A S H R I E L

The hum hits before the sound, it rips through the stones, the air, the back of my skull, low and deep enough to make my vision blur. By the time I reach the east wing, the hallway’s already a mess of frost and breathless quiet. Lights flicker, shadows spill across the lockers like oil.

Elle’s on her knees. The locker’s open,  Luke’s got one arm around her, eyes wide and frantic, but he’s too close, his warmth is feeding the frost. It climbs his sleeve like it wants to drink the heat out of him.

The air stinks of lavender and metal. Wrong. That’s not her mother. That’s the Rift wearing her mother’s voice.

I take a slow step closer, the hum crawls up my spine, settles behind my ribs like a second heartbeat. Every pulse from the locker syncs with hers. I can feel it, her pulse is no longer just hers. It’s answering something inside that dark.

“Elle,” Luke breathes, shaking her shoulder. “You need to get up.”  She doesn’t move. The frost around her hands glows faintly blue, then fades like it’s waiting for permission to continue. The silence after a Rift call is never still. It’s loaded. It’s listening.

I’ve heard a lot of things crawl out of the Rift, screams, sobs, the low static of forgotten names, but this is different. Softer. Patient. Like trying to learn the rhythm of breathing. The hum thickens as I kneel beside them. Luke startles, his hand jerking to Elle’s arm.
“What are you doing here?”
“Stopping her from answering,” I say, voice flat.

He glares, but doesn’t argue. The frost near her fingers pulses again, small spirals spinning and chasing the beat of her heart. She whispers something too faint to catch. Maybe a name, maybe nothing.

“Elle,” I murmur, close enough that the cold between us burns. “Whatever you hear, it isn’t her.”

Her head tilts slightly, eyes unfocused. “She sounded so real.”
“I know.” The words scrape my throat. “That’s how it works. The Rift doesn’t lie. It’s tempting.”

Her breath fogs between us, forming small clouds that refuse to drift away. They hang there, suspended and waiting. The locker hums once more, deeper this time. Not sound, but pressure. My own sigils ache like someone’s pressing a blade through the marks beneath my skin. The Oath reacts to her fear the way lightning finds metal.

Luke’s hand is still clamped around her wrist. “We’re leaving,” he says, voice rough. “Now.”

Elle doesn’t seem to hear him, the frost on the tiles starts to shift, tiny spirals spreading outward like living veins. The hum threads through the floor, through her, through me. Then I feel it, something under the locker’s breath, a tug like gravity gone sideways. It’s calling her again.

I reach out, slowly, my palm hovering over her shoulder. I can’t touch her unless she’s in danger; the Oath burns through my skin if I do. Still, I can feel the static crackle against my fingers, her warmth barely holding against the cold.

“Elle,” I say quietly. “Look at me.”

Her eyes flick up, blue and wet and lost, and for a second, the frost pauses. Just stops, like even it’s waiting for her decision.

Luke notices the stillness. “See? It’s stopping. Come on..” But he steps forward, and his warmth hits the air wrong. The frost lashes back, a whip of ice across the floor. He stumbles, cursing, yanking his hand away.

Elle’s focus drifts back to the open locker. The light inside stirs again, soft and pulsing, like it’s breathing, and then she moves. One hand rises toward it, trembling. The frost leans forward to meet her.

Her fingers slip through the fog like she’s reaching into water. The air bends, and warps a soundless vibration that makes every nerve in my body twitch. The hum spikes to a frequency I can’t block. My teeth ache with it.

Something comes out, not paper, not anything that should exist.  It’s thin, translucent, skin made of frost, almost clear, curling in on itself like it’s breathing. For a heartbeat, I think it’s alive. Elle gasps, clutching it by instinct before I can stop her. The instant she touches it, frost veins spread across her wrist, bright and pale as lightning under glass. She stares down at it, her lips parting.

Letters start to carve themselves across the frozen film, glowing from inside the ice. I know the script before the words even finish forming. Ancient sigil pattern. My pattern.

FINAL SEAL.

The words burn white, then fade into blue. My chest locks, I can’t breathe for a second. That phrase isn’t supposed to exist outside the Circle’s oldest archives, outside me. Elle looks up, voice a whisper. “What does it mean?”

Before I can answer, the frost-skin shudders. The glow shifts, pulsing like a heartbeat. Something beneath the locker exhales. The corridor fogs again, thick and cold enough that Luke’s breath turns to mist. I step forward, forcing my own panic down. “Don’t drop it,” I tell her, though every instinct screams run. Because if she lets it go, it won’t stop at the floor. It’ll go for her heart.

The air changes, a sweetness under the cold, that same wrong lavender cutting through the frost. Then the whisper slides through it, soft, patient like her mother’s voice again. “Elowen.”

Elle’s whole body goes still. The frost around her pulses with her breath, like the word itself pumps her blood.

Luke swears under his breath. “Elle, don’t..”

But she tilts her head slightly, lips trembling. “Mom?”

The frost-skin in her hand ripples, tiny ridges rise on its surface, like goosebumps. I hear the real tone beneath the imitation now, the Rift static layered under warmth, distortion hidden inside tenderness.

It isn’t a voice. It’s a lure.

I step closer, low and deliberate. “It isn’t her,” I tell her, every word tasting of cold iron. “The Rift borrows love to open doors.” She flinches, shaking her head hard, but her eyes blur with tears. “She sounded, she sounded so real.”

“I know,” I say, quieter now. “That’s why it works.” The frost-skin quivers again, words flickering brighter, light spilling between her fingers. I can hear the hum shift, becoming a rhythm, a breath, a thing alive and waiting.

Luke moves before I can stop him. He grabs Elle’s wrist again, trying to pull the frost-skin away. The second his skin touches hers, the air detonates with cold.

“Luke..”

He jerks back, cursing, shaking out his hand. Ice crystals glitter across his knuckles, melting fast but leaving pale marks behind. “What the hell..” Elle gasps, the frost creeping higher up her arm. She’s shaking, fighting not to drop the thing that’s burning and freezing her at once.

I take one step closer. The Oath flares instantly, a spike of light under my ribs. Pain tears through me, hot and electric. My sigils ignite under my skin, bright enough I can see their outlines through my sleeves.

The blade wants to manifest. My wings ache, edges pressing against flesh. I grit my teeth, forcing it down. If I draw either, the Rift will react, and we’ll lose the girl we’re trying to save.

“Elle,” I say, voice rough. “You have to let me in. I can seal it, but only if you trust me.”

Her eyes meet mine, wide, terrified, but steady. “How?”

“Just, don’t move.”

The frost spirals on her skin shift, glowing faintly in rhythm with my pulse.  The Oath hums between us like a live wire, and somewhere behind us, the locker begins to breathe again.

The hum deepens until it’s not sound anymore, it’s pressure, a vibration that rattles teeth and lungs and light fixtures. The locker’s mouth glows pale, every edge dripping frost that doesn’t melt. Elle’s fingers twitch around the thing in her hands. The frost-skin flexes, a pulse under ice. For half a second it looks like it’s breathing with her.

Then the locker inhales, the fog on the floor lifts in one huge wave, pulled toward the open door. Paper scraps, dust, strands of hair, everything tilts that way, like the whole hallway’s been caught in a slow current. Luke shouts her name, but the sound folds inward, swallowed by cold.

I grab the edge of the nearest locker to anchor myself. The air temperature drops fast enough to sting. My breath bursts white, Elle’s scarf whips sideways, her hair freezing mid-motion.

“Elle!” Luke again, panicked now. He takes a step forward, then stops when frost crackles across the floor in warning. His shoes leave no prints. She’s still staring into the light, tears freezing against her cheeks. The frost-skin glows brighter, words flaring back into being.
FINAL SEAL.

The glow surges, blue to white, then fades as a single burst of air explodes outward. The locker exhales. A rush of frost slams into us, Luke throws up an arm, but I don’t move. The breath hits my face, sharp and bitter, carrying a whisper I can’t unhear.

“Elowen,” it sighs. Not her mother this time, but something older. The hum collapses into silence, the frost-skin in Elle’s hand goes still, no longer glowing but still warm.

She looks up at me, voice shaking. “It breathed.” I can’t deny it, the metal shivers once more, a low echo rippling through the corridor like a heartbeat. I swallow hard, throat raw.
“The Rift doesn’t lie,” I tell her, every word fogging the air between us. “It tempts.” The locker exhales again and this time, it’s straight at her face.