And something else. A sourness, wrong and slick. It slithers beneath her thoughts, hiding.
I yank my hand back. "What was that?"
She narrows her eyes. "You tell me."
I glance at Zeidan. His expression hasn’t changed. But I feel his pulse through the bond, faster now. He felt it too.
The taste of it stays in my mouth like spoiled fruit. Wrong. The Wildspont has always felt clean, even in pain. Even in death. But this… this is corruption. Something burrowed deep beneath the surface.
My heart begins to pound. Who else feels it? I don’t speak. Not here. Not in front of them.
Zeidan’s attention sharpens beside me. I don’t look at him, but I know he’s watching, measuring my breathing, the tension in my shoulders, the sudden shift in my pulse.
He knows something is wrong in this place. Rot beneath the roots. Lies curling like smoke. And he’s waiting for me to say it. I don’t. Not yet.
The silence in the hall feels heavier than stone.
No one moves. No one speaks. The elders sit in their carved seats like statues worn smooth by centuries of stubbornness. The Wildspont’s faint pulse beneath the floor should feel comforting here, steady and eternal. Instead, it feels thin. Strained.
I remember standing in this room as a child, watching the council argue over harvest rites and border wards, believing they were unbreakable. Now I see the cracks.
Fear hides behind their anger. Guilt hides behind their silence. And beneath all of it, something darker coils, patient and unseen.
My mother returns to her seat without looking at me again. That hurts more than the shouting does.
The bond hums softly beside me, Zeidan’s presence steady and grounding in a way I don’t want to acknowledge. He says nothing; he is leaving me to fight my battles. But I can feel his awareness scanning the room the way a predator studiesunfamiliar territory. Measuring threats. Counting exits. Sensing weakness.
For the first time, I wonder what my home looks like through his eyes.
Not sacred. Not eternal. Just fragile. Just failing. And filled with people too afraid to admit it.
My fingers curl slightly in Zeidan’s grasp before I realize what I’m doing. I loosen them quickly, but the warmth lingers.
I am not alone here anymore. That realization is both terrifying… and strangely comforting
I face the council. "I came here to help. Not to beg. We need to cleanse the Wildspont. That starts with truth."
‘We have to consider everything we learned today and your actions without our knowledge. We will tell you our decision. You are dismissed for now.
In the shadows, I see Elder Mora trace a sigil in the air. A watching ward. It flickers once, then vanishes. The ward is subtle. Almost elegant.
A thread of silver magic slips into the air above the council table and dissolves into nothing. Anyone else might miss it. But I grew up in these halls. I know our magic. I know our tricks.
It’s a listening ward. Old magic. Quiet magic. The kind meant to observe without consent.
My stomach twists. Elder Mora keeps her expression serene, hands folded in her lap like she’s done nothing at all. Around her, the council resumes its careful silence.
They don’t trust me. Or worse… they’re afraid of what I might discover.
The bond pulses once, sharp with Zeidan’s awareness. He felt it too. Not the spell itself, but my reaction to it.
Good. Let them watch. Let them think I don’t notice. Secrets always rot faster in the dark.
She wants to spy on me. Fine then. I let her…for now.
Zeidan hasn’t spoken once since we entered, but I feel him shift beside me now. I glance at him, his gaze is fixed on my mother.
“My patience has limits,” he says, voice low, controlled. “And so does hers.”
