Page 40 of Unseen Eye (Aetherian Chronicles #1)

The next couple of weeks fall into a rhythm that I start to find strangely comforting. I wake up every morning and chat with Ingrid over a cup of coffee before training with Theo. I’ve graduated from sparring with Izzy and now duel with him.

After training, I dive into hours of practicing magic with Izzy.

What used to be a struggle—locking and unlocking doors, lighting candles—has now become second nature.

I’ve even mastered creating a minor energy shield to deflect small objects and levitating items within arm’s reach.

My confidence in my abilities grows by the day, and it feels incredible.

However, despite this progress, still find ourselves pouring over the Fate’s prophecy, that still remains as cryptic as ever. A puzzle we just can’t seem to crack.

I don’t see much of Callon after our outing on the first day.

Despite several attempts to ask Theo about him, I haven’t been able to learn much—apparently, Callon is as good at keeping secrets as Theo is at sparring.

But the more I think about it, the more I suspect Callon is tangled up with Astermiri, caught in their attempts to find me or to secure their own interests.

Baron and Garet haven’t given up on me. I can tell by the way people dance around certain topics, by the way the ambassadors glance at me when they think I’m not paying attention.

The requests, the offers, the promises of peace—each one a ripple between the kingdoms. Every word, every action seems to pull things tighter, and it’s impossible to ignore the fact that the longer I stay here, the deeper the rift grows.

But I refuse to let the guilt eat me alive.

Instead, I use it. It’s motivation now, something to fuel me—something to remind me of what I’m fighting for.

I won’t let it define me, like Callon warned me against. I’m taking all of this—the uncertainty, the guilt, the pressure—and turning it into something more.

The longer I stay here, the more I feel myself changing.

The bruises from training with Izzy and Theo aren’t just reminders of my struggle; they’re badges of my effort, proof that I’m getting stronger.

Stronger, not just for me, but for anyone who can’t protect themselves.

If I can get strong enough, maybe I’ll stop feeling like the one who’s always being protected. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll be the one who does the protecting.

One afternoon, with nothing to do, I find myself aimlessly wandering the halls.

Izzy was called away to handle a diplomatic issue with Sawyer and Quinn, her fellow ambassadors.

From what Theo has told me, there’s an ambassador for each kingdom, with Izzy representing Coire on her trips to Astermiri.

They are the first line of communication, negotiators of treaties, and, when necessary, the ones who wage wars with words instead of swords.

With Izzy’s no-nonsense attitude, I can only imagine how those meetings must go.

Before leaving, she gave me strict orders to practice my magic and not embarrass myself, so naturally, I find myself in the library.

I spend part of the afternoon flipping through books about Morosith.

Apparently, Valtris had a keen interest in keeping tabs on the other Divinities, and Morosith was no exception.

I find records of several audiences Morosith had with Valtris not long before the war started, though the details are frustratingly vague.

There are also mentions of Morosith being spotted on the outskirts of Coire and Skorda, as if he was searching for something.

After hours with my nose buried in a book, I decide to stretch my legs.

Passing the barracks, I notice a crowd has gathered, focused on something.

Curiosity wins out, and I squeeze my way through.

A mix of soldiers, maids, and cooks are watching two figures spar.

Throwing a few elbows of my own, I finally get a clear view.

Callon and Theo. Sparring. Shirtless.

Well, that explains the crowd. I can’t even pretend to look away—honestly, who could blame? This is a sight I could get used to.

Theo’s toned muscles glisten with a sheen of sweat under the afternoon sun, highlighting every muscle as he moves with precision. His breath comes out in controlled exhales.

Opposite him, Callon stands slightly leaner but no less powerful.

His chest rises and falls with each controlled breath, muscles rippling beneath his skin.

Tattoos snake across his torso, including the same eagle I spotted on Theo’s neck—a symbol of Valtris.

The eagle represents dominance, power, and the keen vision needed in battle, always watching, always prepared to strike.

But it’s another tattoo on Callon’s shoulder that grabs my attention—a pattern of intertwined lines and circles, eerily similar to the one on my own forearm.

The intensity of their sparring match captivates everyone around, soldiers and staff alike, their eyes glued to the spectacle. The sound of coins trading hands fills the air, bets being placed on who will hit the ground next.

As I scan the crowd, I recognize a few familiar faces, but it’s the one on the far side that makes me laugh. I push my way over and stand next to her.

“Ingrid,” I say with a smile, “what are you doing out here?”

Ingrid turns her gaze from the fight and grins at me. “Oh, you know me,” she says with a laugh. “I can’t resist a good fight, especially when it’s between my boys.”

“Oof!” she exclaims, pretending to feel the impact as Callon lands a punch across Theo’s cheek. The swords have been discarded, and they’re now down to a good old-fashioned fistfight.

“Who exactly are you rooting for?” I ask, my eyes now transfixed on the fight as well.

“What can I say?” she replies. “I’m a sucker for the underdog.”

“Which one is that exactly?” I ask, genuinely unsure.

“Theo,” she says without hesitation. “Your boy, Callon, is a lot stronger than he looks.”

“He’s not my—whatever you called him,” I counter quickly, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks.

“Uh-huh,” Ingrid says, giving me a knowing look, “Whatever you say. Trust me, hun, I’ve been around long enough to spot these things.”

I turn back just in time to see Callon finish Theo off with a combination of punches and kicks, sweeping his feet out from underneath him.

On his way down, Theo takes Callon with him, and they continue to grapple on the ground until Callon gains the upper hand.

He pins Theo down with a final decisive move, his forearm pressing against Theo’s throat while his knee holds down his legs.

With Callon declared the winner, he helps Theo up, both grinning despite the blood and bruises. They grab some water, and as the crowd disperses, Ingrid makes her way over to Theo. Meanwhile, Callon catches me staring like an idiot.

Great.

He picks up his shirt and heads over, pulling it on as he approaches.

“Nice to see you’re not avoiding me anymore,” I joke, crossing my arms. “I thought for sure you’d be running in the opposite direction by now.”

“My father had me looking into disturbances near the Catalpa border,” Callon says, adjusting his shirt as he glances at me. “And I stopped by Astermiri on the way back. You know, after Baron’s latest little attempt to stir things up.”

The mention of Baron and his recent moves sends a chill through me. I can feel the tension rising in my chest, the pressure of everything hanging in the air between us. I take a deep breath before asking, “Are you okay? Everything good?”

Amusement flickers in his eyes, and the smallest smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “Were you worried about me, darling?”

I hesitate, the weight of everything pressing down on me. Should I brush it off? Should I just pretend like things aren’t shifting beneath the surface? But instead, I lock eyes with him, the tension pulling me closer, and I say, “And what if I was?”

His smile widens, but it’s not as carefree as usual. A trace of a wink lingers in his tone, though there’s something more calculated behind it. “I’m fine. Astermiri’s the same—no need to worry. Actually, I was going to find you today anyway. Feel like a little field trip?”

My curiosity piqued, I tilt my head. “What kind of trip?”

“Back to Pinebrook,” he says, watching my reaction closely.

“You can’t be serious,” I blurt out. “Don’t you think it’s too dangerous?”

A whirlwind of emotions hits me—Garet’s betrayal, Kendry’s death—but I push it aside, focusing on Callon’s calm expression.

He shrugs. “I’ve heard your training’s going well.”

I scoff, the words feeling more bitter than I expect. “And how would you know? You’ve barely been around.”

He grins, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Doesn’t mean I’m not keeping an eye on you, darling,” he teases, his fingers brushing my cheek.

I swat his hand away. “Quit calling me that.”

His grin widens, playful. “Such an evil little thing. How could I have forgotten?”

I roll my eyes. “Cut it out. But really, why are we going back?”

“You mentioned a dream journal. I’ll admit, I’m curious to read it.”

I frown. “Key word is had. I have no idea if it’s still there or if it was destroyed in the attack.”

“Guess we’re about to find out.” Callon smirks. “Meet me in an hour. I need to clean up first.”

As he walks away, Theo catches my eye and walks over.

“What was that all about?” he asks.

“I guess we’re going on a field trip,” I reply, forcing a smile, though the twisted feeling in my stomach doesn’t go away.

Theo chuckles. “Oh, Cal... You’d think by now I’d be used to these curveballs,” he says, shaking his head.

“Good fight, by the way,” I add with a smile. “But you could work on your footwork a little more.”

Theo laughs. “Thank you, oh wise one. I’ll work on that,” he says before walking away, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

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