Elara didn't remember falling. One moment, she was standing in her room surrounded by monsters made of smoke—and the next, she was lying on the floor, her head spinning, rain still hammering outside.
The shadows were gone.
Only the mirror remained—shattered, a hundred pieces glittering like ice around her. And standing in the middle of it all, Darius Blackthorn.
He wasn't breathing hard, but his clothes were torn and wet, his sword gleaming with faint silver light that pulsed like a heartbeat. The strange glow in his eyes dimmed as he sheathed it.
Elara pushed herself up. "What was that? Who are you? How did you—"
He raised a hand. "Too many questions. You're still alive. That's what matters."
"I—alive? You just—those things—"
"Wraiths," he said simply. "They came for the mark."
Her hand trembled as she looked at her wrist. The silver symbol still glowed faintly, curling across her skin like liquid moonlight. It was warm now, almost alive.
"What mark? This? It just appeared—"
"Because it was meant to," he interrupted softly. "You've been chosen, Elara Winters. And that's the most dangerous thing that can happen to a human."
Elara stared at him. "Chosen for what?"
He looked away, the muscles in his jaw tightening. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Try me," she snapped.
For a moment, he said nothing. The only sound was the thunder rolling above, the storm muttering like a living thing. Finally, he met her eyes—and for the first time, she saw something there. Not anger. Not coldness. Fear.
"The Veil that separates our world from theirs," he said quietly, "is breaking. And the mark on your skin… is the key."
Elara's mouth went dry. "Our world? Theirs?"
He took a slow step toward her. "There are two realms, Elara. The Mortal world—yours. And the Shaded world—mine."
Her heart lurched. "Yours?"
"Yes." His voice was low, haunted. "I'm not human."
The air in the room seemed to freeze. Lightning flared outside, throwing his face into sharp relief—the faint shimmer across his skin, the way his eyes caught light like glass.
Elara backed away instinctively. "You're… one of them?"
"No." His expression darkened. "I'm something worse."
For a long, trembling heartbeat, neither spoke. Then, from the shattered mirror, a whisper rose—soft, cold, almost like laughter.
Darius stepped closer, his voice urgent now. "They can still find you. You need to come with me."
Elara shook her head. "No! I don't even know you. You break into my house, fight monsters, tell me I'm some kind of—of key—and now you expect me to go with you?"
"If you stay," he said quietly, "you'll die before sunrise."
Her breath caught. The mark on her wrist flared painfully, a pulse of light flashing through the room.
Darius reached for her, his hand steady despite the chaos around them. "You have to trust me, Elara. Just this once."
And though every part of her screamed to run, her heart—traitorous and trembling—told her something else.
That maybe, just maybe… she already did.
✨ End of Chapter 2 ✨