Page 28 of Unseen Eye (Aetherian Chronicles #1)

Callon stands before me, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that takes my breath away. “Are you ready Eva?” he asks, his voice calm and even.

I’m not ready. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.

My mind races, and I feel my body start to tremble.

He is going to kill me. No one is going to stop this.

Everyone is too afraid to speak up. After all I’ve been through, this is how I die.

Yet, the hopeless romantic in me can’t help but notice this is the first time he used my name.

I could easily get used to him saying my name over and over.

I force a smile, trying to mask my terror with sarcasm. “Oh, Callon. Fighting a girl in a dress? Isn’t that a bit beneath you?”

He raises an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“You’d be surprised. Dresses can be quite deceiving.

At least you don’t have heels.” His voice is light, but the tension between us is palpable.

The crowd is silent, watching our exchange with bated breath.

I close my eyes, blocking out the murmurs of the crowd and focusing on the memory of the light, the warmth that surged through me.

As Callon draws his sword, he doesn’t immediately attack. Instead, he circles me, his eyes never leaving mine. “Let’s see if you can actually summon that light,” he taunts. “Or is it just a party trick?”

“I think we both know the answer to that,” I retort, the memory of that night—so distant now—flashing in my mind.

My grip tightens around the hilt of my sword, trying to drown out the noise in my head and focus on him.

Watch his shoulders, Kendry’s voice echoes in my mind. That’s where the real intent lies.

Callon feints to the left, and I raise my sword just in time, but it’s sloppy, too slow. “Pathetic,” he sneers, his eyes narrowing. “You think you can protect anyone like that?”

His words sting, pissing me off. I steady my stance, recalling everything Kendry drilled into me. A flicker of doubt crosses my mind—What if he’s right? —but I shove it aside. “Is that all you’ve got?” I bite back, my voice betraying a hint of the fear I’m trying to hide.

He smirks, circling me lazily before lunging again, his blade a blur of silver. I barely block it, and his laughter rings out, sharp and cruel. “Is this really the best you can do? You’re supposed to be Astermiri’s savior?”

I catch my breath, heart pounding. The crowd’s silence presses in on me, the weight of their expectations heavy. My pulse thunders in my ears, but then something shifts. The world around me starts to slow. A calm settles over my mind.

Focus, I tell myself. Watch. Move.

Callon makes another half-hearted strike, easily evading my attempts to retaliate. “You’re nothing but a disappointment,” he says coldly. “Useless.”

Fucking Bastard. “Well, if this is your idea of a fair fight, I’d hate to see how you handle an actual challenge,” I snap, trying to keep my composure.

His words cut deep, but they also spark a defiant anger within me.

I won’t let him break me. I grit my teeth and push forward, determined to prove him wrong.

Our movements become a choreographed sequence, each step precise and deliberate.

He swings his sword, and I block instinctively, the clash resonating in the silent field.

The crowd gasps, the tension thickening.

Callon’s strikes come faster now, testing my limits. I counter each one, my movements growing more confident. He feints left. I anticipate it, swiftly adjusting my stance. He’s forced to step back, a glimmer of surprise in his eyes.

“Not bad,” he mutters, but I can see he’s holding back, waiting for the right moment. His next strike is a low sweep, and I leap over it, spinning around to deliver a swift lunge toward his chest. He barely deflects it, his eyes widening in genuine surprise.

“Such an evil little thing,” he purrs, but there’s no time to retort. He’s on me again, his strikes faster and more aggressive. I counter each one, my resolve strengthening with each exchange.

It feels like an eternity, this battle of wills and skill. My muscles ache, and fatigue starts to set in, but I push through, drawing on reserves I didn’t know I had.

Callon’s sword crashes against mine, sending a jarring shock through my hands.

I stumble back, struggling to stay upright.

His movements are sharper now, more precise—he’s not playing anymore.

My heart pounds as I see it: the shift in his eyes.

The calm, calculated gaze hardens. He’s stopped holding back.

In one swift motion, he knocks the sword from my hand. Before I can even think, I’m on the ground, breathless and staring up at him. His sword is raised high, the cold gleam of steel reflecting the dim light. For a split second, I’m sure this is it. This is how it ends.

The blade swings down, and instinct takes over. I raise my hands, screaming from some primal place inside me. A surge of energy bursts out, a force I can’t control. I hear the clash of power before I feel it—like a storm roaring to life from inside my very bones.

Callon is thrown back by the explosion. The field goes silent. The gasps and murmurs of the crowd are distant, barely registering over the ringing in my ears. My vision spins—a whirlwind of searing light and looming shadows. For a moment, I don’t know if I’m alive. Did I just do that?

Then, through the haze, Callon stands, bloodied but steady. I expect anger—rage, even—but instead, his expression is calm. Almost impressed. He strides over to me, his gaze fixed on mine.

To my utmost surprise, he extends his hand.

I stare at it, bewildered. He was just about to strike the killing blow, and now he’s offering to help me up? My chest heaves, the disbelief almost too much to process.

“Forget how to land the killing blow?” I ask, my voice ragged, sarcasm barely masking the fear and confusion.

“Defenseless women aren’t my type,” he says casually, like he didn’t just nearly take my head off.

I hesitate, my heart pounding in my ears, but then I reach out.

Our hands touch.

In an instant, the air between us crackles to life. A burst of light—blinding and raw—erupts from the contact. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt. Power surges through me, so potent it steals my breath. The force knocks us both back, sending us flying across the field.

The world spins, my vision a disorienting blur. I land. Hard. The jarring impact rattling every bone in my body.

The silence from the crowd is deafening, broken only by the faint gasps and whispers. They’re stunned. I’m stunned. Slowly, I look over at Callon. He’s on the ground too, but he’s already sitting up, rubbing the back of his neck, a strange expression on his face—part curiosity, part… recognition.

I push myself up onto my knees, my arms trembling from the strain. My gaze snaps toward the source of the crowd’s astonishment. Right where Callon and I had been fighting stands an old woman, her appearance as sudden and jarring as the burst of light that had flooded the air moments before.

She’s draped in tattered robes, her wild silver hair cascading down in tangled waves. Her eyes, though aged, are sharp—too sharp. There’s a knowing depth in them, a kind of ancient wisdom that stretches beyond the bounds of time, like she’s been alive for centuries... maybe millennia.

Whispers ripple through the crowd, a sea of confusion and awe. Leigh’s eyes are wide with shock, her mouth slightly agape. Even Garet looks stunned, his usual bravado slipping for a moment. Baron stands rooted in place, expression unreadable, but his body taut.

I manage to get to my feet, my legs shaky but determined. I take a hesitant step toward the woman, my thoughts racing. Who is she? What the hell just happened?

The shock on everyone’s face is oddly comforting—at least I’m not the only one completely thrown off by this. For once, we’re all on the same page, lost and confused.

The woman’s eyes lock onto mine. The hairs on my arms stand on end, as if her gaze is peeling me open, layer by layer, reading every secret I’ve ever tried to keep.

The crowd is dead silent, as if holding its breath in collective awe. All eyes are on the woman now, drawn to her like moths to a flame.

I’m so transfixed by her presence that I don’t notice Callon has come to stand by my side.

The woman shifts her gaze from me to him, and then, slowly, a smile spreads across her face.

It’s not a warm smile—not by a long shot.

It’s something deeper, all knowing, laced with amusement and something older than I can fathom.

Her lips curl upward subtly, revealing just enough to let me glimpse the edge of some quiet understanding, like she knows something I don’t. Something about him.

She speaks, her voice ringing out with an eerie clarity, each word resonating in the air, as if spoken under a spell. Her eyes never leave Callon, but her gaze seems to transcend the moment, drifting beyond us, reaching into places I can’t even begin to comprehend.

In twilight’s realm where secrets lie,

A silent watcher, unseen eye.

Beneath the moon’s enchanted gleam, A wanderer walks, caught in a dream.

Born of whispers, of night’s embrace,

A child of twilight, veiled with grace.

Bound by threads of fate’s design,

She walks the path of the intertwined.

Through realms of echoes and shadowed halls,

She’ll heed the ancient, silent calls.

In lands of whispers and forgotten lore,

She’ll find the keys to open the door.

Through trials dire and quests untold,

Her path shall wander, both hot and cold.

In lands of fire and icy chill,

She’ll seek her truth, against her will.

A wearer of crowns, from realms far and wide,

With the power to rule or the power to divide.

In twilight’s grasp, her fate is bound,

To save the realm or see it unwound.

A journey fraught with twists and turns,

Where flames of truth and darkness burn.

Though trials dark and secrets veiled,

Her destiny waits, yet to be unveiled.

Yet in the end, the choice is hers,

To dance with light or embrace the curse.

For in the twilight’s whispered breath,

Lies the answer to life and death.

Before I can fully grasp the meaning of her words, the woman vanishes as swiftly as she appeared.

Gods, I hope those scribes were scribing.

The field, once filled with tension and anticipation, is now hushed in the wake of her departure. The crowd stirs, murmuring in disbelief, their gazes darting around as if searching for answers in the empty space she occupied moments ago.

I turn to Callon, my mind racing with questions, but he too wears an expression of bewilderment, his usual composure momentarily shaken. We exchange a look, both of us grappling with what the fuck we just witnessed.