Riverbend did not sleep that night.
By dusk a storm had rolled in from the lake, but the rain was warm and unseasonable, the kind that falls in midsummer—not in the fading days of autumn. People paused on sidewalks to stare at the sky as streaks of green and gold flickered inside the clouds. The news called it "atmospheric disturbance." I knew better.
The feather pulsed against my skin as if it held a heartbeat of its own. Every flash of lightning matched the rhythm, and each beat pulled something in me wider open.
Elior stayed close. He'd insisted on walking me home after Astrae's sudden disappearance, though neither of us believed my apartment offered real safety. Adrian followed at a distance, his golden aura dimmed to an almost-human glow. For once he didn't tease or argue. The air between the three of us felt fragile—like a bridge of glass over a deep, dark water.
Inside my apartment, I tried for normalcy: water boiling for tea, a lamp turned low. But the storm pressed through the walls, humming in the floorboards.
"I don't like this quiet," I said finally.
Elior moved to the window, scanning the restless sky. "It's not quiet. It's a gathering." His voice carried a note I'd never heard—something between reverence and dread.
Adrian leaned against the doorframe. "The Concord is repositioning. They don't like to lose face." He smiled without humor. "Especially not to someone who wasn't supposed to exist."
I touched the feather through the fabric of my pocket. "Child of the Feather," I murmured. "They keep calling me that. What does it even mean?"
Elior turned from the glass, his green light flickering. "Long before the Concord shaped the bonds of love, there was a single heart said to be born free—untethered to fate, capable of choosing the path for every world. The legend says this heart would arrive once in an age to remind even the immortals what choice means." He met my gaze. "The Concord believes that heart is yours."
My stomach tightened. "And Adrian?"
Adrian's golden eyes met mine, steady. "I believe you're the first person who can break the Concord's hold forever."
I sat down hard on the couch, the weight of their words settling over me. "You're both talking like I'm a prophecy, not a person."
"You're both," Adrian said quietly.
Elior crossed the room, kneeling so we were eye level. "I know what it sounds like. But prophecy or not, your choices remain yours. That's why they fear you."
The feather flared, silver light spilling across the floorboards. Outside, the storm answered with a low, rolling growl.
A sudden crash of glass cut through the room—my kitchen window, shattering inward. I jumped to my feet as a gust of icy air swept in. In the shards of broken glass hovered a figure formed of smoke and mirror-light, eyes like liquid mercury.
"Messenger," Adrian muttered.
The figure's voice was layered, echoing. "Child of the Feather, the Concord demands your audience. Refuse again and the mortal plane will fracture."
The temperature dropped until every breath smoked in the air. The feather seared hot against my palm.
Elior stepped forward, his green light blazing bright enough to cast deep shadows. "She owes you nothing."
Adrian's gold flared in answer. "Touch her and I unmake you."
The messenger's mirrored eyes fixed on me. "Your power is unstable. You will destroy what you seek to save."
The words hit like a slap, not for their threat but for the flicker of truth beneath them. I had felt the surges—the accidental sparks, the cracked pavement after Astrae vanished.
"What if they're right?" I whispered.
Elior turned toward me, fierce and tender all at once. "Then we learn control together. But not as their prisoner."
Adrian's gaze softened, surprising me. "Freedom is messy. That's the point."
The messenger hissed, a sound like breaking ice. "Decide before the next full moon. Or Riverbend will drown in your hesitation."
The smoke-body dissolved, leaving only a scatter of frost across the floor.
Silence followed, loud as a scream.
I pressed the feather to my heart, feeling its urgent thrum. "I never asked for any of this," I said, the words a whisper.
Elior placed a warm hand over mine. "Choice rarely asks permission."
Adrian moved closer, golden light a faint halo. "But it's still yours."
Outside, the storm cracked open, sending a column of green-gold lightning through the clouds. The city below gasped and went dark as every streetlight failed at once.
The feather blazed so brightly it illuminated the entire room.
Riverbend held its breath—and the fault lines of my world shifted, waiting for the next step I would take.