Chapter 18 — The Intended

He’d been watching her far longer than she had ever noticed him.

In Chapter 18, every path finally collides.
Alina’s escape spirals into a night of revelations, confrontations, and dangerous truths.
Visions become memories. Prophecy becomes flesh.
And by the time the knock falls upon Honoria’s door, the fate of every major player has already been set in motion.

The Circle stirs.
The Hill remembers.
And the reckoning begins.

The floorboards creaked above Alina—so faintly she almost convinced herself it was the house settling—but then came a second shift of weight, careful, deliberate.

Someone was up there.

It wasn’t Eirath.
Eirath’s presence was an ancient hum, a living pulse still thrumming inside Alina’s very bones.
This was different.
Human. Hesitant. Watchful.

Alina lifted her head, eyes narrowing at the thin ribbons of moonlight cutting through the planks. The air shifted—warm, alive with someone’s breath.

A whisper seeped down through the cracks:

“…Alina?”

Bridget.

Relief surged through her — unexpected and sharp — colliding with confusion. Bridget? Here?

Before Alina could breathe an answer, footsteps exploded outside, heavy and fast, snapping branches underfoot.

Bridget’s breath hitched.
“We have to go,” she hissed. “Now, Alina!”

This time Alina did not question her.

She pushed upward, the boards giving way, and cold night air rushed around her. Bridget seized her hand, pulling her into the darkness as if the shadows themselves were chasing them.

They ran.

Branches clawed at their arms.
Eirath’s awakening sharpened every sound, every tremor, until Alina felt she could hear even the breath of the moss beneath her feet.

“Where are we—”

“Honoria’s,” Bridget cut in. “There’s something you need to see before he finds you.”

“Who—”

A sharp snap of twigs cut her off.

Both girls froze.

A figure stepped out of the dark.

Damien.

He looked wild. Jacket half-open, hair disheveled, breath ragged as if he’d been running for miles. When he saw Alina, his shoulders sagged with sheer relief.

“Thank the stars,” he muttered. “Do either of you ever stay where you’re supposed to?”

Bridget glared. “You scared the life out of us.”

“I scare myself most days,” he replied, deadpan. “Come on. Move.”

He didn’t wait. He just turned and headed deeper into the trees, expecting them to follow.

Bridget rolled her eyes.
Alina found herself doing the same.

They followed, running frantically as the forest grew denser, moonlight slicing between branches in pale shards. Every tiny sound prickled down Alina’s spine—too vivid, too loud.

Another presence moved through the woods.
It was not hostile—not quite.
But familiar.

“Damien…” Alina whispered. “Is someone else out here?”

He hesitated—only a heartbeat.

“…Yes.”

A shadow stepped out from behind a pine, silent as breath.

Kaelan.

His presence struck Alina like a memory suddenly made whole.

The man in the jasmine-scented garden.
The figure she waited for in the vision-circle of flowers.
The watcher beneath the window before she disappeared into Aetheris.
The silhouette among the Obsidian Stones on the Hill.
The shape in the forest she kept mistaking for dream.

But this was no dream.

He stood only inches away—real, breathing, his storm-gray eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made her heart stumble.

His gaze lingered on the tremor in her hands.
Not with desire.
Not with awe.
With recognition.

Alina swallowed.Her lips parted. She didn’t realize she’d stepped back, or forward—just that the question rose unbidden.
“Have we met before?”

Kaelan stepped closer, slow and measured—as if approaching something fragile.

“Not like this,” he murmured.

Something inside her—deep and ancient—answered that.

Behind them, Damien groaned loudly.
“Fantastic. Here we go. Can we save the soul-staring for when we’re not being hunted?”

Kaelan rolled his eyes.

Which only encouraged Damien.

“You see?” he said to the girls. “This is why I drink.”

The old cabin emerged between the trees like a weary lantern—dim, familiar, steadfast. Honoria’s home had always felt like the final refuge for anyone whose world was unraveling.

Bridget ushered them inside and lit a lantern. Warm herbal scents curled through the room—sage, dried lavender, and something older Alina recognised but could never name.

“Sit,” Bridget said gently, gesturing to the chair by the desk.

Too drained to protest, Alina sat.

Bridget hurried to the writing desk. Damien leaned against the wall, arms crossed, pretending not to notice Kaelan watching Alina with ordered, fierce protectiveness.

Kaelan remained near the door—alert, silent, coiled for danger.

Alina realized then:
He’d been watching her far longer than she had ever noticed him.

A cold ripple slid across her chest.

Bridget returned with a leather-bound volume, frayed at the edges.

“You need to see this,” she whispered.

She opened to an intricate circular drawing—floral, delicate, unmistakable.

The Circle of Bloom.

Alina’s breath hitched.
Her body knew this place.
Her memory knew this place.

She had stood in this circle—on a beach at sunrise, awaiting someone—in the vision Lorianne had forced upon her after having drugged her.

Bridget turned another page.

A second figure appeared beside the Child of the Bloom.

The Intended.

The outline was unmistakable.

Alina’s vision had not been illusion.
Or sedation.
It was memory.
Or prophecy.

Her throat tightened.
Her eyes burned.

Cold recognition seeped into her bones as if she were remembering something she hadn’t yet lived.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered.

Kaelan stepped forward—slowly, reassuringly.

“You weren’t meant to see it that way,” he said softly. “The Circle shows truth, but truth given at the wrong time can break more than it mends.”

Damien scoffed. “Translation: he thinks he can schedule fate like he schedules his brooding.”

Kaelan shot him a withering look.

Damien lifted his hands innocently. “What? It’s true.”

Bridget closed the journal. “I needed you to understand before he—”

Then, a knock.

Three precise, steady strikes.

All movement stopped.

Damien mouthed a curse.
Kaelan instinctively stepped in front of Alina.
Bridget paled.
Alina’s pulse spiked—Eirath’s pulse entwined with her own.

Kaelan whispered, “He found us.”

The door swung open.

Lorianne stood there.
Rain in her hair.
Fear in her eyes—raw, unguarded.
Resolve in her jaw.

Her gaze shot to Alina—
and Alina stumbled back, anger igniting hot and sharp.

“You,” she hissed.

Lorianne swallowed. “I know. And I’m not here to justify anything.”

She looked to the others.

“He’s coming. And so are his people. You have minutes. Maybe less.”

The room contracted with fear and tension.

Kaelan readied himself, shoulders squared.
Damien pushed off the wall, eyes sharpened.
Bridget stepped protectively in front of Alina.
Lorianne waited silently for judgment.

Even the forest outside held its breath.

And somewhere beyond the tree line…

Ciaran was approaching.

Finally, all the threads had converged.
The stage was set.

Thank you for reading…✨

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