The next day, the message came again.
Three sealed. Four remain.
But this time, there was more:
One of them is already open.
Eliara felt it in her bones before she even showed Rowen.
"Where?" he asked.
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she lifted the pendant. The golden thread from the hospital girl still floated inside—delicate, but constant. And now, beside it, another thread appeared.
Red.
Vibrating with urgency.
She closed her eyes.
And she felt it.
"City Hall," she whispered. "It's not a breach anymore. It's a doorway."
City Hall was ancient—older than most of the skyline surrounding it. Built in the 1800s, it had been burned, rebuilt, renovated, and repaired dozens of times.
But it had never been cleansed.
Rowen explained on the way: "Before the Veilkeepers, there were other orders. Blood cults. Whisperers. They made pacts. City Hall was one of their gathering places."
"And now it's active again."
"More than active. If the breach has become a full doorway, we're no longer sealing cracks."
"We're fighting whatever came through."
The building looked normal from the outside. Security guards at the entrance. People coming and going. Banners about local elections.
But the second Eliara stepped inside, the world bent.
The marble tiles pulsed under her feet.
The walls breathed.
And no one else seemed to notice.
They passed through corridors, heading toward the center of the building—an old archive chamber sealed decades ago. The compass thread had gone completely still.
"We're here," Rowen said.
Eliara reached for the door.
It opened on its own.
Inside was wrong.
Not in a monstrous way. In a beautiful way. That was worse.
Everything shimmered with golden light. The walls were lined with mirrors, but none reflected her face. The air was thick with perfume and whispering music that made her want to cry.
And at the far end of the chamber, seated on a stone throne, was a woman.
Tall. Serene. Skin like candlelight. Eyes like twin eclipses.
The Maw, in a new shape.
"Eliara," it said gently. "Welcome home."
Rowen moved to draw his blade, but it vanished from his hand—gone, like a dream forgotten.
"Don't be rude," the Maw said, still smiling. "You are guests. And we are family."
"I'm nothing like you," Eliara growled.
"No? You sealed a soul inside your pendant. You call on emotion to work your magic. You walk the line between light and dark. So do I."
"You feed on pain."
"So do you, child. Your power awoke after your mother's death, didn't it?"
Eliara flinched.
The Maw stood.
The golden light behind her shifted—revealing seven figures in the walls. Bound by chains of light. Frozen. Dreaming.
Veilkeepers.
"This was always the plan," the Maw said. "Seven breaches. Seven guardians. One key to awaken them. You."
Eliara stared, throat dry. "Why me?
"Because you were born between."
Rowen's voice cracked like thunder.
"She's not your key. And this isn't your world."
The Maw sighed.
"You never understood, Rowen. You only watched. But she feels. And that is why I chose her."
Eliara's pendant burned hot. The red thread now glowed like flame.
The Maw stepped forward, arms open. "Join me, and I will give you peace. Power. Understanding. You'll never feel fear again."
Eliara looked down.
The pendant pulsed once. Twice.
Then—she broke it.
Glass shattered.
The threads inside erupted, spinning into the air like comets. Red. Gold. Silver. Each one lit up the chamber.
The Veilkeepers in the walls awoke.
Their eyes opened—white with light.
The mirrors cracked.
The throne collapsed.
The Maw screamed—not in rage, but in surprise.
"You don't understand what you've done!"
Eliara stepped forward.
"I finally do."
She raised her hands.
And for the first time, she wove.
Light and shadow. Grief and hope. Rage and calm. Threads of contradiction spun between her fingers, forming a pattern not of destruction—but of restoration.
The weave didn't seal the breach.
It rewrote it.
The throne became a garden. The mirrors became stars. The golden light turned soft—harmless.
And the Maw, stripped of form, was pulled into the new tapestry. Caught. Refracted. Bound.
The chamber stilled.
Eliara collapsed to her knees.
Rowen caught her.
"You did it," he whispered.
"No," she said. "We did."
Later, they sat under the sky outside City Hall. The stars had never looked brighter.
Eliara looked at the remains of her pendant—now just a circle of silver, empty.
"How many remain?" she asked.
Rowen didn't answer.
Because her phone buzzed again.
Four sealed. Three remain.
But something else is coming.