Brimholt felt like a town paused mid-sentence.
Selene sat alone on a stone bench beneath a crooked awning, watching the mist roll across the narrow lanes. The morning air smelled faintly of wet pine and soot, like the forest hadn't quite made up its mind about letting the sun through. The village was small—barely more than a handful of crooked rooftops and a weathered chapel tower—but it was quiet, and for now, that was enough.
Aemon's Hollow lay beneath her feet, concealed below the outer rim of the town like a root system no one spoke of. Gwen had left days ago, without warning and with only a vague promise to return. Selene hadn't asked questions. She just nodded and stayed.
She wasn't sure why.
Maybe part of her was waiting for the truth Gwen had promised. Maybe another part still thought Lucien might find her, though the idea felt more like a fading ache than a hope now.
Mostly, though, she stayed because she still couldn't make sense of herself.
She reached out slowly, palm up. Her fingers curled against the empty air.
She could feel it—the hum. The weave. The way the world pulsed faintly beneath the surface, like a current waiting to be pulled. But no matter how many times she reached, she could never shape it. Magic moved around her like a tide she could see but never touch.
It had been this way her whole life. The court mages called her a "latent." Some whispered "cursed." Lucien never pushed her. He just told her she didn't need magic to be powerful.
But that didn't explain the pull she felt. The dreams. The fire that never burned her.
A voice spoke behind her.
"You didn't try to leave. You didn't go back to him."
Selene turned.
Gwen stood in the shadow of a leaning doorway, arms folded, eyes unreadable. She looked like she'd been there the whole time.
"Seems like you believed what I told you last time," Gwen continued. "At least enough to stay. That means you deserve the rest."
Selene stood, brushing mist from her cloak. "You could've just walked up like a normal person."
Gwen shrugged. "What's the fun in that?"
"Don't push it."
Gwen's expression softened slightly. "You still feel it, don't you? The magic."
Selene's jaw tightened. "Feeling it doesn't mean I can use it. I never could."
"Because no one taught you how to use what you have."
"No," Selene said. "Because I've tried. And failed. My whole life. I can sense magic, sure. But it never listens. It's like… it isn't mine."
Gwen walked toward her slowly, boots quiet on the damp stone. "It isn't that it isn't yours. It's that it was never given permission."
Selene frowned. "That doesn't even make sense."
"It will," Gwen said. "Come on. We're going back to the Hollow."
"I thought you had something to attend to."
"I did. It's done."
They walked in silence, back through the twisting alleys and into the concealed stairway that led beneath Brimholt. The Hollow's air was cool and still, its stone walls pulsing faintly with embedded runes. Selene followed Gwen past the central chamber to a smaller corridor she hadn't noticed before.
"I want you to understand something," Gwen said as they walked. "The Witch Tower doesn't just fear your blood because of what you are. They fear what it might wake up."
"Like what?"
"Like memories," Gwen replied. "Like history they tried to rewrite. Magic they buried. You think your magic doesn't work because you're broken. But it doesn't work because it was never supposed to awaken without the right spark."
They stopped at a sealed stone door covered in faded sigils.
"This door," Gwen said, "responds to only one thing: a Bright Line blood signature."
Selene stared at it. "Why would it respond to me if I can't even light a candle?"
"Because the power isn't about casting spells," Gwen said. "It's about what lives inside your name. What you carry in your blood."
Selene didn't move.
"I'm not…" she started, then shook her head. "I'm not like you. Or Lucien. Or any of the others. I've lived my whole life believing I couldn't do magic. What if I can't open it?"
"Then it stays shut," Gwen said simply. "But I don't think it will."
Selene stepped forward, heart hammering. She raised her hand and laid her palm against the cold stone.
At first, nothing.
Then—warmth.
A dull pulse. A soft breath of air, like the chamber exhaled.
The runes flared briefly—dim gold against the grey.
The door cracked open.
Selene pulled her hand back, stunned. "I didn't cast anything."
"You didn't have to," Gwen said. "The door recognized you."
They stepped inside.
The chamber beyond was filled with half-rotted books, sealed scrolls, and crystalline shards suspended in stasis. Gwen lit a wall sconce with a flick of her hand, but Selene barely noticed. Her gaze was locked on a large tapestry draped over the far wall—faded red and gold threads woven into the sigil of a flame wreathed in thorns.
"Your ancestor created the oaths that bound the Tower," Gwen said behind her. "She wielded magic with no incantations, no gestures. It answered her will alone. That's what you're heir to."
Selene turned slowly. "Then why did they never tell me?"
"Because they needed you to doubt yourself. A Bright Line who doesn't know who she is can be watched, managed. But one who does?" Gwen smiled darkly. "She can tear the Tower to the ground."
Selene looked down at her hands. For the first time, they didn't feel useless. They felt heavy. Charged.
"I still don't know what I'm supposed to do."
"Start by knowing who you are," Gwen said. "And then decide what kind of war you want to start."
Selene let the words hang there.
She wasn't ready yet. But for the first time, she believed she might be.