Page 26 of Echoes From the Void

Through the pack bonds I try so hard to ignore—and absolutely do not strengthen when no one is looking—I feel their energy reaching, searching, changing. Even after just four years of watching my peers change while I remain frozen at twenty-two, of maintaining perfect control because I know I’ll have to watch everyone I care for age and die eventually, of trying to prepare myself for centuries of this existence...

The diary grows warm in my hands, responding to the power surge like it’s been waiting for this exact moment.

My dearest son,the first entry reads,if you’re reading this, the realms are failing. The curse that preserves our line was never meant to be permanent. Time must flow, even for those it cannot keep.

“She knew,” I whisper, hating how my voice catches. Emotions are so tediously disruptive to proper research. I feel a pang of something—something I can’t quite name, something that gnaws at the edges of my carefully constructed detachment.Was it fear? Grief?“All this time?—”

“Of course she knew.” Uncle Everett picks up a grimoire, his movements deliberately casual in a way that immediately raises my suspicion. He only feigns nonchalance when something is truly significant. “She’s the one who modified the curse in the first place.”

The diary nearly slips from my suddenly numb fingers. Unacceptable. “She what?”

“Your father’s original immortality curse was killing him—consuming his soul to preserve his body. Your mother, a shadow shifter, tried to save him by anchoring his immortality to the shadow realm, hoping it would preserve his mind as well as his body. She believed that the shadow realm’s essence could stabilize his sanity where time alone had failed. But despite her efforts, she couldn’t stop his descent into madness. Ultimately, she failed, and the shadows were not enough to keep him whole.” He pauses, watching my reflection age and reset. “Rather like what you’re doing with those pack bonds you pretend not to strengthen.”

“I do no such—” The pack bonds pulse with concern, betraying my agitation. They can feel my distress, damn them. Even now, Matteo is probably heading this way with his insufferable protective instincts, Leo planning something cheerfully irritating, Bishop analyzing strategy, Frankie...

Frankie.

“The twins,” I realize, scanning faster through the diary. Mother’s elegant script blurs with mathematical precision and mystical theory. “Mother mentions a prophecy about balanced powers. Light and shadow, life and death, time and—” I stop, staring at a diagram that makes my academic soul weep with joy. “Oh, that’s brilliant.”

“Care to share with the class?” Uncle drawls.

“The curse preserves our lives, but it is separate from the barrier between realms. The barrier is failing, and we are meant to help stabilize it. My mother’s attempt to tie immortality to the shadow realm revealed a connection—one that goes beyond just us. The shadow realm holds an energy that resonates with the realms, but our immortality is not the anchor. The barrier needs something else—something more stable, more connected. The barrier requires a different kind of energy—one that comes from harmony and connection, not just temporal stasis.”

“That sounds exhausting,” Leo says from the stairs, his presence announced by the faint sound of footsteps I had been too distracted to notice. He always has a way of showing up at just the right—or wrong—moment, depending on your perspective. Can’t have an emotional revelation without sunshine personified appearing to disrupt my perfectly organized crisis. “Also, you missed lunch. Again.”

“It is rather taxing,” I admit before I can stop myself. These pack bonds are making me distressingly honest. The truth, unfiltered, slips out more easily in their presence. “The constant maintenance of temporal stability while managing interdimensional energetic barriers requires significant?—”

“You’re lonely,” Leo interrupts, with that infuriating ability to see past my carefully constructed walls. “And tired. And scared your walls are cracking like that portrait. Also, your tie is crooked.”

I open my mouth to deliver a scathing reply about his complete lack of sartorial standards, but my reflection chooses that moment to age again. This time, the effect ripples through the room like a temporal earthquake. Uncle Everett grimaces as his own immortality wavers.

Power surges again from the medical wing. The diary burns in my hands, its pages turning themselves to a complicated series of musical notations.

“The twins,” I say, realization striking with all the subtlety of Leo’s personality. “Their power could either reinforce the barriers or shatter them completely. That’s why Blackwood wanted them. Why he has the missing page?—”

The curse mirror cracks. My carefully maintained composure cracks with it. How embarrassingly metaphorical.

Leo moves faster than I thought possible, catching me as temporal backlash makes my immortal knees buckle. How inconvenient. How necessary.

“I don’t need—” I start, though my temporal form begs to differ.

“Yeah, you do.” Leo’s presence wraps around me, his natural warmth fighting against my temporal frost. The ice that usually spreads from my touch recedes slightly, responding to his energy like winter giving way to spring. His optimism melts more than just my carefully maintained walls.

“I am doing no such thing. This is merely... strategic proximity for temporal stabilization.”

“Uh-huh. And you’re not at all enjoying my amazing cologne.”

“Your cologne is offensive to proper sensibilities.”

“But you still know exactly which one I’m wearing.”

“The curse preserves more than just your life, nephew,” Uncle Everett says softly, interrupting our... whatever this is. I look at him, and for the first time, the weight behind his eyesis fully visible. He’s been carrying this burden for far too long, I realize. Just like I have. “But perhaps it was never meant to preserve you alone. Your mother understood that connection makes us stronger, not weaker.”

My mother’s diary pulses one more time, then settles. The next page shows a series of musical patterns—frequencies that could realign shadow essence with its natural resonance. Not by forcing stasis like our curse attempts, but by restoring proper harmony between light and shadow. One pattern catches my eye—the exact notes Lyra played earlier, the ones that made shadow essence dance in tune with reality. My mother had been studying this long before the realms began to fail, looking for ways to restore natural balance rather than force artificial stability.

“Well,” I say, straightening my cuffs again and definitely not leaning into Leo’s warmth, “this is all terribly inconvenient.”

“You love it,” Leo grins, not moving away. “Admit it. We’re growing on you.”

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