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Chapter 3 - . She is a weakling

In a dark cave:

A woman in a black, tight, long dress made of a beautiful but strange fabric stood in front of a portal made of water. It glowed and moved, rippling like liquid silver. Beside her was a tall man wearing a black silk shirt and a long coat made of the same strange smooth fabric, silver linings glowing faintly along the seams like threads of moonlight.

"She is a weakling—she will be of no help to us," the woman said, her cold eyes fixed on the portal that was beginning to turn transparent. The shifting water revealed a girl—Christabel—sitting on her bed, clutching a pillow to her chest as if it were a shield.

Her heart was heavy, her mind restless. The air around her felt like it pressed down on her lungs. Christabel's fingers trembled against the fabric of the pillow. She couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, of shadows lingering at the corners of her room.

Fear had woven itself deep into her bones, making her breaths shallow, her eyes darting at the slightest sound.

"But he would stop at nothing to have her," the man said, his voice low and edged with warning.

"If he won't give, should we? No." The woman's voice sliced through the air, sharp with conviction. "We have a goal—to save our kingdom by strength, not by weakness."

Her lips curved into a cruel smile as she stepped closer to the portal, her laughter echoing off the cave walls.

"I followed her to school today. She looked scared out of her wits. I watched her, trembling and small, and I thought, oh look at her. You should have seen." She let out a dark, mocking laugh that filled the cavern, cold and merciless.

The portal shimmered brighter, Christabel's fearful face reflected in its waters—unaware that two dark figures plotted her fate in the shadows.

The man folded his arms, his eyes narrowing at the portal. "Mock her all you want, but weakness does not mean uselessness. Sometimes fear drives people to places power cannot."

The woman scoffed, her laughter fading into a bitter hiss. "Do not dress cowardice as strength. She is fragile—like glass. And glass breaks."

"Perhaps…" he said slowly, tilting his head as if weighing her words. "But even broken glass can cut deep. Do not underestimate the will of the one he protects."

At the mention of him, the woman's expression hardened. Her long nails tapped against her arm as she turned her gaze back to the watery portal. "He will come for her. That much is certain. His attachment blinds him. And when he comes—" She paused, her lips curling into a cruel smile. "—we will have him exactly where we want him."

The man's eyes glinted silver in the dim light of the cave. "And if she resists? If she proves stronger than you believe?"

"She won't." The woman's voice was sharp, unyielding. "Fear consumes her. It is written in her eyes, in her trembling hands. She will fold like paper. And when she does… she will lead him right into our grasp."

The portal pulsed brighter, casting an eerie glow on the cave walls. Christabel's reflection flickered faintly—unaware, restless, haunted by dread she could not name.

The man leaned closer to the portal, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Then let us wait. The moment will come, and when it does… our kingdom will rise again."

The woman's cruel laugh echoed once more, cold and merciless, filling the cavern as the portal rippled and darkened.

The cave's shadows thickened as the siblings studied the portal. The woman's cruel smile lingered, but her eyes sharpened with unease.

"There is something strange around her," she murmured, narrowing her gaze at Christabel's trembling form on the bed. "A stirring. A presence. Do you feel it?"

The man tilted his head, silver linings catching the dim glow of the portal. "I feel… something. Like a whisper clinging to her aura. Faint, but there." His brow furrowed. "Yet it slips from my grasp when I try to hold it."

The woman's lips curled in disdain. "It cannot be him. We have hidden her too well for too long. He cannot sense her."

"And still," the man countered, his tone steady, "there is a pull about her tonight. It is as though the air bends toward her."

She scoffed, turning her face away though her fingers tightened against the fabric of her dress. "Whatever it is, it will not matter. He cannot have her. If he binds himself to a mate, his heart will soften. His power will bend."

Her voice grew sharper, edged with obsession. "But without her—he is perfect. Cold. Unyielding. Invincible. And that is what our kingdom needs: not a ruler tethered by love, but a king feared by all."

The man's eyes flicked to the portal again. Christabel shifted uneasily in her bed, hugging her pillow tighter, as if some invisible weight pressed down upon her chest.

"We must keep watch," he said at last, his voice low. "If this presence grows stronger, we cannot risk it revealing him to her—or her to him."

The woman smirked, her earlier doubt dissolving into cruel amusement. "Then let it circle her all it wants. She will remain blind, weak, and trembling in the dark. And he…" She paused, her eyes glowing faintly in the cave's gloom.

"He will remain what he was meant to be: a king of shadows, untouched by weakness."

Their laughter—cold, echoing, merciless—rippled through the cavern, while beyond the veil, Christabel shivered, unaware of the storm her very existence had begun to stir.

The cave's echoes faded into silence as the watery portal began to cloud. The woman and her brother turned away, their cruel laughter dissolving into the darkness, leaving only the faint glow of the chamber walls.

In Christabel's room, the air shifted. What had been heavy and watchful only moments before slowly receded, pulling away like a tide retreating into the sea.

Christabel let out a shaky breath she hadn't realized she was holding. The silence around her felt louder than ever, pressing against her ears, wrapping her in its weight. The whisper that had brushed her name earlier was gone, yet something remained—something hollow.

Sadness seeped into her chest first, deep and unexplainable, as though she had just lost something precious without knowing what it was. Then came the ache of hurt, raw and sharp, tugging at the edges of her heart. Finally, pain—lonely and suffocating—settled inside her, twisting with emotions that weren't fully her own.

Her eyes burned as tears welled, spilling before she could stop them. "Why… why do I feel like this?" she whispered into the emptiness of her room, clutching her pillow tighter.

She pressed her forehead against the fabric, but the feelings wouldn't fade. They clung to her, curling into the deepest corners of her heart like shadows that refused to let go.

The room was the same—her books stacked neatly, the soft hum of the night outside her window—but Christabel felt different. Unmoored. A weight had touched her and left, and in its absence, she felt the ache of something vast, ancient, and broken.

Her breaths came uneven, chest rising and falling quickly as though her body remembered fear even though the presence was gone.

And yet… beneath the sorrow and pain, a strange warmth lingered, faint but steady. A whisper of something reaching for her. Something that felt like… calling.

Christabel wiped at her eyes, still shaken by the strange wave of emotions that clung to her chest. Just as she tried to steady her breathing, her phone lit up on the nightstand.

Ersten.

Her heart softened instantly at the sight of her older brother's name. He lived miles away now, but his calls always made her feel safe. She quickly answered, trying to mask the tremble in her voice.

"Hey, little sis," Ersten's voice came through, warm and familiar.

"Ersten…" she whispered, her lips tugging into a shaky smile. "I—I wasn't expecting you to call."

"Yeah, I figured. I just wanted to check in," he said. "You've been sounding… different lately. Everything okay?"

Christabel hesitated, her fingers tightening around the phone. "I'm fine… just tired, that's all."

He didn't sound convinced, but he didn't press either. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

"I know," she said softly. "Thanks, Ersten."

When the call ended, her eyes drifted toward a framed picture on her desk—the one of her with her friends, Ethan, Jasmine, and Maya, all laughing together at the park. Guilt pricked at her chest. She had been so wrapped up in herself lately, she hadn't even checked on them.

Grabbing her phone again, she bit her lip. I should ask why they didn't come today.

She opened the group chat, hit the video-call button, and waited as the ringing tone filled her room.

One by one, faces appeared on the screen—Ethan, Jasmine, and Maya.

"Hey!" Jasmine's cheerful voice rang out first.

"Yo," Ethan said with his usual calm grin.

"Hello," Maya added, adjusting her glasses.

They all greeted each other almost at once, smiles crossing the screen.

"So," Jasmine asked, "how's everyone doing?".

They replied to each other's greeting

Christabel smiled faintly at the screen. "Hey, guys. I was just about to ask… why didn't you all come to school today?"

Ethan leaned closer to his camera, his voice a little hoarse. "Sorry about that. I woke up with this annoying cold. Nothing serious—just didn't want to spread it around."

Christabel's brow softened with concern. "Oh, Ethan, you should've told me earlier. Are you resting?"

"Yeah, yeah. Don't worry. I'll be fine." He gave a small smile, though his eyes carried a shadow of something unspoken.

Maya let out a groan before she spoke. "Okay, mine's a little embarrassing. I overslept—don't laugh!—because my alarm clock died in the middle of the night. I thought it was Saturday when I finally woke up." She rolled her eyes at herself, and Jasmine burst into laughter.

Christabel chuckled softly. "That's so you, Maya."

Then Jasmine sighed.

"For me, it was my little brother. He came down with a fever last night, and Mom had to work early. So I stayed home to look after him. He's fine now—still annoying, but fine."

Christabel nodded slowly, absorbing their words. "Okay, those all make sense… but…" She hesitated, lowering her voice. "Did any of you… feel weird today? Like something was… heavy in the air?"

The call went quiet. Ethan glanced off screen, his jaw tightening. Maya frowned, pushing her glasses up nervously. Jasmine's smile faltered.

"Yeah," Ethan admitted first. "Even through this cold, I felt it. Like something pressing down, making it hard to breathe."

Maya nodded quickly. "Same here. I thought I was imagining it at first, but it was like the whole day felt… wrong. My stomach wouldn't stop twisting, like I'd done something bad even though I hadn't."

Jasmine shivered visibly. "I don't know how to explain it, but while I was taking care of my brother… I kept looking over my shoulder. Like something was watching us. It wasn't just nerves. It was there."

Christabel's fingers tightened around her phone. Her friends' words mirrored the emotions that had just torn through her room—sadness, hurt, pain. The heaviness hadn't been hers alone.

She whispered into the call, "So… it wasn't just me.

Ethan shifted, his expression firm despite the pale tiredness in his face. "Then whatever it was… it's real. And it's close. I don't like that, Christabel."

"Neither do I," Jasmine muttered, hugging her knees into the camera's view. "I felt like it could walk right through the walls any second. I hated it."

Maya frowned, trying to stay logical but unable to hide the unease in her eyes. "We shouldn't jump to wild conclusions. But… this isn't normal. Not for all of us to feel the exact same thing."

The group fell into silence for a moment, the weight of their shared experience settling over them.

Finally, Ethan spoke again, his tone steady. "Look… let's not do this over the phone. Tomorrow, at school—we'll sit down and talk it through. All of it. Together."

"Agreed," Jasmine said quickly. "Daylight feels safer anyway."

"Fine by me," Maya sighed. "But if I see another weird shadow lurking around, I'm running, not discussing."

That earned a faint laugh from Christabel and Jasmine, the tension breaking just a little.

"Okay then," Christabel said softly, managing a small smile. "Tomorrow."

They all nodded, the call ending one by one, leaving Christabel alone again in her quiet room. She stared at her darkened screen, the echoes of their voices fading into the silence.

But deep in her chest, the ache still lingered—an ache that whispered this was only the beginning.

Sleep came slowly to Christabel that night. Her body was heavy, her heart still carrying the ache of emotions that didn't belong to her. At last, exhaustion pulled her under, and with it came a dream unlike any she'd known before.

She was standing in a wide meadow bathed in golden light. The wind stirred tall grass around her, carrying a faint melody she didn't recognize but somehow knew.

Then the scene shifted—like turning the pages of a book.

She saw herself in another life, dressed in flowing white, walking through a bustling marketplace of stone streets and colorful stalls. People bowed their heads as she passed, though she had no idea why.

Another flash: she stood in a grand hall, her hair braided in a style she had never worn, surrounded by torches burning blue flame. Shadows of soldiers lined the walls, and though their faces were unfamiliar, her heart leapt with recognition.

The images shifted again—now she was by the sea, waves crashing against dark rocks, her reflection in the water showing a face both hers and not hers. In her hand was a silver pendant, gleaming under a full moon.

Then another glimpse—of herself in armor, standing on a battlefield beside a towering figure cloaked in black, his eyes glowing faintly like silver fire. She felt no fear. Only belonging.

Scene after scene came and went, flashes of lives she couldn't hold onto, like sand slipping through her fingers. Each one left a trace of emotion—joy, sorrow, courage, longing.

Finally, she saw herself standing at the edge of a vast kingdom, its towers stretching toward the sky. A voice, deep and echoing, whispered her name—Christabel—and the dream dissolved like mist.

She awoke with a gasp, her room dim in the pale light of dawn. Her heart raced, but not from fear. The memories—or dreams—left behind a strange sense of familiarity, as though a part of her had finally stirred awake

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