Therrin's POV
The forest breathed around me in hushed tones, its voice lost in the weight of what I was doing.
Branches stretched like fingers, scraping against one another in the breeze as I crept deeper into the place where light dared not dwell. It had become a ritual now—this sneaking off into the woods when no one was watching, slipping past Grimm's ever-watchful gaze and Ciaran's possessive attentiveness. Even Ari had begun to slip during these hours, her voice muffled in the back of my mind as if something was purposely silencing her. But not completely. I could still feel her pressing against me from the inside, whispering her contempt.
"You're making a mistake."
I clenched my jaw and pressed forward.
The glade unfolded before me like a secret memory. It looked like any other clearing, but the air shimmered faintly at its edges—a curtain between worlds, thin and frail. When I stepped through it, everything changed. The silence deepened. The wind fell still.
And she was already waiting.
The Mistress stood in the center of the glade, shrouded in a gown of shadow-stitch and dusklight. Her eyes glowed faintly like twin eclipses, and her lips curled into a slow smile that unsettled something in me.
"You came willingly again," she purred. "That pleases me."
I swallowed the hesitation burning in my throat. "I said I would."
"You did," she said, circling me like a predator. "But words are often cowardly things. Action is the only truth. Are you ready for more?"
A flicker of something—fear? doubt?—whispered through me. But I nodded.
"She's warping you." Ari's voice was sharper now, angrier. "You think you're learning power, but you're trading pieces of yourself to her."
The Mistress's head tilted ever so slightly. "You mustn't let her distract you. That twin-soul of yours will do anything to stop this. She fears what you will become."
"I'm not afraid," I said aloud.
"Good," the Mistress replied. "Because this next lesson will require pain. And pain always demands honesty."
She raised her hand, and the ground split beneath me. Darkness rose like a tide, swallowing everything but her glowing eyes.
The pain was indescribable.
It wasn't physical, not at first—it was deeper, as if something was reaching into my soul and peeling it open layer by layer. The Mistress guided me through it, forcing my mind to fracture and then rebuild, over and over, like a weapon being forged on an endless anvil.
I screamed. I sobbed. I clawed at nothing. Ari raged inside of me, her voice muffled but furious.
And then… silence.
When I opened my eyes, the sky was twilight, and I was lying in the clearing again. The trees whispered differently now, more reverent. I could feel the power moving through me—like a new pulse beneath my skin.
"Rise, child," the Mistress said, her voice low and near.
I sat up slowly, aching in places I didn't know existed.
"What did you do to me?" I asked.
She stepped behind me, her fingers brushing my shoulder. I felt the heat first—a searing, intimate burn where her hand had passed.
"A mark," she said. "To bind your training. You will wear it where only the worthy will see."
"What the hell did you let her do to us?" Ari screamed in my mind, finally breaking through. "You let her brand us!"
I didn't respond.
I couldn't.
Because part of me had wanted it.
I returned to camp after the sky had darkened fully. Grimm wasn't nearby—no surprise; I was getting better at avoiding him. But Ciaran was there, sitting beside the fire, sharpening his blade with the same focus he always had.
His eyes lifted the second I stepped into the firelight. Something in him eased when he saw it was me—and then something else flickered, something unreadable.
"You're late," he said, voice low.
"I needed space."
He nodded once. "You've been different lately."
I knelt across from him, keeping my voice even. "Maybe I'm just becoming who I was meant to be."
"You smell like her." His eyes hardened. "The Mistress."
I froze.
Ciaran dropped the blade and stood slowly, walking toward me. "You think I wouldn't notice?"
"I didn't mean—"
His fingers brushed the side of my neck, then slid to my shoulder where the brand burned faintly beneath my tunic. I hadn't even realized it had started glowing again until his breath hitched.
"What is this?" he murmured.
I couldn't answer.
Ciaran pulled back the fabric gently and stared.
It was a brand in the shape of a crescent moon, cracked through the center, wrapped in thorns—faintly glowing like dying embers. His jaw clenched.
"She branded you."
"It's a symbol of my progress."
"It's a claim," he snapped. "You let her stake you like property."
"I chose this."
He stared at me, hard. "Why?"
"Because I need to be stronger," I whispered. "I need to protect Ari. You. Everyone."
"You think she wants that?" His voice cracked with fury. "She doesn't want your strength. She wants your surrender."
"I haven't surrendered," I said coldly. "I made a choice. And you don't get to shame me for it."
His expression darkened—but then softened just slightly. "You're still mine," he said. "I don't care what she brands you with. She doesn't get to decide who you are."
I turned away. "You don't get to decide either."
He reached out—slowly, carefully—and pulled me into his arms. "No," he murmured, "but I'll stay long enough to remind you of who you were before her."
And for a moment, I let him hold me.
Even as the brand pulsed against my skin.
Even as Ari screamed her fury into the dark corners of my mind.
Even as I wondered if I'd already gone too far.