to hear my next words.
"It said... Malrik."
Liora froze.
Her fingers slipped from the box. Just for a second.
But I saw it.
The recognition.
The fear.
The guilt.
"You know that name," I said.
Liora's mouth was set in a hard line. "I know the legend."
"Don't lie to me."
She looked away. "Malrik wasn't just a rogue. He was a Lycan king. One of the old ones. He didn't die in battle. He vanished—into the cursed wilds. Took half his court with him. We thought... the bloodline had ended."
"But it hasn't," I said.
Liora turned to Elara instead. "We ward this room. Tonight. And burn sage over every threshold."
"What does he want with Seraphine?" I pressed.
"I don't know," she lied, too quickly.
And I suddenly realized—
She knew more than she was telling.
Much more.
---
But for now, all I could do was watch the shadows—and listen.
Because something had touched me.
And it wasn't done speaking.
To be continued…, a