Chapter 66
*Jiselle*
I didn’t ask Nate where he thought I was going. I just slipped on one of his oversized hoodies, tied my boots tighter than they needed to be, and left the dorm before sunrise. The corridors were quiet–too quiet. That kind of sacred silence that only ever existed before the academy woke up. Before blades clashed in the courtyard and instructors barked orders like gods of war.
But even in that stillness, my heartbeat was too loud. Every step echoed in my chest, every breath caught on the jagged edges of last night’s truth.
They want to kill me.
The observatory Bastain mentioned in the note wasn’t even marked on the school map. It was a relic of the old academy- used by former Headmasters to track celestial cycles. Forgotten by most. Hidden beneath the western tower, down a passage lined with crumbling stone and rusted sconces that hadn’t held flame in years.
It smelled like dust and secrets. Like a room that remembered more than it ever said.
Bastain was already there.
He stood with his back to me, staring up through the glass dome at the fading stars. The morning light crept in like a shy visitor, barely brushing the curve of his shoulder. He looked older in that moment. Not just tired–but worn. Like something had been clawing at him in silence.
“Close the door,” he said without turning.
I did.
We stood in silence for a while, the air between us heavy with things unsaid. Finally, he turned.
“You shouldn’t be here alone,” he said, voice low.
“You told me to come.”
“I meant that you shouldn’t have to be alone,” he corrected. “But yes. I needed to speak with you before anyone else could.” There was something in his eyes. Not the usual calm, collected mask of the head of combat. This was different. This was fear.
I folded my arms. “What’s going on?”
Bastain walked toward an old desk near the far wall, dragging out a worn leather–bound book from beneath a panel I didn’t even realize was a compartment. He set it on the desk carefully, like it might break if handled wrong.
“There’s a faction forming within the council,” he said. “One that believes… you’re too dangerous to wait for.” My blood chilled.
“They want to kill me before the Solstice,” I said flatly.
He didn’t answer.
Didn’t need to.
“How many?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Enough to be dangerous. Not enough to act openly. Yet. That’s why we’ve been stalling. Carrow and I-”
“You’ve been protecting me.”
He nodded. “Misleading them. Rewriting reports. Recommending observation over action. But that leash is tightening. They want a decision soon. And I can’t give them one. Not without giving them you.”
My knees almost buckled.
Bastain moved then, pulling out a chair and motioning for me to sit. I did, numbly, my eyes never leaving the book.
“What is that?” I asked.
“Your inheritance,” he said grimly.
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“It belonged to the last Ethereal.”
The world tilted.
“There was another?” I whispered.
Successfully unlocked!
He nodded once. “Centuries ago. Before this academy was what it is now. Her name was Spring —– stories said, she was–brilliant. Gentle inet like
Chapter 66
Did he just say… Centuries? How many to be exact? Did this have to do with what he called a waste of a millennium?
“What happened to her?” I asked when I got the courage.
Bastain didn’t answer at first. His jaw clenched. His gaze fell to the book like it might open old wounds just from being
seen.
“From what the texts and readings say, she didn’t make it,” he said finally. “They found out too early. And there wasn’t enough protection in place. She… she died before her gift fully awakened. Of course, I don’t know her, but she was a direct ancestor of my family, so I know a bit about her…” He met my eyes. “About you.”
My throat closed. “So this really is a death sentence.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” he said quickly. “That’s why I brought you here. This journal–what’s left of it–it’s written in code. A kind of mental cipher only an Ethereal can access. My family have tried for decades. I’ve tried, Carrow too. No luck. But we believe that once your powers evolve a bit more… you’ll be able to read it.”
I stared at the journal. My name still echoed in the back of my mind from the book I’d found days ago. The scrawl in the margin. Was it a prophecy?
“Why me?” I asked again, this time softer. More broken.
Bastain sighed. “The moon doesn’t choose lightly, Jiselle. And it rarely chooses the willing. But she does choose.”
I reached for the journal. My fingers hovered over the worn leather cover. It was cold. Heavier than it looked. Like it was holding memories no one should carry alone.
“She didn’t survive,” I said.
“No,” he admitted. “She didn’t.”
I looked up at him.
“Then what makes you think I will?”
Bastain’s expression softened for the first time since I’d met him. Not the false softness of an instructor trying to comfort a student. But real. Raw. Almost paternal.
“Because you have something she didn’t,” he said quietly. “You have people willing to burn the world down to keep you breathing. You have a mate who would die before letting them take you. You have me. And Carrow. And whatever else still give a damn.”
He moved closer then, crouching slightly so he was eye–level with me.
“But most of all… because you have her journal. Her truth. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned from watching this academy chew up students and spit them out–it’s that truth is power.”
I nodded slowly.
Bastain stood. “You need to hide it. Somewhere safe. Somewhere even I don’t know.”
“I’ll keep it safe,” I said before I could think.
Bastain didn’t react. Just nodded once, like he’d expected that.
“I’m going to do everything I can to buy you time,” he said. “But if something changes–if the council votes early or you feel anything… strange–you tell me. Immediately. Do you understand?”
“I do.”
He reached out, gently squeezing my shoulder. “You need to survive, Jiselle.”
I nodded again.
He hesitated… then said something that chilled me deeper than any prophecy ever could.
“Not just for yourself,” he murmured. “But because she didn’t.”
E
