Nan stood slowly, her joints creaking like old wood in a winter house.

“The seal is breaking,” she murmured, almost to herself. “I had hoped the magic in this place would last longer.”

“Nan…” Elle stepped closer. “What are you talking about?”

Her grandmother turned toward the bookshelf, pulled down a wooden box carved with faint runes Elle had never noticed. She carried it to the table and opened it with reverence.

Inside:

A bundle of dried herbs.
A silver locket.
A black feather.
And a worn sketch of the spiral symbol.

Elle staggered back a step.

“You knew?” she whispered.

Nan nodded. “And I hoped you’d never have to.”

She lifted the sketch gently, her fingers tracing the spiral’s edge as though afraid it might burn her. Her eyes unfocused—watching something far older than the paper in her hand.

“It’s called the Frostmark,” she said softly. “A symbol of an ancient seal. It was meant to lock something away—something older than magic itself. And now that it’s found you…”

Her voice drifted off.

Elle’s throat went dry. “What do you mean, found me?”

Nan looked up. Her gaze was suddenly sharp. Focused.

“I mean it’s chosen you, Elowen. Just like it chose your mother.”

The name struck like thunder.

“You never talk about her.”

“Because I couldn’t bear to,” Nan said—and for the first time, her voice cracked. “She was marked, too. The same way. The same locker. The same whispers.”

Elle’s world tilted.

“You said she died in an accident.”

“She did.” Nan’s voice lowered. “But not the kind you’re thinking.”

She folded the sketch and returned it to the box like it was a sacred thing.

“There’s another world behind the Rift,” she continued. “A place where things bleed through—nightmares, spirits, fragments of old memories that no longer belong. The seal in Locker 237 is one of the last in this region.”

“And it’s weakening.”

Elle stepped back, dizzy. “This is insane.”

Nan didn’t argue. She just said, “It is. That doesn’t make it any less real.”

Silence pooled between them, thick as smoke.

Then Nan added gently, “You’re not alone, Elle. There are others—those who guard the seal.”

She hesitated. Then:

“And someone… who’s already watching you.”

The hairs on Elle’s arms lifted.

“Who?”

Nan only shook her head. “You’ll meet him soon enough.”

That night, Elle couldn’t sleep.

She lay curled under her blanket, the obsidian disc hidden beneath her pillow—pulsing faintly with a cold that had nothing to do with the weather.

Outside, the trees hissed in the wind.
The night breathed like it had lungs.
She stared at the ceiling for hours, trying not to think about the forest, the sky filled with eyes, the voices whispering her name.

At 3:33 a.m., the disc flared—icy white.
Just once.
Then stillness.

In her dream, the forest returned.

This time, she wasn’t alone.

Across the clearing stood a figure cloaked in shadow. A blade was strapped to his back, shimmering like moonlight poured into steel.

His face was hidden.

But she felt his gaze.

Watching.
Waiting.

And somehow, she wasn’t afraid.

She woke with a single name echoing in her mind—though no one had spoken it.

Ashriel.