Elara's palm pulsed—yeah, literally throbbed, like her body decided it needed a bonus heartbeat—while she slipped out of the Archives. Overhead, Silverwood's sky had turned into some moody artist's canvas, all swirling drama and stormy vibes. She kept her hand shoved under her cloak, but that mark, it just wouldn't let up. Hurt like a burn, but also… felt weirdly important. Like pain with a purpose, if that even makes sense.
And that stupid vision from the crystal? Still riding shotgun in her brain: shadow-ships gliding between cracked stars, and that faceless figure wrapped in darkness. Seriously, who the hell was that? What did the Whisper want from her, besides a lifetime supply of nightmares?
She barely registered the market chaos on her way home. Musicians plinking out sad, hollow tunes. Merchants mid-meltdown over busted scales. Kids darting after shadows, not birds. Everything seemed off, like the whole city was pretending things were fine while quietly freaking out underneath.
Back at her place, door locked tight, she unrolled the parchment again. Except now, nope, it wasn't the same. The ink had gone full creeper—new lines curling across the page, forming a constellation she'd never seen. Six stars in a busted circle, one spot gaping empty. Underneath, words bled through like a bad omen:
"When the seventh is silent, the sky will break."
Cue the late-night research spiral. She tore through every star chart and dusty astronomy book she owned. Nothing. Nada. No "Hollow Constellation." Just when she was ready to give up, she found this old, half-burned book—bound in something that looked suspiciously like sea monster skin. Flipped it open, and bam, there it was:
"The Whisper returns not alone, but chased by Silence. One to awaken, one to devour."
Two forces. One to guide, one to end. Real cheery stuff.
Right then, the mark on her palm went wild, but not hot—cold. Like ice-water in her veins. Frost started crawling out from the edges, webbing across her table. The lamp guttered and poof, out.
And then—because of course things get creepier—a voice sliced through the dark.
"You've seen it, haven't you?"
Elara spun, heart hammering like crazy.
There, framed in the shadows: a tall woman, swaddled in layers of black velvet. Her eyes? Wild. Like moons split in half, each side glowing.
"I've waited twenty years for that parchment to wake up," the woman said. "Now it has, and you're not just a reader anymore."
Elara backed up, gripping the table. "Who are you?"
"I am Virella. Watcher of the Seventh Star. And you, Elara, just kicked off a cycle that's not gonna stop."
Elara just stared, totally floored.
Virella nodded at her marked hand. "That mark? Not a gift. It's a beacon. They've already noticed."
Boom—window explodes behind them, glass spraying everywhere.
Outside, the sky just… splits. Something huge and burning drops through, ripping open the night.
The Whisper hadn't just returned.
Something even older was coming to answer. And honestly? Elara was pretty sure she wasn't ready for any of it.