Page 64 of Unseen Eye (Aetherian Chronicles #1)

I reach the clearing and press myself into the cover of a half-collapsed stone wall, peering out just enough to see him.

Finn is there, just as I remember, yet so different.

Gone is the youthful, carefree Finn I once knew; in his place is someone tempered by loss, his eyes harder, carrying a weight I never imagined he would bear.

His once-unkempt hair is longer now, more unruly, and there’s a scar that cuts through one brow—one I don’t remember.

He’s surrounded by a small group of villagers, lifting broken beams and clearing away wreckage with a quiet, grim determination.

I want to call out to him. I want to tell him I’m here, that I’m alive, that I’ve thought about him every day. I want to ask him if he’s been worried about me or if he’s moved on. Does he even think about me anymore? Or have they all just forgotten?

But I don’t move. I can’t. The guilt tightens around me like a noose, stopping me cold.

I feel like a coward, lurking in the shadows, watching him from afar instead of facing him.

But there’s something about seeing him, knowing that he’s safe, that eases the knot in my chest. For a moment, I allow myself to believe that maybe that’s enough—that just knowing he’s still here, still fighting, is all I need.

A part of me feels the sting of my own betrayal—of being too afraid to face him, too afraid to bridge the distance I put between us.

But what would I even say? My mind swims with half-formed explanations, apologies that stick in my throat.

I’m not ready to see their disappointment, or worse—their indifference.

Maybe they’ve already moved on, the memory of me fading into the past along with everything else that’s been lost.

I watch for a while longer; the morning drifting toward midday, before the weight of my exhaustion pulls me back.

The betrayal still cuts deep. Every thought of Callon reopening the wound.

But here, with Finn’s familiar voice in the air, with the quiet resilience of the village around me, I feel a small, flickering sense of peace.

It’s enough to keep me going, enough to hold on to—at least for now.

The next morning, the sun filters through the trees, casting dapples of light across the forest floor as I wander through Pinebrook.

I want to keep my distance from the village, not wanting to draw attention to myself, but curiosity leads me deeper into the streets.

My heart beats faster with every step, but I don’t know if it’s from fear or hope.

I round a corner, and my breath catches when I see them—Finn and Nessa, standing beside a weathered cart. They’re not speaking, but there’s an ease between them, the kind that speaks of trust built over years. I linger in the shadow of a crumbling wall, my chest tightening as I watch.

Nessa looks older, her face lined with exhaustion, but her sharp eyes still sweep the village like they always have.

Finn stands beside her, steady and protective, his hand resting on the edge of the cart as though ready to move at a moment’s notice.

The sight of them stirs something deep inside me—a relief so fierce it feels like a gasp of air after being underwater for too long.

For a moment, I let myself stay there, taking in the small, familiar gestures.

Nessa adjusts the cart straps with her usual focus, while Finn’s gaze stays fixed on the horizon.

Their presence feels like a balm, soothing the raw edges of my guilt.

They’re here. They’re alive. It’s enough to make the knot in my chest loosen, if only a little.

When I finally turn away, the warmth fades as reality seeps back in. Seeing them filled me with relief, but it doesn’t erase everything else. The ache lingers, a dull weight pressing against the edges of my thoughts.

Callon drifts back into my mind, uninvited. Seeing Finn and Nessa reminds me of what I’d let myself believe with him—that someone could truly see me. Not just the parts I show, but the cracks beneath. That someone could understand not just who I’ve been, but who I could become.

I want to be angry at him, to cast all the blame onto him for everything that’s gone wrong.

But Theo’s words keep coming back to me, an unrelenting whisper: If he didn’t tell you, there was a reason.

It replays over and over, a reminder that there might be more to the story, something even Theo and Izzy don’t know.

But what reason could there be that would justify the secrecy?

What could be so important that he chose to wound me instead of being honest?

I run through a dozen possible scenarios in my head, each one more unlikely than the last, and none of them provide the comfort I need.

If he had a reason, why didn’t he share it with me?

Maybe not right away, but as things grew between us?

Isn’t that what it means to care for someone? To trust them with the hard truths?

Maybe—just maybe, a quieter part of me whispers—he didn’t care as much as I thought he did.

The thought hits me like a punch to the gut.

I push it away, unwilling to believe that what we had was just an illusion.

But if he didn’t trust me enough to confide in me, then maybe I’ve been fooling myself.

Theo’s words stir again, making me question everything.

Callon has always been controlled, careful.

Maybe he thought he was protecting me. Maybe he thought I couldn’t handle the truth.

But even if that was the case—if he thought he was doing what was best for me—why didn’t he trust me to handle it? Why didn’t he let me in?

It’s not just about the secret anymore. It’s about the decision he made to keep me in the dark, to believe he knew what was best for me without ever asking me what I needed.

He thought he was sparing me, but all he’s really done is left me with doubt.

And I can’t help but wonder if that’s somehow my fault, too—if I was foolish for letting myself fall so deeply for him, for allowing myself to care without considering that maybe he didn’t, or couldn’t, feel the same.

When I reach the cottage, I tear a page out of one of the few books left on and shelf and write a note—simple, but enough to say what needs to be said.

“I am alive, I am okay—E.” I take the note and slip it into one of the cracks in the wall, tucked into a hole where I hope someone might find it one day

There’s a strange comfort in leaving a piece of myself behind like this, as if somehow it will carry a part of me to the others. Maybe they’ll find it. Maybe they won’t. But at least it’s something. A small piece of hope, left for someone else to find when the time is right.

As night falls, I find myself curling into Kendry’s old cloak, the worn fabric heavy and familiar, a small comfort against the tide of emotions swirling inside me.

My fingers brush against something in the pocket, and I pull it out—an old, folded drawing, yellowed with age.

It’s one of mine, a picture I must have drawn when I was a child.

In it, I’m standing in front of Kendry, my little figure wielding a sword, facing down a great red drakos with glowing eyes.

My childish handwriting across the bottom says, “I’ll always protect you.

” It’s the kind of drawing no one keeps, especially not after so many years.

But there it is, preserved, tucked away in the very cloak he’d worn so often when he was with me.

I blink, and for a moment, I’m lost in the memory of him—of the way he used to be, the man I believed in, the one I thought understood me. The same man who chose to keep this silly, na?ve drawing.

Maybe, just maybe, he was doing what he thought was best for me all along.

Maybe, like Callon, he made decisions I couldn’t understand at the time, choices that hurt but were made with my best interests in mind.

He might’ve thought I couldn’t handle the truth then, just like Callon thought I couldn’t handle his.

I let out a breath, the weight of it easing just a little. Maybe it’s time I stop holding on to the anger and let go of the expectations. He did what he thought was right, and I’ve been holding his actions against him for too long.

I fold the drawing back up and slip it into my pocket, the warmth of it reminding me that closure doesn’t always come in the form we expect.

Sometimes, it’s just letting go and accepting that we can’t change the past. As I close my eyes, I can feel the weight of his presence beside me again, and for the first time in a long while, I forgive him.

I find myself in a cave similar to the one I was in before, except the crystals here are blue—a deep, vibrant blue that instantly reminds me… I cut off the thought, unwilling to let it go further.

I run my hand along the crystals, feeling their cool, smooth surface, as I did the first time I was in a crystal cave.

As I explore the length of the cave, the crystals hum softly, resonating with a magical tone I can feel deep in my bones.

It’s eerily similar to the previous cave, yet the atmosphere here feels different—heavier, more magical.

Eventually, I spot the exit and expect to find another valley like the one before, but what greets me is nothing like I imagined.

The cave opens up onto a small island, barely larger than the cave itself, perched precariously at the top of a colossal drop.

It feels like standing at the edge of the world.

The island is surrounded on all sides by towering waterfalls, each one cascading from the edges of the land and plummeting into a vast, shimmering expanse far below. The island seems to float in midair, encircled by the falls, with no visible path leading forward or back.