Chapter 21: A Feather in the Mind
Selena's hand recoiled, but the damage had already been done.
The moment she touched the feather, a storm bloomed in her mind—a torrent of lightless visions, whispers of broken pacts, and memories not her own. She staggered backward, knees buckling, as the chamber's magic thrashed like a beast awoken too early.
The world inside her split into layers.
She stood at the center of a spiraling city made of mirrors—each pane showing a different her. A seeker. A traitor. A child. A god. Somewhere at the city's edge, something watched her. An eye—sewn shut with threads of prophecy—tugged faintly with each beat of her heart.
Then the mirrors cracked.
A feather floated down in front of her—black, rimmed in violet fire. It landed in her palm and burned through her skin without heat. The mark it left pulsed with rhythm not her own.
A voice—her own, but older—spoke:
"One thread for truth, one for madness. You'll need both to survive."
Then the spiral city fell inward, collapsing into itself. The air screamed. Something vast stirred beneath her, older than thought.
Selena gasped awake on the floor of the vault, the feather now fused to her palm like a birthmark. Her breath came shallow, but her mind burned.
Something had changed.
And somewhere behind her sternum, something had begun to listen.
Elsewhere, Loki could feel it.
Sitting alone on a rooftop in the Cauldron Market, he winced as a ripple passed through the air. The flames in the nearby lanterns bent inward. Something had shifted in the world, and it was tied to her.
And for the first time in years, he wasn't sure if he could keep up.
He missed her.
Not just for what they did together. But for the way she looked at the world and demanded it tell the truth. He remembered the last words she said to him before the descent:
"Come back to me."
He never said it aloud, but he wanted her to come back different.
Stronger.
And she had.
The sky above Carcera was bruised purple, clouds flickering with distant heat lightning. The air felt electric, expectant.
Footsteps behind him.
"Lurking alone, Dumornay?" said a velvet voice. He turned and found himself face to face with Calder Veyron.
The exiled mystic.
Calder's left eye glowed faintly; his right was black as ink. He moved like someone who had danced too long on the edge of madness. Wrapped in torn robes and trinkets that hummed when he moved, he looked like a prophet that had clawed his way out of his own prophecy.
"What do you want, Calder?"
"Same as you. Answers. And maybe—just maybe—revenge."
Loki frowned. "You're not here by accident."
"No," Calder said. "The Assembly told me to find you. And because we both know something's coming... you'll want me close."
Loki studied him a long time. "I don't like working with ghosts."
"Then you'll hate what comes next."
Selena returned hours later, walking as if she were being followed by shadows that didn't belong to her. She said little, just offered Loki a tired nod before collapsing into a chair in the loft above their apothecary hideout.
He wanted to press. To ask what she saw. What had marked her. But instead, he offered tea.
She blinked, surprised. "You're being gentle. That's dangerous."
He smirked. "You're glowing with a shade of doom I've never seen before. I thought I'd let you adjust."
She took the tea. Their fingers touched briefly.
She didn't pull away.
The moment passed—quiet, but undeniable.
They didn't speak for a long while. Outside, the street lamps hummed like distant insects. The silence between them grew comfortable, electric.
"Did you see anything?" Loki asked eventually, his voice uncharacteristically soft.
She nodded. "Too much. Too fast. I saw a city of mirrors and a closed eye. I think... it saw me back."
He leaned forward. "Are you still you?"
She gave him a long look. "I think I'm still becoming me."
Later, when she fell asleep in the chair, Loki sat across from her and watched.
The feather on her palm pulsed faintly in the dark.
He reached out, almost touched it.
Almost.
He whispered, so quiet she couldn't hear:
"Whatever you're turning into... I hope I'm still beside you when it happens."
Then the shadows stirred again.
And he felt the city begin to breathe differently.
Outside, in a gutter not far from their loft, a moth with mirrored wings perched on a windowsill. It turned its head sharply toward the light pulsing from Selena's window.
It did not blink.
And then it took flight—spiraling toward a rooftop where someone was waiting.
The next phase was beginning.