Morning bled into the keep like a bruise spreading under skin.
Elara stirred, dragging herself upright against the headboard. The dull grey light leaking through the arrow slits did nothing to chase the heaviness clinging to her bones. Her skin still tingled faintly, as though Riven's hand lingered at her cheek. She rubbed it away, but the memory stayed.
Luke had risen already. The blanket he'd slept on was folded squarely at the foot of her bed. His absence didn't erase the sense he left behind—the quiet certainty of someone who meant what he'd said. This is why I am here.
From beyond the walls came the clang of a blacksmith's hammer, the barked orders of the guard changing shifts, and the faint aroma of boiled oats and stewed vegetables drifting from the kitchens. Life carried on, the ordinary routines of survival holding the fortress together. But Elara felt none of it ordinary.
She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. Her veins didn't glow now. The dream shouldn't matter. But her heart knew it had.
---
The door creaked, and Caleb slipped in with a tray balanced on one hand. Bread, a wedge of cheese, water in two mugs. His hair stuck damp to his temples, sweat drying on his brow.
"You look like death warmed over," he said, placing the tray down.
Elara smirked, though her lips trembled. "Thanks."
He sat on the edge of the bed, thigh brushing hers. The familiar warmth steadied her, ordinary and safe. "Rough night?"
She hesitated. She could tell him about the dream, about Riven stepping through fire and touching her until her veins shone like rivers. She could—but the words turned bitter in her throat. How could she tell him another man's presence still burned under her skin?
"Just the usual," she said instead. "Memories. Too loud."
He studied her face longer than was comfortable, then brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "You're pale," he murmured. "Paler than yesterday."
"I didn't sleep much."
"I could tell." He pressed the bread into her hands. "Eat."
She tore it slowly, chewing more from obedience than hunger. Caleb continued talking—about the morning drills, how the guards muttered about shortages, how a rumour had started of ferals sighted near the east wall. "They say a patrol didn't come back last week," he added in a low voice. "The leaders are keeping it quiet, but everyone knows."
Elara's stomach clenched. The bread turned to paste in her mouth. She swallowed hard, pretending it was nothing more than the stew's heaviness.
---
As Caleb spoke, something flickered at the edge of her vision.
She turned—and stopped.
Corin leaned by the wall, sorting arrows into a quiver. Around her shimmered something Elara had never seen before, a faint green glow, woven like threads of sunlight through leaves. It clung to her shoulders, faint at first, then stronger, as though Elara's focus sharpened it. It reminded her of summers long ago, lying beneath trees when the sun broke through the canopy.
Her breath caught.
She blinked, but the shimmer lingered.
She looked back at Caleb. Nothing. No glow, no threads of light. Just him, human and warm.
Her heart thudded. Her gaze snapped to Torvee, who entered carrying a bundle of firewood. Around her flickered an unstable blue aura, restless and fluid, like water caught between current and tide. It shifted with her mood—dimming when she scowled at the bundle, brightening when she dropped it with a huff and laughed.
Elara's stomach twisted. The colours weren't tricks of the light. She was seeing something no one else noticed.
Her hands clenched around the bread until her knuckles whitened.
---
"Are you all right?" Caleb asked, brow furrowing.
She forced a smile, loosening her grip. "Fine."
But she wasn't.
Her veins had glowed silver in the barn. Corin shimmered green. Torvee flickered blue. Caleb showed nothing.
The truth tightened around her ribs. I'm changing. Faster now.
---
Later, when Caleb left to train, Luke appeared in the doorway. He leaned against the frame, arms folded, gaze steady. He didn't ask permission to enter.
"You saw something," he said.
Elara stiffened. "What do you mean?"
"The way you looked at them. Like a hawk watching heat on the ground."
She swallowed. "Corin had… light. Green. Torvee—blue, flickering. Caleb doesn't have anything."
Luke stepped inside, closing the door behind him. His presence changed the air—heavier, sharper, as if the room itself bent around him.
His voice dropped. "Humans don't show. They're blank. But the others… we bleed through. The colour tells you what we are. The strength tells you what we can do."
Elara blinked. "Strength?"
He nodded. "Rank. A wolf's aura isn't just gold—it grows brighter with power. An Omega's glow is faint, sometimes barely there. A Beta shines steady. An Alpha…" He paused, jaw tightening. "…An Alpha blazes like the sun. You don't look at them—you endure them."
Her chest tightened. She thought of Riven, his golden light, the way she had nearly buckled beneath it.
"And Corin?" she pressed.
"Green marks the fae. They don't always know it themselves, but their magic bleeds out. Lesser fae show threads. The high-born weave bright. Their royals shine like emerald fire."
"And Torvee?"
"Blue. Shifters. Unstable, always moving. It flickers with their moods, strengthens with age. Dangerous because they're unpredictable."
"And me?" The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Luke's gaze hardened. "Silver."
The word dropped between them like a stone.
"No one else," he said quietly. "Not wolves, not fae, not vampires. Silver belongs to you alone. And it will only grow brighter."
---
Elara's pulse pounded. "You're saying I'll never pass as human again."
"You'll pass, if you're careful," Luke said. "Hide it. Humans fear what they don't understand. They'll call you cursed, or worse. And once word spreads, it can't be unsaid."
She clenched her fists. "So I lie."
"You live," Luke corrected.
His tone brooked no argument. The amber in his eyes caught the light and seemed, for a moment, to smoulder.
"And vampires?" she asked suddenly, the word tasting of ash.
Luke's expression darkened. "Violet. Shattered light. The older they are, the deeper the hue. If you ever see it blazing, run. Don't stop."
The way he said it made her veins go cold.
---
That night, when she finally lay down, Elara stared at the ceiling and traced the colours in her memory.
Green for Corin.
Blue for Torvee.
Gold for Riven.
Silver for herself.
And violet—waiting in the dark.
Threads of light binding them together. Threads she had never seen until now.
She remembered Riven's words. You were never meant to run.
And for the first time, she wondered if he hadn't just meant from the ferals, but from the truth burning into her vision.