Page 74 of Marked By the Enemy
Darian kneeled, too, and his hand brushed mine. “Will the ground open?”
His hand remained close. My ribs locked up like I’d run too far. “It already has opened.” I extended my consciousness through the tie.
We gathered around the cracked stone and, in spirit, descended through it. The corridor curved inward, lined with shelves. Not books. Not stones. Memory cores. Held like breath in glass. Some shimmered. Some stayed dim.
Branwen’s fingers hovered over one. “People.”
“They aren’t people. They’re moments,” said a voice behind her. That was the same voice as the being I’d discovered in the woods, three moontides past. The identical voice ended the Bone Seat’s massacre when speaking through Willow.
Willow exchanged a thoughtful look with me before touching a core. Nothing changed—except her face, which was puckered with confusion. Her shoulders curled inward. “I met a boy. He told me he wanted to plant a seed.”
I had become so accustomed to strange visions from the marked ones that I just gave her an understanding look before moving on deeper. Symbols lined the walls. They reminded me of the human runes rather than the symbols of the fae courts.
We left in silence. At the Keep’s edge, the marked waited.
“They saw the place where our ancestors’ memories are stored,” I said.
“They were meant to,” said Astrid.
The corridor shimmered again. Thin. Faint. Enough for one.
Darian came to my side, which had become as normal as breathing.
“You should stay,” I said.
“I won’t.”
“Then walk behind me.”
“I always do.”
We stepped through again. And behind us, Sael watched. Still waiting. Still unable to enter.
The walls thinned as we walked. They looked tired, as if too many memories burdened them for too long. I led patiently, without questions. Darian trailed behind. He trusted me. The path bent. The light changed. We eventually entered a hollow scraped empty by forgetting. On the far side stood a mirror without a reflection.
“You already know,” Darian said behind me.
I kneeled and laid both hands on the cold floor. Then I whispered Mom’s name. “Ocean.”
The glass cracked. Through that narrow break, memories spilled—woven threads that had never been mine.
A girl glowing blue in an alien forest, where trees blushed pink and gold beside a violet stream.
Three men glowing blue in that very same world.
A hidden blade.
A young woman with cropped hair, drumming beside a fountain in an ancient town.
Darian stepped closer and leaned in.
My pulse snagged. I didn’t show it.
The mirror shimmered and split wider, offering a record of names. All silent. All carried. All mine, because the bond asked someone to remember. My ancestors. When the corridor closed, it didn’t seal. The break stayed as a mark.
“You aren’t only the Fifth,” Darian said, crouching beside me.
“No. I am a record. I think the coin marked me for storage of the records, from the old fifth to the new.”
