Page 49 of Unseen Eye
Before I can react, Callon’s hand closes around mine. The world around me blurs, the remnants of the battlefield fading into darkness as the chaos vanishes.
Chapter Sixteen
When I come to, I find myself in a different bedroom. “Not this again,” I mutter, the déjà vu hitting me like a ton of bricks. Not a minute later, Izzy enters with a pile of clean clothes, and still wearing the same outfit from before, a clear sign we haven’t been here long.
“Oh, you’re up sooner than I thought,” she says, surprised. “I figured you’d be out for a while.”
“What happened?” I ask, sitting up slowly and rubbing my temples. My head still feels like it’s spinning.
“Callon blinked,” Izzy explains casually, as if that’s supposed to clear everything up. She then adds, “It’s teleporting. You think of where you want to go, let your magic flow, and—bam! —you’re there. Not everyone can do it. For those who can, it’s handy. For the rest of us, it can be overwhelming and might make you faint.”
I let that sink in, imagining Callon casually thinking about us in another room while I apparently blacked out. “So, Callon just… thought of this place, and poof, we’re here?” I mime a little ‘disappearing act’ with my hands.
Izzy nods, smirking. “Pretty much. Sounds simple, but it takes a lot of control. Callon’s one of the few who can manage it without breaking a sweat.”
That must be how Garet got me to Astermiri so quickly. I glance around the room, noting the inviting, elegant touches: light-colored wood, deep-blue accents, a quilt of blue and silver on the bed. Compared to the cold, formal room in Astermiri, this place feels… warm. Comfortable.
“Where’s Callon now?” I ask, feeling a hint of disappointment that he’s not here when I wake up.
Izzy raises an eyebrow, a glint of amusement in her eyes.“Probably with his father, dealing with the aftermath. Do us both a favor and avoid Drystan for now. Let Callon handle him.”
Before I can stop myself, I blurt, “How long have you two been together?”
Izzy’s eyes go wide before she bursts into laughter, like I’ve just told the best joke of the night. “He’s my cousin.”
“Oh.” Heat rushes to my face. “I… didn’t know.”
She’s still chuckling, wiping away a tear. “Yeah, he’s definitely not my type. But thanks for the laugh—I needed it after tonight.”
“Glad I could entertain,” I mumble, somewhere between mortified and… relieved?
She shoots me a warm smile. “Get changed and come downstairs when you’re ready. We have a lot to talk about.”
I blink at her, surprised. “What, you’re letting me walk down the stairs by myself?”
Izzy gives me a look, like I’ve grown a second head. “Yes?” she says, as if it’s obvious. “Second door on the left.”
***
I pull on a simple sweater and leathers, then head down the stairs. The difference between here and Astermiri becomes impossible to ignore. The staircase, with its broad steps and sturdy stone railings, feels more utilitarian—built for durability and defense rather than comfort. The walls are thick with cold stone, and the narrow windows resemble arrow slits, designed to repel invaders rather than invite light. The very architecture of the place speaks of purpose over elegance, each corner and alcove seeming to serve a strategic function.
Outside, night has fully settled in, the darkness thick and heavy, with only the dim glow of lanterns pushing back against the shadows in the hallway. When I open the door, I find myself standing in what looks like a war room.
In the center is a large, worn table, surrounded by mismatchedchairs that look like they’ve seen their fair share of arguments. On one corner of the table, there’s a model of a castle, its walls intricately detailed. The ceiling above is a masterpiece—a map of all Aetheria, showing the five kingdoms in exquisite detail. Even Pinebrook is marked, making me smile at the sight of it
Bookcases line the walls, filled with weathered books. Dust and the occasional cobweb cling to the shelves. Papers are scattered across the table and some having drifted to the floor.
The far wall is lined with weaponry—daggers, short swords, and bows in varying stages of wear. No one else has arrived yet, so I let myself drift toward the shelves, trailing a finger along the dusty book spines. “Some things never change,” I mutter, feeling a familiar tug of curiosity. Each volume seems to hold stories or secrets, just waiting.
One book catches my eye—a tale about Valtris, who, as it turns out, was legendary for his appetite for wine and indulgences. Even gods, it seems, have their weaknesses. I’m halfway through the story when the door flies open, jolting me from my thoughts.
Two figures storm into the room, mid-argument. Izzy, now dressed in leathers like mine, is visibly frustrated, her hands flailing as though they’ll help make her point. Her brows are furrowed deeply, and she’s practically vibrating with frustration. Beside her stands a man I haven’t seen before, taller, with broad shoulders and a buzz cut so short I can’t tell his hair color. A bold, eagle-like tattoo stretches across the side of his neck. The resemblance is too strong to miss, like someone took Izzy’s features and squared them off.
“You know as well as I do, Izzy, that was reckless,” he says, crossing his arms in that universal “I’m-not-budging” way.
Izzy throws her hands up, exasperated. “Reckless? Waiting around for them to strike first is reckless. We need to hit them now, before they think they’ve got the upper hand.”
He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Charging in without aplan? That’s a good way to get killed. What if they’re waiting with reinforcements?”
