Page 72 of Unseen Eye
“Now you try,” she says, stepping back, her eyes still glowing.
“I hope you brought a chair,” I quip, trying to mask my anxiety with sarcasm. “This might take a while.”
I suck in a breath, trying to steady myself. My hands tremble slightly, but I focus, calling on the magic I’ve felt stirring within me. At first, it’s just a spark, a warmth deep in my core. Then it spreads, reaching into my limbs like fire, until every inch of me hums with energy. I will it forward, letting the rush take hold, and the world outside of me begins to fade. All I can feel is the pulse of magic moving through my veins—alive, fierce, and endless.
I hear Theo, “Her eyes are glowing...”
“Shh,” Izzy hisses, cutting him off. “Let her focus.”
The pressure builds inside me, and for a split second, it’s too much. Then I remember everything—the anger, the fear, the frustration that’s been torturing at me for so long. I demand it. I force it to bend to my will. And with a shock of power, it answers.
I picture the light beam materializing before me, just like I’ve seen it in my mind a thousand times.
And that’s when I feel it.
A surge. A pulse. And I open my eyes just in time to see the light burst from me, sending a pile of rocks flying into the air. The shockwave hits me like a punch to the chest, and I stagger back, gasping for air. Izzy, already reacting, deflects a few rocks with her affinity, sending them spinning off into the distance.
I stand frozen for a moment, staring at the spot where the beam had been. My heart racing in my chest. That was me. I did it. I’m not a failure.
Theo rushes toward me. His face lit up with pure excitement. He spins me around, grinning like a kid who’s just won a game. “Eva, you did it! I knew you could. That was incredible. I’ve never seen anything like that!”
Izzy chimes in, her smile broad and proud. “That power... It’s impressive. You’re strong.” She pauses, eyes glinting with challenge. “But can you do it again?”
The next time, it takes a little longer, but I feel the magic responding faster, smoother. Each time, it’s like I’m getting closer to understanding how it works. The world falls away again and again, and when I finally stop, sweat is pouring down my face, my body completely drained. But it’s a satisfying kind of exhaustion, the kind that only comes after you’ve fought for something, and you’ve won.
“That’s enough,” Izzy says, her voice warm with approval. “Good job today.”
We head back to the barracks, and I can still feel the adrenaline buzzing in my veins, making my skin tingle. Izzy spots Quinn nearby and quickly excuses herself, leaving Theo and me alone. We head outside the castle grounds, and the view is just as breathtaking as when I’d seen it with Callon—the rolling hills, the vibrant greenery, the sense of calm that fills the air. But this time, it feels different. This time, there’s a weight to it, a sense of belonging, as if I’ve finally started to find my place here in this strange new world.
Eventually, I find myself in the war room, poring over the journals and notes. I open my own journal to the page Callon had asked me about last night. There’s something oddly familiar about the passage. “Duke Xerion and his remaining forces made a desperate last stand at the Citadel, but it was not enough.” I flip to the next page, where the account of the Battle of Coire continues—a fierce conflict that shaped the land and its legends. Callon had said this story was not widely known, so how do I recognize it?
The rest of the week repeats the same schedule. I become more and more confident in summoning the light, although I am only able to summon it in a beam form for now. Izzy says manipulating it takes time—time I’m starting to suspect might be code for a very, very long time.
One night, I’m back in the war room, buried in a mess of old journals and forgotten records. A thought has been nagging at me for days—what if my stories, the ones I thought were just dreams, are somehow tied to Coire’s history? The idea seems absurd until I start finding clues—small details in the official records that match my visions too well to ignore. The more I read, the more the pieces fit, sliding together with unnerving precision, like I’m piecing together someone else’s memories.
By the time exhaustion hits, I’m no longer questioning the truth of it—I’ve uncovered something important, something real. And I need to talk to Callon about this. He can’t avoid me forever. When he gets back, I’ll make sure he listens.
Sleep claims me swiftly, pulling me into a vivid dream that feels disturbingly like a memory.
I find myself navigating a narrow pass between towering mountain peaks. Their jagged tops slicing the sky above me. These snow-capped mountains are unmistakably the ones skirting Coire, their imposing presence becoming as familiar as the back of my hand. Patches of sparse greenery cling to therocky slopes, and as I scan my surroundings, a sense of urgency grips me. Something is wrong, and I can feel it vibrating through the air.
In the distance, through the mist, a forest shimmers. The trees glow with an eerie, unnatural light, pulsing with energy that feels almost otherworldly.
No… that can’t be… the Crystalwood Forest? Leigh mentioned it once, but seeing it, even from afar, is something else entirely—something that feels too real, too close.
And then, I hear the steady rhythm of hooves, the approach of a small group of riders, their weapons clinking against armor with every stride. But it’s the trio at the front that catches my eye, their presence unmistakable.
At the forefront rides a woman with long, dark hair cascading around her shoulders. I know her instantly, though this version of her is so much more alive than the painted image I’ve seen. Her high cheekbones and serene, maternal grace exude a warmth that contrasts sharply with the military presence surrounding her. My gaze falls to her rounded belly, gently cradled by one hand—this is Callon’s mother.
Beside her, the man on her right is unmistakably Erik. His resemblance to Theo and Izzy is striking—tall and broad, with sharp, vigilant eyes that seem to catch everything. His long, bushy beard gives him a rugged yet noble look as he scans the surroundings, always on alert. On her left is Eamon, whose striking resemblance to Garet—green eyes and blonde shoulder-length hair tied back in a simple bun—makes his lineage just as obvious. But it’s the expression on his face that unsettles me—something between determination and regret, as though he’s walking a path he knows he shouldn’t be on.
Oh my gods. My heart stops. A cold, visceral fear floods through me, tightening around my chest. No, no, no, this can’t be. Please don’t be…
As they near the passage, they all begin to slow. “Did you hear that, Aaliyah?” Erik asks, looking around, his hand nearing the hilt of his sword.
Aaliyah. Beautiful, just like her, but the name strikes like an ache, tender and raw.
He inches forward, drawing his sword. “Eamon, what do you see?” he demands. “You have the gift of foresight, after all.”
