Page 69 of Echoes From the Void

“It’s not stress.” Lyra’s sheet music floats, trailing familiar shadow patterns that twist my heart. Mom used to do that—make shadows dance to music. Said it helped control the wilder aspects of our family gift. But these shadows... they move wrong. Like corrupted notes in a familiar song.

I reach into shadow space—one of Mom’s first lessons—and pull out chocolate chips, trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy. “Fresh from the void. Anyone want some?”

The bag feels cold, colder than usual. The void pulls at my essence, hungry in a way it never was before. I yank my hand back quickly, but not before catching glimpses of writhing shapes in the darkness. Not before feeling that sickening familiar presence.

“Your control’s different,” Lena observes, ever the analyst even as her own shadows betray her anxiety. “More... anchored. Is it the pack bond?”

“Among other things.” I don’t mention how Matteo’s shadows dance with mine, how Frankie’s darkness feels like home, how Bishop’s ancient power steadies us all. How Dorian’s immortal essence shows us possibilities we never knew existed. “The pack helps stabilize shadow essence.”

Five knowing looks answer my half-truth. They’ve seen more than I’ve admitted. Felt more than I’ve explained.

Luna’s legal papers rustle with shadow energy. “You’re hiding something.” It’s not a question. “About Dad. About what’s really happening at Shadow Locke.”

The pancake in my pan burns, smoking slightly as my shadows react to the accusation. To the memory of Dad’s essence twisting, corrupting, becoming something else. To theecho of Mom’s voice: “Promise me, Leo. Promise you’ll be ready when they need you.”

“It’s not that simple,” I start, but Liliana’s small voice cuts through my excuses.

“His shadows were wrong.” Her fingers paint darkness on the counter, recreating patterns I’ve tried to forget. “When he came to find us. They didn’t feel like Dad anymore.”

“They weren’t his shadows anymore.” The admission tastes like ash in my mouth. Through our family bond—older and darker than even pack magic—I feel their collective fear. “Not really.”

Lucia’s charcoal moves across paper with urgent purpose, each stroke leaving actual shadow marks like Mom’s used to. But where Mom’s shadows danced with life, these trail corruption—showing the progression none of us wanted to acknowledge. “I keep drawing him like this. Every night it gets worse.”

Her sketch bleeds darkness: Dad’s figure twisted by void-shadows, essence corrupted by something that makes my stomach turn. It’s the same wrongness I’d felt at Shadow Locke, watching Valerie’s experiments twist shadow essence into weapons.

“It’s spreading, isn’t it?” Luna’s lawyer voice cracks slightly. Her custody papers now float in a corona of shadow energy—protective sigils appearing unconsciously in the margins. “The corruption. That’s why Mom trained you so hard. Why she?—”

A discordant note splits the air. Lyra’s sheet music explodes into a tornado of shadow-notes, each one burning with unnatural light. Her eyes roll back, showing only darkness, and the prophecy tears from her throat in our mother’s voice:

“Blood calls to blood through shadow’s veil,

Where light once walked, now darkness trails.

Five must stand where one light failed,

When father’s corruption tips the scales.”

“Lyra!” I reach for her with shadows and arms both, but Luna’s faster. Her legal prowess translates to sharp control as she catches our sister with bands of darkness.

“This is bad,” Lena whispers, her psychology training warring with sisterly panic. “Mom’s prophecies never came with physical manifestations like this.”

My shadows roil with protective fury, reaching for both pack and family bonds. Through them, I feel Matteo and Frankie’s immediate response, their essence reaching back to steady mine. Even Bishop and Dorian’s ancient power stirs, recognizing the threat.

“Nobody panic,” I manage, though my own shadows betray my fear, writhing against the walls. “This is?—”

“If you say ‘fine,’ I’m hitting you with my textbook,” Lena threatens, her shadows punctuating each word. “Mom’s prophecies were warnings, Leo. And this one came through Lyra with enough force to knock her out.”

Liliana’s small hand finds mine, her untrained shadows seeking protection. “Is this because of what happened with Dad? When he came to the house?”

The memory hits hard: Dad’s shadows moving wrong, reaching for my sisters with hungry darkness. The void energy pouring off him in waves that made Mom’s protective sigils crack. The look in his eyes—not corrupted yet, but close. So close.

“He wasn’t just looking for us,” I admit finally, the truth I’ve been hiding since that night clawing its way out. “He was testing us. Checking to see if we had Mom’s gift. If we could be...”

“Corrupted,” Luna finishes, her legal mind piecing it together. “Like he was. Like the experiments at Shadow Locke.”

“Corrupted,” I confirm, watching Lyra’s unconscious form for any sign of shadow-sickness. “Valerie’s experiments... they’re not new. Someone was practicing long before Shadow Locke.Someone who knew about our family’s connection to shadow essence.”

The kitchen dims as our collective shadows respond to the truth we’ve been avoiding. Through pack bonds, I feel Frankie’s immediate concern, her own experience with Valerie’s corruption resonating with our fear.

---