Page 27 of Unseen Eye (Aetherian Chronicles #1)

My heart pounds like a drumbeat of dread.

What if I can’t summon the light? What if I embarrass myself in front of everyone?

Worse yet, what if this demonstration kills me?

Or, if it doesn’t, Baron will. I feel like a lamb being led to slaughter, and the thought of dying out here, in front of everyone, is too much to bear.

The procession to the fields is surreal—like I’m floating in a waking nightmare.

My mind races, replaying every failed attempt over the past few days.

I feel queasy, as though I might vomit at any moment.

Leigh walks beside me, sensing my unease.

“You’ll be fine, Eva. Just breathe,” she whispers, squeezing my hand.

Her voice is steady, but the words fall flat.

As we approach the fields, the torches lining the path flicker in the evening breeze, casting long, sinister shadows.

They seem to mock me, as though they’re aware of my dread.

The castle walls rise up on either side, suffocating in their vastness.

The crowd gathers in clusters, their murmurs rising like a wave of curiosity and expectation.

A stage stands next to the fields, where I suspect the real entertainment will unfold after my spectacular failure.

With each step, my fear deepens. The cold air cuts through my thin dress, making me shiver despite the burning anxiety in my gut.

I briefly think about running, but where could I go?

Callon, his jaw clenched, turns to Garet, his voice a harsh whisper that barely conceals his frustration.

“You’re really going through with this? Are you out of your mind?

” His words are laced with anger, but beneath it—there’s something protective, like he’s ready to rip into Garet.

“This is fucked up. You claim you care about her, but this is how you’re treating your future fiancée? ”

Garet doesn’t flinch, his expression unreadable. “We need to know what she can do. This is necessary.”

The crowd murmurs, a low buzz of curiosity and excitement rippling through the air. A figure steps forward, a jester or perhaps a herald, his flamboyant clothes and sharp grin immediately drawing attention. He waves his hands theatrically, a flourish that commands the crowd’s attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” he calls, his voice ringing out across the courtyard. “Tonight, we are graced by a spectacle unlike any in recent memory—nay, perhaps unlike any in history! The first light wielder in generations—will stand before you!”

The crowd stirs, whispers turning into gasps of disbelief. Eyes turn to the stage, anticipation growing.

“She is no mere wielder of magic,” the jester continues, his tone rising with each word. “She has the power to shatter the defenses of even the most unyielding wardens! And tonight, you shall witness her—Eva, the light bearer!”

At his command, the crowd falls silent, the weight of his words settling over them like a shroud. All eyes turn to the stage, waiting for the next moment in this unprecedented event.

Baron steps forward, his commanding presence forcing an immediate hush. He raises his hand, and the noise dies completely. “Eva, please step forward.”

The jester’s words hang in the air, and I almost choke. “Really? This is how I’m being introduced? Who the hell has a jester for this kind of thing? Great. Just great.”

My legs feel like lead, every step heavier than the last. When I finally reach the center of the field, I yank off my heels—one less thing to trip over. In an unhinged moment of defiance, I throw them at Callon. He dodges effortlessly. Bastard.

The eyes of everyone present bore into me, and I can feel their expectations pressing down.

The night air feels stifling, and my breaths come shallow and rapid.

Leigh gives me a final, reassuring nod from the sidelines, but it does little to ease my anxiety.

Across from me, the guards bring out several wooden crates.

Clearly, Baron is in for a show if he thinks I can not only summon the light but aim it as well. It’s comical, which makes me want to laugh. Almost.

I close my eyes, trying to summon the light within me. The memory of the attack, the fear, and the desperation that triggered my power flashes through my mind. I take a deep breath, willing the energy to surface.

I try to focus on the warmth of the light I felt back then, the warmth that surged through me in my moment of need. But now, under the pressure of so many watching eyes, it feels impossible. The crowd holds its breath, waiting for something to happen.

My mind screams at me to do something, anything. I can sense their thoughts, their impatience and their doubt radiating as they stare at me like a caged animal, willing me to perform. Each second stretches into eternity, the weight of their expectations pressing down on me.

A cold sweat breaks out on my forehead, a physical manifestation of the fear gripping my heart.

I strain, pushing myself harder, trying to grasp at this elusive power within me.

It feels just out of reach, slipping like water through my fingers.

My hands start to tremble, and a sense of despair begins to creep in.

What if I really can’t do this? What if I was never meant to have this power?

I mutter under my breath, the words barely audible. Come on, light. They’re going to kill me if you don’t show up soon. I snort softly, bitterly. Wow, I’ve really hit rock bottom if I’m begging the light to come to my rescue.

Memories of the past few days flood my mind—a whirlwind of lies and secrets catching up with me.

This damn light, the sinister plots, political motives, and last but not least, me not being fucking human—all of it converges into a maelstrom of confusion and fear.

I feel isolated, trapped in a web of expectations and responsibilities.

I’m just an orphan, trying to mourn the loss of the only family I’ve ever known.

Glancing around, I see the faces of those who have placed their hopes in me—Baron’s stern expression, Leigh’s encouraging smile, Garet’s uneasiness, and the unreadable gaze of Callon.

Their eyes bore into me, expecting a miracle.

Their piercing eyes are suffocating, adding to the insurmountable pressure.

But amid the turmoil, I remember Kendry’s stories, all the tales of bravery.

I may not have asked for this, but I will not back down.

With one last deep breath, I summon all my willpower, using the potentially life-altering fear of failure, pushing aside the doubt, and embracing the possibility that maybe, just maybe, I can harness this power.

The seconds stretch, but I’m no longer counting them. Instead, I focus inward, listening to the rising hum of energy beneath my skin. I feel tears pricking at the corners of my eyes, but I blink them back, refusing to let them fall.

Finally, a faint, barely perceptible glow begins to emanate from my hands. It’s weak, but it’s something! The crowd leans in, their collective breath held in anticipation. I focus harder, willing the light to grow stronger, brighter.

As I muster a smile, it feels hollow, a thin mask over the storm swirling inside.

For a brief second, I catch glimpses of relief on the surrounding faces, but it evaporates as quickly as it appeared.

A collective groan ripples through the crowd, low and disappointed, and someone near the back mutters, “That’s it? ”

The flicker of hope sputters out, as fragile as a candle in the wind. Every muscle in my body aches, my breath comes in ragged gasps, and I know—that’s all I can give. My heart sinks like a stone, heavy with failure.

Baron’s face turns a deep shade of red, lunging forward, his fury evident. “Garet!” He barks, “Grab your sword. Maybe she needs to stare death in the eyes again.”

Garet’s eyes widen in shock. “Father. She’s been through enough.”

Baron’s expression hardens. “Do it. Now!”

Garet hesitates, a mixture of frustration and concern etched on his face. He looks at me, his eyes pleading for forgiveness, then turns to retrieve his sword.

My heart pounds in my chest, the blood roaring in my ears. Every inch of me trembles as the weight of this moment crushes down. The crowd shifts uneasily, their murmurs a soft buzz of disbelief. I want to shrink away, but my feet are cemented to the ground.

As Garet moves toward the center, sword in hand, Callon steps forward, his presence instantly shifting the atmosphere. All eyes turn to him, drawn like magnets. He raises a hand, his voice low but commanding, “I’ll do the honors.”

Izzy shakes her head, muttering something under her breath I can’t make out.

Baron and Garet both start to protest, but Callon raises a hand. With a flick of his wrist, Garet is sent flying backward, landing with a thud. A gasp ripples through the crowd. Baron opens his mouth to shout, but an invisible gag silences him, his eyes bulging with shock and rage.

Meanwhile, Drystan stands there with a cold smile, as if he’s enjoying the show his son is putting on. “Oh shit,” I murmur, unable to tear my eyes away from Callon, as I hear the crowd start to gasp.

He stands there, a figure of terrifying beauty and power.

His irises glow with that unearthly light, and his expression is one of cold determination.

A wave of emotions crashes over me: fear, awe, and.

.. something else. An inexplicable pull, like gravity—magnetic and impossible to ignore.

I tell myself it’s just the power in him that’s pulling at me, but it’s harder to convince myself with every step he takes.

The crowd is tense, a mix of awe and fear in their eyes. Whispers of Callon’s power and his sudden intervention spread like wildfire. Izzy appears, clutching my hand tightly, her face pale. She hands me a sword. “Just breathe, Eva,” she whispers.

Ironic, considering she isn’t trying to help me stop this…