Page 99 of Unseen Eye
Nessa looks older, her face lined with exhaustion, but her sharp eyes still sweep the village like they always have. Finn stands beside her, steady and protective, his hand resting on the edge of the cart as though ready to move at a moment’s notice. The sight of them stirs something deep inside me—a relief so fierce it feels like a gasp of air after being underwater for too long.
For a moment, I let myself stay there, taking in the small, familiar gestures. Nessa adjusts the cart straps with her usual focus, while Finn’s gaze stays fixed on the horizon. Their presence feels like a balm, soothing the raw edges of my guilt. They’re here. They’re alive. It’s enough to make the knot in my chest loosen, if only a little.
When I finally turn away, the warmth fades as reality seeps back in. Seeing them filled me with relief, but it doesn’t erase everything else. The ache lingers, a dull weight pressing againstthe edges of my thoughts.
Callon drifts back into my mind, uninvited. Seeing Finn and Nessa reminds me of what I’d let myself believe with him—that someone could truly see me. Not just the parts I show, but the cracks beneath. That someone could understand not just who I’ve been, but who I could become.
I want to be angry at him, to cast all the blame onto him for everything that’s gone wrong. But Theo’s words keep coming back to me, an unrelenting whisper: If he didn’t tell you, there was a reason. It replays over and over, a reminder that there might be more to the story, something even Theo and Izzy don’t know.
But what reason could there be that would justify the secrecy? What could be so important that he chose to wound me instead of being honest? I run through a dozen possible scenarios in my head, each one more unlikely than the last, and none of them provide the comfort I need. If he had a reason, why didn’t he share it with me? Maybe not right away, but as things grew between us? Isn’t that what it means to care for someone? To trust them with the hard truths?
Maybe—just maybe, a quieter part of me whispers—he didn’t care as much as I thought he did. The thought hits me like a punch to the gut. I push it away, unwilling to believe that what we had was just an illusion. But if he didn’t trust me enough to confide in me, then maybe I’ve been fooling myself.
Theo’s words stir again, making me question everything. Callon has always been controlled, careful. Maybe he thought he was protecting me. Maybe he thought I couldn’t handle the truth. But even if that was the case—if he thought he was doing what was best for me—why didn’t he trust me to handle it? Why didn’t he let me in?
It’s not just about the secret anymore. It’s about the decision he made to keep me in the dark, to believe he knew what wasbest for me without ever asking me what I needed. He thought he was sparing me, but all he’s really done is left me with doubt. And I can’t help but wonder if that’s somehow my fault, too—if I was foolish for letting myself fall so deeply for him, for allowing myself to care without considering that maybe he didn’t, or couldn’t, feel the same.
When I reach the cottage, I tear a page out of one of the few books left on and shelf and write a note—simple, but enough to say what needs to be said. “I am alive, I am okay—E.” I take the note and slip it into one of the cracks in the wall, tucked into a hole where I hope someone might find it one day
There’s a strange comfort in leaving a piece of myself behind like this, as if somehow it will carry a part of me to the others. Maybe they’ll find it. Maybe they won’t. But at least it’s something. A small piece of hope, left for someone else to find when the time is right.
As night falls, I find myself curling into Kendry’s old cloak, the worn fabric heavy and familiar, a small comfort against the tide of emotions swirling inside me. My fingers brush against something in the pocket, and I pull it out—an old, folded drawing, yellowed with age. It’s one of mine, a picture I must have drawn when I was a child. In it, I’m standing in front of Kendry, my little figure wielding a sword, facing down a great red drakos with glowing eyes. My childish handwriting across the bottom says, “I’ll always protect you.” It’s the kind of drawing no one keeps, especially not after so many years. But there it is, preserved, tucked away in the very cloak he’d worn so often when he was with me.
I blink, and for a moment, I’m lost in the memory of him—of the way he used to be, the man I believed in, the one I thought understood me. The same man who chose to keep this silly, naïve drawing.
Maybe, just maybe, he was doing what he thought was best forme all along. Maybe, like Callon, he made decisions I couldn’t understand at the time, choices that hurt but were made with my best interests in mind. He might’ve thought I couldn’t handle the truth then, just like Callon thought I couldn’t handle his.
I let out a breath, the weight of it easing just a little. Maybe it’s time I stop holding on to the anger and let go of the expectations. He did what he thought was right, and I’ve been holding his actions against him for too long.
I fold the drawing back up and slip it into my pocket, the warmth of it reminding me that closure doesn’t always come in the form we expect. Sometimes, it’s just letting go and accepting that we can’t change the past. As I close my eyes, I can feel the weight of his presence beside me again, and for the first time in a long while, I forgive him.
I find myself in a cave similar to the one I was in before, except the crystals here are blue—a deep, vibrant blue that instantly reminds me… I cut off the thought, unwilling to let it go further.
I run my hand along the crystals, feeling their cool, smooth surface, as I did the first time I was in a crystal cave. As I explore the length of the cave, the crystals hum softly, resonating with a magical tone I can feel deep in my bones. It’s eerily similar to the previous cave, yet the atmosphere here feels different—heavier, more magical.
Eventually, I spot the exit and expect to find another valley like the one before, but what greets me is nothing like I imagined. The cave opens up onto a small island, barely larger than the cave itself, perched precariously at the top of a colossal drop. It feels like standing at the edge of the world.
The island is surrounded on all sides by towering waterfalls, each one cascading from the edges of the land and plummeting into a vast, shimmering expanse far below. The island seems to float in midair, encircled by the falls, with no visible path leading forward or back.
At first, the scene feels peaceful. If I look away from the edge, there’s only the faintest roar in the distance, almost soothing, as though the world is holding its breath. But when I step closer to the cliff, when I peer over the edge, the sound swells into a deafening, overwhelming roar that nearly drowns out all thought. The wind kicks up, carrying the mist from the waterfalls in delicate veils, which catch the light from the crystals embedded in the cave behind me. As it swirls through the air, the mist refracts the light into shimmering rainbows that arc gracefully across the island, casting fleeting flashes of color against the stone.
The waterfalls themselves are mesmerizing. Each droplet sparkles with a kaleidoscope of colors, as if infused with magic, each one hanging in the air for a moment before joining the torrent below. It’s a breathtaking display of life, light, and sound, each drop more beautiful than the last.
I stand there, staring, captivated by the beauty of it all. “Where am I?” I whisper to no one in particular. Never have I seen anything like this, and it’s not on any map I’ve ever encountered. The sky above is a deep indigo, scattered with stars that are so close, so bright, they almost seem to be within reach. What is this place? And why am I here?
“You’re running out of time,” a voice says from behind me, deep and raspy, like sandpaper scraping against rock.
Startled, I spin around, my heart pounding, and take a step back, almost falling off the cliff. I scramble for balance, my breath caught in my throat, before I finally steady myself.
I find the most interesting woman I have ever seen. She comes up to about my chest and has more wrinkles than I ever thought possible. Her skin is a mottled mix of greens and browns, resembling the bark of a tree. Her eyes are large, glowing softly with an inner light, and her hair is a tangled mass of vines and leaves that seem to move of their own accord.
Recovering from my shock, I realize that she is actually talking to me. “You... you can see me?” I ask, finally finding my voice, though it trembles slightly.
She doesn’t respond immediately but continues to look at me with those glowing eyes, as if she’s peering into my very soul. “You’re running out of time,” she repeats. “Find me where the waters begin.”
“Where the waters begin?” I echo, confused. “What do you mean? Who are you?”
She steps closer, her slow movements deliberate, like the shifting of tree roots. “Where the waters begin,” she says again, her voice carrying the weight of ages. “Find me, or all will be lost.”
