Chapter Seven: The Watcher in the Silence
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The sky had dimmed by the time Aurelian and Elira stepped out of the restaurant. The streets were quieter now, the city's breath drawn in deep for the night. Lights shimmered in puddles. Cars were few. Shadows were long.
They walked slower than before, as if leaving too fast would end the warmth of their time together. Their hands occasionally brushed, and Aurelian fought the urge to make it intentional.
“So,” Elira said, pulling her coat tighter, “you’re just going to pretend like tonight wasn’t borderline perfect?”
“I would never insult your taste like that,” Aurelian said with a smirk.
Elira bumped his shoulder with hers. “Good.”
For a few precious seconds, the world felt untouched. No magic. No cults. No councils. Just two teenagers caught in a rare, glowing moment.
Then—
Tap.
Aurelian’s smile faded.
He stopped walking.
Elira paused beside him. “What?”
“Do you hear that?”
She listened. Nothing.
Tap. Tap.
Then she did.
Her eyes widened.
They turned together.
Empty street.
No footsteps now.
Elira whispered, “It’s the same rhythm… same distance.”
Aurelian nodded slowly. “It’s not just hearing anymore.”
They resumed walking—but faster now. Neither said it, but both felt the same thing tighten in their chests.
They were being followed.
And not by someone ordinary.
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The sound returned three blocks later. Clearer now. Like boots over wet stone. Always at the same beat. Always at the same distance.
Aurelian stopped again.
This time, he turned fully.
And saw them.
Three figures. Cloaked in shadow. Walking in a slow triangle formation.
Each wore a hood, faces obscured, but their posture carried the confidence of people who didn’t need to run.
Elira grabbed Aurelian’s arm. “Tell me this is a wizard prank.”
“No,” he said, voice low. “This is something else.”
One of the cloaked men raised his hand.
The streetlights behind them flickered—then went out completely.
Darkness swept the block like spilled ink.
And the footsteps stopped.
Then, from the middle of the road—
“We’ve been looking for you.”
The voice was thin. Dry. Like it hadn’t spoken in years.
Aurelian stepped slightly in front of Elira.
“What do you want?”
Another figure replied. This one younger, amused.
“Just wanted to meet the boy the Gem refused to kill.”
Elira’s fingers tightened on his sleeve.
“Who are you?” she whispered.
Aurelian didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
He knew.
The Varn.
The cult that the Council feared. The ones who had watched from the edges, waiting for Caedric to die. The ones who wanted the gem destroyed.
And now they were here.
In front of him.
“You should run,” Aurelian said to Elira without taking his eyes off them.
She shook her head instantly. “Not happening.”
“Not a request.”
The third figure spoke now. This one deeper. Firmer. “We won’t kill her. Unless you force us to.”
The other two chuckled.
Elira growled, “Try me, freakshow.”
“Bold,” said the amused one. “She’s got bite.”
Aurelian swallowed. His thoughts spun, searching for anything Orrin had taught him that could help.
He’d only had two lessons.
He barely understood how to trigger magic.
But then—
The Gem.
Inside him, it warmed. Not painful. But insistent. As if aware of the threat. A pulse that synchronized with his breath.
His fingers began to tingle.
The leader of the trio stepped forward. His hood fell back slightly, revealing a face marked with black runes that moved like smoke across his skin.
“You don’t know how to use it yet,” he said.
“I know enough to fry you where you stand,” Aurelian bluffed.
The man smiled. “Then try.”
Silence.
Aurelian focused. Felt the warmth swell, pooling in his chest.
Elira shifted beside him. “Whatever you’re doing, make it fast.”
The leader raised a hand—and darkness burst from his palm, a wave of shadow shooting forward like liquid smoke.
Aurelian stepped in front of Elira instinctively—and raised his hand.
The light came before the impact.
A flash of pure blue fire erupted from his palm, colliding mid-air with the dark magic.
The explosion of color lit the block like a supernova.
The shockwave blew windows out on both sides of the street.
Aurelian was thrown backwards, landing hard on his side.
Elira dropped beside him, shielding his head.
The Varn had staggered—but not fallen.
The leader wiped his mouth. Blood.
“Well, well, well,” he hissed, steppi
ng forward again.
“If it isn’t the new Chief Wizard, Aurelian.”
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To be continued in Chapter Eight: The Gem That Chose Fire
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