Faith’s fingers traced abstract patterns on the windowpane, her reflection ghostly in the grey morning light. “Good. He needs to know what I found. What I saw.” She paused, her hand stilling. “Before everything went dark.”

  The way Faith’s voice caught on those last words made Vesper’s magic stir uneasily. “We’ll go together then,” she said, adjusting her bag strap. “If only to make sure you get there okay.”

  Faith nodded, her expression set with determination. “Thank you. For finding me. For bringing me here.” She turned from the window, shoulders straight despite her lingering exhaustion.

  “Are you feeling any better?” Rafe asked.

  “A little.” Faith frowned as if she were trying to grasp onto an illusive memory. “Aldrick helped, but I still can’t remember touching the crystal…or what happened to me while I was in it.”

  Vesper smiled, nodding. “Maybe Theo can help.”

  “Yeah.” The mage looked hopeful. “Maybe…”

  Heavy footsteps announced Aldrick’s arrival before he appeared in the doorway. His broad frame filled the space, dark eyes taking in their packed bags and Faith’s borrowed clothes. His expression remained carefully neutral, betraying nothing of his thoughts or feelings about their imminent departure.

  Vesper inclined her head slightly—acknowledging everything that had passed between them, both the lessons learned and the secrets he’d reluctantly shared.

  Rafe’s stance shifted beside her, his attention fixed on his former mentor, but he too remained silent, holding whatever words he might have wanted to say behind pressed lips.

  Aldrick’s sharp gaze swept over them before settling on Rafe. Something in his stern features softened, almost imperceptibly, as he looked at his former student.

  “Be careful,” Aldrick said, his gruff voice carrying more than just the simple warning. “Whatever you think you understand about the Echo…there is always more beneath the surface.”

  Rafe released a controlled breath before giving Aldrick a short, sharp nod.

  Without another word passing between them, Vesper stepped out into the misty morning, Faith and Rafe following close behind. The damp air clung to her skin as they left the cottage behind.

  The mist thickened as they walked through the village, cloaking Millbrook’s thatched cottages in gloomy grey. Magic whispered through the air, wild and untamed. Vesper’s own magic responded to it, reaching out like tendrils to taste the morning dew.

  She’d miss this kind of magic, how raw and free it was. Now she understood the ley lines, maybe the city wouldn’t feel so overwhelming.

  Faith walked ahead, her steps growing steadier with each passing minute. Whatever Aldrick had done seemed to be helping, though questions still lingered in the researcher’s eyes whenever she thought no one was looking.

  “The Thread’s just past those trees,” Rafe said, pointing to where the village path curved around a stand of ancient oaks. “It’s one of the stronger ones.”

  Vesper nodded, remembering how the Threads had changed since the Fold’s destruction. No longer paths through shadow, but channels of raw power connecting directly to the ley lines. The thought of stepping into that wild magic made her pulse quicken.

  They rounded the bend, and Vesper felt it immediately. Unlike the one they’d arrived through, this Thread shimmered with visible power, its edges rippling with constant motion.

  The fragment in her bag responded to the Thread’s energy, its hum growing stronger as they approached. Magic crackled across her skin, raising the hair on her arms.

  “Ready?” Rafe asked, his hand finding hers.

  Vesper squeezed his fingers, drawing strength from the contact. Their combined magic sparked between their palms, violet and azure light dancing in the mist. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Faith stepped forward, her expression set with determination as she faced the path back to Nightreach.

  Finally, Vesper and Rafe approached the Thread, its magic extending outward, drawing them into its luminous embrace.

  Chapter 38

  Ash hadn’t moved in hours, eyes fixed on the parchment as if it might shift on its own. The shop around him was silent, the air thick with the weight of too many unsaid things. Shelves loomed close, heavy with books he hadn’t touched in days. At some point he’d closed the shutters. He couldn’t recall when. The dark felt earned, maybe even deserved.

  His fingers cramped around his pen, knuckles white. How long had he been writing? Hours? Days? Dark ink stains splattered across the desk’s polished surface.

  “This isn’t right,” he muttered, voice rough from disuse.

  He forced his gaze back to the parchment, trying to focus on the words he’d written. The letters seemed to swim before his eyes, rearranging themselves when he wasn’t looking directly at them.

  The Echo fragments must remain separate at all costs. Their union would⁠—

  Ash blinked, and the sentence transformed.

  The Echo fragments must be united. Apart, they remain unstable and⁠—

  “No.” He shook his head violently, pressing the heels of his palms against his temples. “That’s not what I wrote.”

  The air in the shop felt thick, slipping against his skin like oil. Something was wrong. He knew it, could feel it in the crawling sensation along his spine, yet couldn’t quite grasp what had changed.

  When had he last eaten? Slept? The days had blurred together since he’d begun researching the Echo fragments. Since he’d started writing these letters to Vesper.

  How many had he sent now?

  Ash forced himself to look up from his desk, scanning the darkened shop. Books lay open on every surface, pages marked with scraps of paper. His normally meticulous system had descended into chaos.

  His gaze returned to the parchment, to the words that refused to stay fixed.

  The fragments are moving of their own accord, following⁠—

  He blinked.

  Bring the fragments. The ancient paths must be followed to⁠—

  “Stop it,” he hissed, slamming his fist against the desk.

  Ash lifted the pen again. This time, he forced his hand to move, controlling each stroke.

  You were right about the fragments. They’re not just relics.

  The words remained fixed, black and solid against the cream paper. A small victory. Ash exhaled slowly, relief washing through him…until a sharp, lancing pain bloomed at the base of his skull. It felt like someone had driven an ice pick into the soft tissue where spine met skull.

  His grip tightened around the pen until the wood creaked in protest. Still, he pressed on, each letter becoming a battle of will.

  The grimoire isn’t what we thought. Not a guide. Not a tool.

  The pen stuttered across the page, leaving a jagged line. Ash winced, blinking rapidly as the pain intensified. Sweat beaded on his forehead, but he wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. This message had to reach Vesper.

  It’s a bridge, he wrote, the words wavering slightly. A structure that connects more than memory.

  Each word became harder to shape, as if some invisible force were fighting against his hand. The pain spread from his skull, tendrils of fire wrapping around his temples. Yet he continued, his jaw clenched so tight he could hear his teeth grinding together.

  The pen tip scratched unexpectedly, leaving ink pooling in spirals that weren’t meant to be there.

  Ash drew back and stared at the sentence that had just formed. I think I was supposed to help you, but now I’m not sure who I’m helping at all. The letters swam at the edges of his vision, and his hand fell away from the page.

  “What have I done?” he whispered to the empty shop, his voice hollow.

  The books that once brought comfort now felt too close, their spines rigid with disapproval. Even the scent of leather and old paper had curdled at the edges, faintly sour, as if the shop had grown tired of his presence.

  He pushed back from the desk, chair legs scraping harshly against the wooden floor. Standing unsteadily, Ash backed away from the letter, from the words he couldn’t remember writing.

  He crossed to the front of the shop, fingers trailing along bookshelves for balance. The familiar spines offered no comfort now. Titles he’d memorised years ago seemed foreign, the embossed letters shifting under his touch.

  The shutters resisted when he reached for them, wood swollen against the frame. Ash yanked harder, muscles straining until they gave with a reluctant groan. Pale peach light spilled across the dusty floor, catching motes that danced in the sudden intrusion.

  His reflection caught in the window. A gaunt face started back at him, shadows pooled beneath bloodshot eyes. When had he become this hollow-eyed stranger?

  Outside, dawn broke over Nightreach, casting soft gold across the crooked rooftops. The city looked unchanged, its streets and buildings just as they had always been.

  But something was different.

  Ash stood motionless in the window, hands pressed flat against the sill. There was no sound in the shop, no movement behind him, but the pressure in the room had changed. The air felt thinner, charged with an electricity that prickled along his skin.

  He knew it wasn’t just the morning.

  Something in the ley lines had shifted. The magical currents that had flowed beneath Nightreach for centuries now stuttered and surged in unpredictable patterns.

  Something in him had shifted, too. The certainty that had guided his research for weeks now felt hollow, a shell around emptiness. The letters he’d sent to Vesper suddenly seemed like the work of another person entirely.

  Ash pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart. At least that remained unchanged, even as everything else slipped sideways.

  As the sunlight touched his face, the warmth felt foreign, like he’d forgotten what daylight was meant to feel like. His breath fogged the glass, a small patch that pulsed in and out with each shallow breath.

  Something unfamiliar brushed at the edge of his thoughts. Not pain this time, but something increasingly familiar.

  Slowly, his eyes opened wider. The city before him remained unchanged, but he saw it differently now. The buildings, the streets, the people beginning their morning routines seemed like an elaborate illusion.

  “I told you it was futile. You never listened.” Ash murmured the words to no one in particular. There was no anger, no grief, only the weight of something long settled.

  A faint smile formed in his reflection. Not his. Not really.

  Ash turned from the window, leaving the light behind. The shadows took him in, quiet and familiar, like something that had been waiting.

  Continue the story in: A REQUIEM OF RUIN

  (The Resonant Arcana - Book Six)

  The deeper the silence, the more dangerous the song.

  * * *

  Nightreach is changing. Patrols stalk the streets. Silver wards shimmer overhead. Whispers of vanished allies and erased memories spread through the fog like wildfire—and no one seems to remember what was lost.

  As Vesper and Rafe search for the truth behind the fragments of the shattered Echo, others move in the shadows: mages chasing ghosts, traitors chasing absolution, and something older still, watching through borrowed eyes.

  All paths lead back to the city’s heart, where the power to rewrite the world stirs just beneath the surface.

  And not everyone wants it stopped.

  * * *

  A Requiem of Ruin is a tense, atmospheric fantasy where loyalty is tested, memory is weaponised, and the line between salvation and destruction is vanishing fast. As ancient forces stir beneath Nightreach, every choice echoes deeper—and not all of them can be undone.

  OTHER BOOKS IN THE RESONANT ARCANA SERIES

  by Nicole R. Taylor

  * * *

  Ancient grimoires. Deadly shadows. When magic calls, darkness answers...

  * * *

  An Echo of Magic #1

  A Resonance of Power #2

  A Frequency of Truth #3

  A Shatter of Spells #4

  A Fracture of Fate #5

  A Requiem of Ruin #6

  A Cadence of Ash #7

  A Harmony of Ages #8 <—The FINALE!

  NICOLE’S VIP NEWSLETTER

  * * *

  If you would like to keep up with all the news from Nicole, including exciting new book releases, sales, cover reveals, pre-orders and more, please signup with your email address by tapping the link below.

  * * *

  SIGN UP FOR THE VIP NEWSLETTER HERE!

  *or visit: nicolertaylorwrites.com/newsletter

  ABOUT NICOLE

  Nicole R. Taylor is an Australian Urban Fantasy author.

  She lives in the western suburbs of Melbourne dreaming up nail biting stories featuring sassy witches, duplicitous vampires, hunky shapeshifters, and devious monsters.

  She likes chocolate, cat memes, and video games.

  When she’s not writing, she likes to think of what she’s writing next.

  * * *

  Follow Nicole Online:

  * * *

  Website: www.nicolertaylorwrites.com

  Facebook: facebook.com/nrtaylorwrites

  Newsletter: www.nicolertaylorwrites.com/newsletter

  Email: nicole.this.is@gmail.com

  * * *

  * This book is written in British/AU English.

 

 

  Nicole R. Taylor, A Fracture of Fate

 

 

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