The bell of Elmbrook Academy rang like a distant chime from a dream. But for Amara, it was more like a countdown. Each ring felt like a reminder that something was ticking, something deep under the surface of the school, in the walls and in the air—watching, breathing.
She returned to school the next morning, her skin cool and still tingling from the ritual in the Hollow Grove. Nothing about her looked different. Her uniform fit the same, her eyes still held the same stormy hazel hue. But the students noticed something. A tension. A weight in her silence. When she walked past, conversations dropped into whispers. When she sat in the courtyard, birds stopped singing.
The world noticed. Even if it didn't understand why.
Selene hadn't spoken to her since the Grove. She avoided her in class, and Amara didn't blame her. Trust wasn't a thing you could heal overnight. Especially not when a forgotten god was whispering behind your ribs.
In Literature class, Amara sat alone at the window. Her fingers tapped against her notebook, but she didn't write anything. Not about Byron or Poe. Her mind was too busy replaying the voice from the Grove.
The gate is thin. The moon is full. One more offering, and I walk again.
She closed her eyes.
"Amara."
She blinked and looked up. It was Professor Nyla, the teacher who rarely spoke unless she had to. Today, her sharp eyes were softer.
"May I see you after class?"
A few students exchanged glances.
Amara nodded.
When the bell rang, and the room emptied, she stayed behind.
Professor Nyla closed the door. For a moment, she just stood there, watching Amara.
"I had a dream last night," the professor said. "You were in it. So was your mother."
Amara's breath hitched. "My mother's dead."
"I know," Nyla replied. "But in the dream, she wasn't. She stood beside the moon pool, and you were... glowing."
The hair on Amara's arms stood up.
"I'm not here to pry," Nyla continued, her voice dropping. "I just need you to know something. The walls of this school—they remember."
Amara blinked. "What?"
"This place was built over something ancient. Something powerful. The founders tried to bury it. With stone. With silence. But it's still here."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you're part of it now. And because others will try to stop you—students, staff, maybe even Selene. But this place wants you awake."
Nyla stepped closer and pulled something from her desk drawer. A small, worn book. Leather-bound, with a single rune carved into the cover.
She handed it to Amara. "Your mother left this behind when she was a student here."
Amara's fingers trembled as she opened the book.
The first page had her mother's name—Liora Winters.
The second page held a drawing. The same pool from the Hollow Grove. The same silver light. And beside it... a figure made of shadows, rising from the earth.
Beneath it, in her mother's elegant script:
He does not want the world. He only wants the one who listens.
Amara's heart pounded.
"Read it," Nyla said. "Learn. Before someone else tries to rewrite your truth."
That night, Amara sat in her room, the journal open before her. Every word felt like a heartbeat. Every sketch, a secret finally given voice.
But just as she reached the final page, a knock shattered the silence.
She opened the door to find a girl she didn't recognize.
Dark hair. Piercing blue eyes. A strange tattoo glowing faintly on her wrist.
"You're Amara Winters," the girl said.
Amara nodded slowly. "Who are you?"
"I'm Elara. Daughter of the last Seer. And I came here to kill the thing inside you."
Amara stepped back, but Elara didn't move.
"It's not what you think," Amara said.
"It never is," Elara whispered. "But it doesn't change what's coming."
She turned and walked away, leaving behind the cold taste of fate.
Amara stood frozen. Her mother's journal now felt heavier in her hands.
Because the war wasn't coming. It had already begun. And her body—her heart—was its first battlefield.