Sophia felt it too, even in her ghostly state. The ambient spiritual energy that had always flowed naturally around the island was... twisting. Bending. Like invisible fingers were pulling at the fabric of the air itself, distorting it.
"Someone's tracking something," Jasmine whispered, her face pale. "They're using a detection technique. A powerful one. I can feel it sweeping across the island like a... like a searchlight."
Althander's body tensed, his wolf rising to the surface. His eyes flashed gold. "How close?"
"I don't know. I've never felt anything like this before. But it's not random. They're searching. Methodically." She grabbed his arm. "Althander, what if they're looking for you? Your clan?"
Before he could answer, the water in the nearby stream began to glow. Not the gentle blue that responded to Jasmine's touch, but a harsh crimson that lit up the streambed like veins of blood.
Both of them stared at it in horror.
"That's not me," Jasmine said. "That's not my energy."
The glow pulsed once, twice, then faded. But the message was clear. Whatever was coming had just confirmed their location.
Over the next two days, the signs multiplied. Small animals—rabbits, squirrels, even insects—began fleeing inland, away from the coast, as if something terrifying approached from the sea. Althander found a dead seabird on the beach, its body unmarked but its eyes burned out, leaving empty sockets.
"Detection magic," Jasmine explained, her voice shaking as she examined it from a distance. "Someone used it as a scout. Looked through its eyes. When they were done..."
She didn't need to finish. The implication was clear.
At night, they saw lights on the horizon. Not stars. These moved with purpose, winking in and out of existence, sometimes three, sometimes seven, arranged in patterns that made Sophia's head hurt to look at.
"Teleportation anchors," Althander growled. "They're establishing a network. Making it easier to jump directly here."
"Who?" Jasmine demanded. "Who would—"
"I don't know. But they're not friendly. No one friendly uses ravens as disposable scouts."
That same night, Jasmine jolted awake screaming. Althander held her as she trembled, but she couldn't explain what she'd felt—only that something vast and cold had touched the edge of that ocean inside her mind. Had tasted it. And now knew exactly what she was.
What they were.
On the third day, the trees at the island's edge began to wither. Not from disease or drought, but as if the life was being actively drained from them. Jasmine watched in horror as a massive oak that had stood for centuries turned gray and brittle in the space of an hour, its leaves falling like ash.
"They're siphoning the ambient energy," she said. "Preparing the area. Making it easier to break through whatever natural barrier keeps this island hidden."
"How long?" Althander asked.
She closed her eyes, reaching out with her senses to that ocean of power inside her. The baby kicked hard, as if in warning.
"Hours. Maybe less."
They looked at each other, and Sophia saw the terrible understanding pass between them.
There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.
And Jasmine was about to give birth to something unprecedented—something powerful enough that it had already drawn the attention of forces willing to burn an entire island to claim it.
Althander disappeared into the forest for several hours that afternoon, leaving Jasmine with strict instructions to stay within the protective circle of stones he'd arranged around their shelter. When he returned, his arms were full of materials that made no sense to her: white clay from the riverbank, the shed skin of a snake, feathers from three different birds, and a collection of herbs she didn't recognize.
"What is all this?" she asked.
"Protection." He knelt beside her, his movements precise and ritualistic. "In my clan, when a female is carrying, especially if there's danger, we perform the Warding of Blood and Breath. It's ancient. Older than the clan itself."
He began grinding the herbs with a stone, mixing them with the clay until it formed a thick, grayish paste. The smell was pungent—earthy and sharp.
"I've never done this myself," he admitted, his voice quiet. "I've only watched the elders perform it. But I remember every step. I have to remember."
Jasmine watched as he dipped his fingers into the paste and began drawing symbols on her bare belly. The moment the mixture touched her skin, it warmed, then cooled, creating a tingling sensation that made the baby shift inside her.