The peace held.
Weeks turned into months, and months into a rhythm that Finn had never thought possible. Each day began with sunlight streaming through his window—real sunlight, now, a gift from the strengthened veil. Each morning brought new faces to the sanctuary, new hearts to heal, new lives to touch. Each evening ended with Elara beside him, her head on his shoulder, her presence a comfort beyond words.
It was perfect. It was everything he had ever wanted.
And yet, in the deepest part of the night, when the sanctuary slept and the garden's glow was the only light, Finn would sometimes wake with a start, his hand reaching for his crystals, his heart pounding with a fear he couldn't name.
The crystals were always warm. Always steady. Always at peace.
But the fear remained.
"You're doing it again."
Elara's voice came from beside him, soft and sleepy. She propped herself up on one elbow, her ocean-coloured eyes finding his in the darkness.
"Doing what?"
"Waking up like you've seen a ghost." She touched his face. "What is it?"
Finn shook his head. "I don't know. Nothing. Everything. The crystals are fine, the binding is strong, the Unraveler is contained. But I keep feeling like something's wrong. Like I've forgotten something important."
Elara was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "Maybe it's not something you've forgotten. Maybe it's something you haven't yet learned."
Finn looked at her. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, you've spent your whole life fighting. First to survive, then to save your mother, then to save Lumina, then to save reality itself. Peace is new to you. Your body doesn't know how to relax because it's always waiting for the next attack." She kissed his forehead gently. "Give it time. Give yourself time."
Finn pulled her close, breathing in the scent of her hair. "I love you."
"I know." She smiled against his chest. "I love you too. Now go back to sleep."
He tried. But sleep, when it came, was filled with dreams he couldn't remember upon waking—shadows and whispers and a voice that called his name from somewhere far away.
The next morning, Finn found Master Thorne in the Luminaire Spire.
The ancient man sat in his usual place, cross-legged on his cushion, his ice-chip eyes fixed on something Finn couldn't see. He looked up as Finn entered, and for a moment, his expression flickered—concern, perhaps, or recognition.
"You're troubled," Thorne said. It was not a question.
Finn sat across from him, the familiar position bringing a strange comfort. "I keep having dreams. Not nightmares—I don't remember them clearly. But I wake up feeling like something's wrong. Like something's calling me."
Thorne was silent for a long moment. Then he said, "The crystals?"
"Quiet. Steady. Normal."
"And the compass in your blood?"
Finn closed his eyes, reaching for that inner pull—the thing that had guided him to the Source, to the Heartstone, to the first light. It was there, but faint. Dormant. Waiting.
"Nothing," he said, opening his eyes. "Just... peace."
Thorne nodded slowly. "Perhaps that is the problem. You have spent so long in motion that stillness feels like danger." He leaned forward. "But I have learned, over many centuries, that stillness is not emptiness. It is potential. It is preparation. It is the calm before the storm, yes—but also the calm after. The calm that allows healing."
Finn considered this. "So you think I should just... wait?"
"I think you should listen. Not with your ears—with your heart. With your blood. With the part of you that knows things before your mind can understand them." Thorne's ancient eyes held his. "The compass has never led you wrong. Trust it. Even when it is silent."
The sanctuary was busier than ever.
Finn threw himself into the work, hoping that helping others would quiet the restlessness in his own heart. He healed wounds both physical and emotional. He listened to fears and shared hopes. He held the hands of the dying and celebrated with the newborn. Every moment of connection was a balm, a reminder of why he had chosen this path.
But at night, the dreams returned.
Shadows. Whispers. A voice that called his name.
And one night, an image—a place he had never seen, but somehow recognized. A vast chamber carved from obsidian, its walls covered in symbols that pulsed with red light. At its centre, a figure stood with its back to him, robed in darkness, waiting.
Finn Merton.
The voice was not a whisper this time—it was clear, sharp, unmistakable.
You cannot hide from me forever. The binding weakens with every passing year. And when it breaks—
Finn woke gasping, his crystals blazing with urgent light.
He told his friends the next morning.
Elara's face went pale as he described the dream. Theo's grey eyes widened with recognition. Briar's expression hardened into stone.
"The Unraveler," Theo said quietly. "It's reaching out to you. Trying to find a way in."
"But the binding is strong," Finn protested. "We strengthened it ourselves. The Kith confirmed it."
"The binding is strong—for now." Briar's voice was steady. "But the Unraveler is patient. It will keep testing, keep pushing, keep looking for weaknesses. And you—" She met Finn's eyes. "You're connected to it now. Through the first light. Through the blood of the compass. You strengthened the binding, but that connection works both ways."
Finn felt cold. "You're saying I'm a beacon. A way for it to find its way out."
"I'm saying you need to be careful." Briar reached out and took his hand—a rare gesture from her. "The Unraveler will try to use you. To manipulate you. To make you doubt yourself and your loved ones. That's its only weapon—the corruption of love into fear."
Elara moved closer to Finn, her presence a shield. "Then we protect him. We protect each other. We've done it before."
"We have." Finn looked at his friends—his family, his anchors, his heart. "And we'll do it again."
That afternoon, Finn sought out his mother.
Elena was in the garden, as she often was, tending the glowing plants from the Kith. She looked up as he approached, and her silver eyes—so like his own—softened with love.
"You've been having dreams," she said. It was not a question.
Finn sat beside her on the bench. "How did you know?"
"Because I had them too. After your father—" She stopped, collecting herself. "After he was taken, I had dreams. Dreams of darkness, of shadows, of a voice that called to me in the night. It took me years to understand what they were."
"What were they?"
"The Unraveler's whisper." Elena's voice was quiet. "It couldn't reach me directly—the binding was too strong then. But it could send dreams. Doubts. Fears. It tried to convince me that your father was gone forever, that I would never see him again, that love was a lie."
Finn's heart ached for her. "How did you fight it?"
"I held onto you." She touched his face. "Even before you were born, I held onto the thought of you. The hope of you. The love I already felt for you. That love was stronger than any darkness." She smiled. "It still is."
Finn leaned against her, the way he had when he was small. "What if I'm not strong enough? What if the Unraveler finds a way in?"
"It won't." Elena's voice was firm. "Because you're not alone. You have Elara, Theo, Briar. You have me. You have everyone in this sanctuary, everyone whose life you've touched, everyone who loves you. That love is a shield the Unraveler can never breach."
They sat together in the garden, mother and son, the glowing plants casting their soft light around them like a blessing.
The dreams continued, but they changed.
The shadows became less threatening. The whispers became less insistent. And the figure in the obsidian chamber—the Unraveler's avatar—began to fade, its features becoming indistinct, its voice growing fainter with each passing night.
Finn didn't know if it was his mother's words, or his friends' support, or simply the passage of time. But slowly, the fear began to loosen its grip.
On the first day of spring, Finn woke to find Elara already awake, watching him with those ocean-coloured eyes.
"No nightmares?" she asked.
"No nightmares." He smiled. "Just dreams of you."
She laughed and kissed him. "Liar."
"Maybe. But it's a nice lie."
They lay together as the sun rose, the light streaming through the window, painting the room in gold. And for the first time in weeks, Finn felt truly at peace.
That afternoon, a visitor arrived at the sanctuary.
She was old—older than anyone Finn had ever seen, older even than Master Thorne. Her face was a map of wrinkles, her eyes milky with age, but there was something powerful about her, something that made Finn want to bow without knowing why.
"Finn Merton." Her voice was like wind through ancient trees. "I have come a long way to find you."
Finn stepped forward, his crystals pulsing with recognition. "Who are you?"
"I am what your people would call a Seer. I have watched the threads of fate for longer than your city has existed." She smiled—a thin, ancient smile. "And I have seen something that concerns you."
Elara moved to Finn's side. "What kind of something?"
The Seer's milky eyes found Finn's. "The Unraveler is not your only enemy. There is another—one who has been watching you since before you were born. One who has been waiting for this moment. One who—" She paused, her expression flickering. "One who shares your blood."
Finn's blood ran cold. "What do you mean?"
"The Collector was not the last of your father's line. There is another. A cousin, twice removed. One who has been searching for the compass's secret for decades." The Seer's voice grew grave. "And he has found it."
The world seemed to tilt. Another relative? Another enemy?
"Where is he?" Finn demanded.
"Coming here." The Seer's eyes closed. "He will arrive before the next full moon. And when he does—" She opened her eyes, and they blazed with sudden light. "He will try to take what is yours. The first light. The compass. Everything."
End of Chapter Six