Shadows Entwined (Shadows Descent #3)

4. Violet

4

VIOLET

As soon as the words leave Caine’s mouth, I feel a shift in the air. The peaceful clearing suddenly feels charged with tension.

“You just had to say it, didn’t you?” I groan, climbing to my feet and scanning our surroundings warily.

A low rumble shakes the ground beneath us. The shimmering bark of the massive tree shimmers more rapidly, its glow intensifying.

“What’s happening?” Flint asks, his voice tight with concern.

Morgan rises gracefully, her eyes fixed on the tree. “The Nexus is reacting to our presence. It’s awakening.”

The rumbling grows louder. Cracks appear in the frozen ground, spreading outward from the base of the tree like a spider’s web. Steam hisses from these fissures, carrying with it the scent of sulphur, which makes my skin crawl.

“Uh, guys?” Thorne calls out, pointing towards the edge of the clearing. “We’ve got company.”

Emerging from the treeline are creatures that I’ve definitely encountered before. The blobs of inky black surround us, all of them whispering words I can’t quite make out. I push aside the familiar pang of terror, knowing that I don’t have to be afraid of these creatures, but the nightmare of my childhood is a harsh slap on my soul.

“The Guardians,” Morgan states. “Ancient spirits bound to protect the Nexus.”

“Oh, is that what they are?” I murmur.

Morgan nods. “They are not a danger to us unless we mean harm to the tree.”

“But they aren’t a help either?” Flint asks quietly.

“No. They cannot interfere unless the tree is in danger.”

“So, what are we supposed to do?” I ask. “Ignore them?”

“Pretty much,” she says and turns back to the tree with a look of awe.

“Can I ask you something?” I say when she moves forward to place a hand lightly on the trunk.

“Of course.”

“This may be a dumb thing to say, but you don’t sound like you come from the 6th century.”

She turns to face me with a pretty laugh. “Oh? And what does someone from the 6th century sound like, my little flower?”

My cheeks heat up, and I probably look like a tomato, but I lift my chin higher. “Well, I don’t know. All ye and thee and thine. You sound like us.”

“That’s the wrong century,” Thorne pipes up unhelpfully, but I shoot him a death glare that shuts him up.

“I have been entombed in the statue in the library of an institution that has seen many students pass through over the centuries. Do you think I didn’t learn things? All I had time to do was learn and adapt.”

I feel terrible then as I grasp what she is saying. “You mean you were alive in there?”

She nods grimly. “Yes.”

A shudder runs through me as I try to imagine such an existence.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.

She gives me a small, sad smile. “It’s in the past now. We have more pressing matters to attend to.” She turns back to the tree and strokes it lovingly. The Guardians settle down a bit when they see how she cares, but they keep their presence known.

“What exactly are we supposed to do here?” Flint asks, eyeing the tree warily.

“We need to complete the weaving of the veils. Strengthen them so they can withstand the Convergence.”

“And how exactly do we do that?” I ask.

She beckons me forward. “It’s simpler than it sounds with two of us here now. Place your hand on the tree, Violet. Let its power flow through you.”

Hesitantly, I step forward and press my palm against the bark. The power of the realms races through my veins like liquid fire, setting every nerve ending alight.

The sudden burst takes my breath away, almost too much to handle. My senses are immediately overloaded with vivid images - glimpses of alternate dimensions, unimaginable creatures, and unfathomable cosmic forces. It’s an overwhelming force of pure nature.

“Picture the veils between worlds. See them in your mind’s eye.”

I struggle to concentrate, trying to visualise what she’s describing. Slowly, an image forms in my mind of shimmering curtains of energy stretching across the cosmos, separating one reality from the next. But they’re tattered and worn, full of holes and weak spots.

“I see them,” I whisper. “They’re damaged.”

“Yes,” Morgan replies. “Now, imagine mending those tears. Picture the energy flowing from you, from the Nexus, weaving the veils back together.”

I concentrate, channelling the raw power of the Nexus through me and into the cosmic tapestry I see in my mind. It’s like trying to patch a dam with my bare hands while a river rages around me. The task seems impossible, overwhelming.

“I can’t,” I gasp. “It’s too much.”

“You can,” Morgan insists. “Picture yourself with a needle and thread, sewing the patchwork together.”

“I don’t know how to sew!” I exclaim, feeling like an idiot. “I’ve never had to do it!”

“But you know the concept,” Morgan asks tentatively, almost as if she is dreading I answer ‘no’.

“Well, yes, but?—”

“Then picture yourself threading the needle, and taking it to the edges of the veils, stitching them back together.”

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my panic that I can’t do this. Okay. Threading a needle. I can picture that. In my mind’s eye, I see a gleaming silver needle and thread.

Focusing on that image, I direct my will towards the tattered veils. I can see the work that Morgan had completed centuries ago, but it is fraying in places while some hold steady. Slowly, painstakingly, I press the needle to the closest veil, and I... sew.

Each stitch sends a jolt through my body, raw power flowing from the Nexus, through me, and into the cosmic fabric.

It’s gruelling work. My arms ache with phantom pain as I labour over each tear and weak spot. Sweat beads on my brow despite the frigid air. But gradually, I begin to see progress. The veils grow stronger, more cohesive.

“That’s it,” Morgan murmurs encouragingly. “You’re doing well.”

I lose all sense of time as I work. Minutes or hours could have passed; I have no way of knowing. My entire world narrows to the task at hand - thread and needle, mending the barriers between realities.

As I move from veil to veil, I sense Morgan working beside me. We are a team. Halving the work and speeding it up. But there are so many to go. I feel my legs give way, and I slump to the ground, not letting go of the tree, even though tears of fatigue and pain run down my face.

I know the guys are worried, but they don’t interrupt. They can’t, and they know it. If this fails now, we are doomed. Not just us but all the realms. This is tough work, but as Morgan said earlier, it has to be easier than trying to deal with the Convergence in full blast all over the multiple universes.

I don’t know how long we’ve been at it when I feel a shift in the energy. The cosmic fabric beneath my hands feels different, stronger, more resilient.

“It’s done,” Morgan says softly, her voice thick with exhaustion.

I open my eyes, blinking against the sudden intrusion of reality. The clearing swims into focus. My entire body aches, and my muscles tremble with fatigue. My arm drops limply to my side.

“Did it work?” I croak, my throat dry.

Morgan nods, a weary smile on her face. “Yes, little flower. You did wonderfully.”

Flint is at my side in an instant, kneeling next to me. I lean against him gratefully, feeling like I could sleep for a week. It’s still dark out, and I frown. “How long did we work for?”

“Over a day,” he replies. “You must be exhausted.”

I nod, but I don’t complain.

“So that’s it?” Thorne asks, looking between us and the tree. “Crisis averted?”

“Not quite,” Morgan says, her expression growing serious. “We’ve strengthened the veils, yes. But the Convergence is still coming, which will test our work, and Nathaniel and his forces are still out there.”

“Fucking Nathaniel,” I mutter. “Can’t we just leave him frozen?”

Caine snorts. “As tempting as that is, I don’t think my ice will hold him forever. Not with your blood in his veins.”

I grimace at the reminder. “Right. So, what’s our next move?”

Morgan helps me to my feet, her touch surprisingly gentle. “We need to return to MistHallow. The solstice is approaching, and with it, the peak of the Convergence. We must be prepared for whatever Nathaniel has planned.”

I nod, trying to shake off my exhaustion. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“We should get moving,” Flint says. “The sooner we get back to MistHallow, the more time we have to prepare.”

I nod in agreement, but as I take a step forward, my legs buckle. Flint catches me before I can fall.

“Whoa there,” he murmurs. “Maybe you should rest a bit first.”

“No time,” I insist, trying to stand on my own. “We need to go.”

“You’re not going anywhere in this state,” Thorne says firmly. “You can barely stand.”

I want to argue, but the world is spinning alarmingly. “Fine,” I concede grudgingly. “A short rest. But then we move.”

Morgan nods approvingly. “A wise decision. We all need to recover our strength for what’s to come.”

We settle down at the base of the massive tree, its pulsing energy soothing despite everything. Flint keeps his arm around me, and I lean into him gratefully.

“So, what exactly can we expect when we get back?” Caine asks, twirling his cane absently.

Morgan’s expression grows grim. “The Convergence will be reaching its peak. The veils between worlds will be at their thinnest, despite our efforts to strengthen them. Nathaniel will likely try to use this to his advantage.”

“To bring back the Old Ones,” I murmur.

She nods. “Yes, and to ascend to their level of power himself.”

“How do we stop him?” Thorne asks.

“We don’t,” she states. “Violet does.”