Kael's POV
The woman who looks like Mira's mother can't be real.
Memory Weavers can't bring back the dead. I know this. I've studied their abilities for fourteen years. They can pull memories, reshape them, even step into the past. But they can't resurrect souls.
Yet she's standing right here.
"Who are you really?" I demand, stepping in front of Mira protectively. My shadow blades materialize in my hands even though I'm bleeding and exhausted.
The woman smiles sadly. "Still the Huntsman, even now. Still ready to kill first and ask questions later."
"Answer me."
"I told you. I'm Elena's memory. The piece of herself she preserved before she died." She gestures to the figures behind her—dozens of people stepping from the shadows. "Just like all of these are memories and fragments, preserved by Memory Weavers who knew they were going to die."
Leo growls, his amber eyes glowing. "That's impossible. Memory magic doesn't work that way."
"It does if you're powerful enough." The woman's eyes—Elena's eyes—find Mira. "Your mother knew Marcus would kill her. So she took her most important memories, her knowledge, her love for you, and she wove them into the first gift she ever gave you. A potted fern."
Mira gasps. "Rowan?"
The dryad, now back in her smaller plant form, trembles. "I'm sorry, child. I wanted to tell you so many times. But the magic binding me prevented it until you awakened."
"So you're not really my mother," Mira whispers, looking at the silver-haired woman.
"No. I'm an echo. A memory given form and purpose." The woman kneels. "But everything I feel for you is real. Every protective instinct, every ounce of love—that's all your mother's true emotion, preserved perfectly."
This is too much. Too convenient. "How do we know you're not one of Marcus's tricks? A trap to make us lower our guard?"
The woman turns those knowing eyes on me. "Because Marcus doesn't know about the Resistance, Kael Ashford. We've been hiding from him for twenty years, gathering strength, waiting for the right moment." She stands. "And that moment is now. The last true Memory Weaver has awakened."
"There are others?" Mira's voice is small, hopeful.
"Memory fragments, like me. Echoes of those Marcus killed." The woman gestures to the gathered figures. "Twenty-three of us, preserved in objects, places, even in other people's minds. We're not alive, not truly. But we remember. We know. And we can teach you."
My instincts scream this is wrong. Too perfect. But Mira's face—she looks like she's been thrown a lifeline in a stormy sea.
"I need proof," I say firmly. "Something only the real Elena would know."
The memory-woman nods approvingly. "Smart. Always so careful." She looks at Mira. "Your first word wasn't 'mama' or 'dada.' It was 'light.' You said it while pointing at your mother's Memory Weaver magic. And when you were three, you tried to give memory magic to a dying flower, not understanding that's not how it works. You cried for hours when it didn't come back to life."
Mira's hand flies to her mouth. "I remember that. I thought I dreamed it."
"Your mother suppressed most of your early memories when she sealed you. To protect you." The woman's smile is gentle. "But they're still there, buried deep. And I can help you find them."
I want to object. Want to grab Mira and run. But where would we go? Marcus controls the Council. He has armies of assassins. And Mira needs training if she's going to survive.
Maybe this is our only option.
"Kael." Mira touches my arm. "It's okay. I can feel it—she's telling the truth."
"You barely know how to use your powers," I argue. "You can't trust your feelings about—"
"I can trust this." Her brown eyes meet mine, steady despite everything. "My whole life, I've felt other people's emotions. I always knew when someone was lying, even if I didn't understand how. This—" she gestures to the memory-woman "—feels like love. Real love. Not manipulation."
Damn it. She's too trusting. Too good.
And I'm too tired to fight.
"Fine." I lower my blades. "But I'm watching all of you. One wrong move and—"
"You'll kill us?" The memory-woman doesn't look concerned. "We're already dead, Huntsman. You can't kill what doesn't truly live."
Fair point.
Leo shifts back to his cat form and jumps onto Mira's shoulder, clearly exhausted. "I don't like this. Too many coincidences."
"Agreed," I mutter.
But Mira is already walking toward her mother's memory, drawn like a moth to flame. "Can you really teach me? Help me control this power?"
"Yes. And more." The woman cups Mira's face. "I can show you what your parents died trying to protect. The real reason Marcus wants you dead."
"I already know. The stolen power inside me—"
"Is only part of it." The memory-woman's expression darkens. "Your parents discovered something else. Something worse. They found out what Marcus is really trying to become."
The room goes silent.
"What do you mean?" I ask.
The woman looks at each of us in turn. "Marcus Thorne isn't trying to become immortal. That was always a lie. He's trying to become something far more dangerous." She pauses. "He's trying to unmake reality itself. To rewrite the entire world according to his will. And the only thing stopping him is the power your parents locked inside their daughter."
Mira sways. I catch her elbow, steadying her.
"That's impossible," Leo hisses. "No one has that kind of power—"
"He does. Or he will, once he gathers enough Memory Weaver abilities." The woman's face is grim. "Every Memory Weaver he's killed for the past fifty years? He didn't just steal their power. He consumed their ability to reshape memories, to alter reality. He's been collecting the pieces of a weapon. And once he has them all—"
"He can rewrite existence," I finish, my blood running cold. "Make it so Memory Weavers never existed. Make it so anyone who opposes him never existed."
"Exactly." The memory-woman turns back to Mira. "Your parents locked away the final piece he needs. The key that would let him access that level of power. That's why you're so important. Why he wants you dead or under his control."
Mira looks like she might throw up. "So I'm not just carrying stolen power. I'm carrying the key to destroying reality?"
"Yes."
"And if he gets it from me—"
"The world as we know it ends."
The weight of those words settles over us like a shroud.
I've spent fourteen years killing for Marcus. Following his orders. Trusting him.
And all along, he's been trying to become a god.
"We need a plan," I say, forcing my voice to stay steady. "If Marcus knows Mira is the key—"
"He'll come for her with everything he has," the memory-woman agrees. "Which is why we need to move fast. Train her. Prepare her. And then—"
She stops mid-sentence, her head tilting like she's listening to something.
"What is it?" Mira asks.
"Someone's trying to find this location." The woman's eyes go wide with alarm. "Someone with powerful magic. Tracking you through—" Her gaze snaps to Morgana's unconscious body in the corner. "Through her."
I curse. "Morgana. She must have a tracking spell on her that activated when we moved between dimensions."
"Get rid of her!" Leo yells. "Throw her back through a portal!"
But it's too late.
The air rips open like paper tearing. Not a portal—a violent tear in reality itself.
And through it steps Marcus Thorne, smiling.
"Did you really think," he says pleasantly, "that I wouldn't put a tracker on my most loyal servant? I've known exactly where you were the moment you arrived." His eyes find Mira. "Hello again, little Memory Weaver. Ready to give me what I want?"
Behind him, I see an army. Hundreds of hooded figures, all carrying weapons, all ready to attack.
We're trapped.
And I just led Mira straight into Marcus's hands.