Page 43 of Shifting Hearts 1
They’ll come tokill her.
Because if the prophecy is true, if she is the Echo, the flame that awakens the old power, then she’s not just dangerous.
She’s the end of everything we were built to protect.
I step in front of her, instinct overriding reason. My mark burns, the chamber trembles, and I feel the weight of every oath I’ve ever sworn pressing down on me.
I was raised to uphold the code, but I’ll burn it to ash before I let them take her.
The warning fades, but the silence it leaves behind is heavier than any threat.
Then the house shifts.
Stone grinds against stone. Dust rains from the ceiling. A wall that’s stood for centuries splits down the center, revealing a passage I’ve only heard whispered about in the old rites,The Hollow Vault.
Raven gasps, her glow flickering as the air thickens with ancient magic. I step forward, heart pounding, and the scent hits me first; iron, leather, ash. The smell of war.
Inside, the vault is lined with relics. Not just weapons,artifacts. Blades etched with runes that burn cold blue. Cloaks woven from shadow-thread. Vials of venom harvested from the Wyrm beneath the mountain. And at the center, two sets of armor.
One forged in obsidian and silver—mine. The Alpha’s mantle.
The other... hers.
It’s unlike anything I’ve seen. Sleek, dark, and pulsing faintly with the same energy that woke the chamber. It’s not Brotherhood-forged. It’s older. Wilder. As if the house knew she’d come, as if it had been waiting.
I reach for my gear, the weight familiar, grounding. But when Raven steps toward hers, the vault reacts. The runes flare. The walls tremble. And I realize, this isn’t just a sanctuary.
It’s a declaration.
We were never running.
Not from the Brotherhood, not from prophecy, not from the fire waking in her veins.
The vault didn’t open because we were afraid. It opened because we wereready.
Raven steps into the chamber like she was born for it. Her fingers brush the armor, and the runes flare, not in warning, but in welcome. The metal hums with her pulse as the shadows bend toward her like they remember her name.
She turns to me, eyes fierce, voice steady. “We were never meant to hide.”
I nod, fastening the mantle across my shoulders. The weight is familiar. The purpose is new.
“We were always going to burn the world.”
The house seals behind us. The chamber goes silent.
And somewhere deep in the bones of the mountain, the Brotherhood stirs.
Let them come.
We’re not the end.
We’re the reckoning.
I stand in the vault, the air thick with dust and memory. The armor fits like it always has; obsidian plates molded to my frame, silver etchings pulsing faintly with the blood magic that sealed them centuries ago. But it feels heavier now. Not from wear, from thetruth.
Raven moves beside me, her fingers grazing the edge of her own armor, and the runes flare in response. The house recognizes her. Welcomes her.Choosesher.
And that’s the problem.
