ASHLIGHT: BLOOD OF THE BOUNDLESS

"You are not seriously scared, are you?" one of them jeered, his arms crossed and face lit up in a smug smile. Polo— captain of the swim team, self-proclaimed alpha of their bullying pack and Rowan's personal tormentor since seventh grade.

Rowan swallowed hard, his eyes trained towards the abandoned castle looming in front of him. The overgrowth around it sent shadows across the ground like long talons from one of his nightmare creatures.

"It's just bricks and shadows, Mirewood," Polo added. "Go in and bring us the crown. We don't have all night." He cocked a brow. "Unless you are chickening out again like always, loser."

Rowan turned. His gaze followed the outline of Polo's hand slung around Maisie's waist, the girl he had secretly had a crush on since middle school. More than anything, he wanted to impress her and prove that he was worth noticing for once.

"I'm not scared," he said firmly, but his voice had a slight tremor. He adjusted the straps of his backpack containing some basics; a lighter, a pocketknife, a flashlight and a journal he never went anywhere without. He was already sweating along his back despite the cold. He grabbed the flashlight and flicked it towards the shadows. "I do this, you guys get off my back and I get to come to the party. And you stop calling me a freak."

"That's the deal," Polo said smugly.

Maisie tilted her head, her golden curls bouncing in the moonlight. "Don't make him do this, Polo. It's just a stupid dare."

Polo gave a laugh. "It's not like he has anything better to do." He stepped forward and pressed Rowan's shoulder down. "Go on, Mirewood. Be a hero for once and we will never mess with you again."

"And Maisie might even give you a pity hug," someone added with a snort.

Rowan looked at them all laughing and mocking him then at the castle. One look at it, his pulse went haywire. He knew that he should have hidden that journal well enough otherwise he wouldn't be here trying to prove something so stupid, something from his dreams. They all thought he was a joke and he didn't believe he wasn't either. He could prove them wrong, right?

"Okay, I'm going in." he nodded, swallowing his fear.

They hadn't expected him to agree. There was a beat of silence, then a chorus of whoops and clapping. Somehow that boosted his confidence.

"You've got ten minutes," Polo said grinning. "Try not to piss yourself when one of those “ghosts” appear." The others laughed.

Rowan stepped towards the rusted gates. Every instinct in him screamed to turn around and run but he didn't. "It's just in my head," he whispered. "It has always been in my head."

He pushed the gates open and they gave a long moaning creak. Wind blew over him and caught the back of his jacket like phantom hands trying to pull him back but he didn't look back. The main hall was pitch black, dust, the scent of mildew and rot lingering in the air.

He flicked on his flashlight. The beam wavered as his hand trembled. Cracked portraits lined the walls, the once proud faces of royalty now obscured by dust and spider webs. He followed the map from his dreams just like he had written it, the twists of the hallways that had come to him night after night. The corridor to the altar was real, exactly as he had seen it.

"No way!" he muttered, his heart stuttering. Then, a creak followed. He froze in place, his eyes popping wide as the altar room door flew open slowly, like it had been waiting for him. No wind, just eerie silence.

He parted his lips to facilitate breathing and then stepped forward, his heart in his throat. At this point, he was moving on autopilot like his body wasn't his own. A pedestal stood at the center beneath a broken stained-glass dome. Moonlight streamed in like silver fire shining upon a tarnished ancient crown, adorned with sigils. The reflection made it look like it was glowing.

"Ha! Take that Polo. It wasn't so hard after all," he sighed then stepped forward drawn by an invisible force. His fingers hovered above it then slowly felt its surface. He curled them around it and then pulled.

The moment the crown left the dome, the world shattered. A blinding light exploded around him. The wind howled through the room clattering everything, symbols blazed across the walls burning his vision. Something yanked him off his feet. He screamed but the sound was muffled in the chaos. He felt weightless, suspended in the air before he started falling hard and fast. Darkness claimed him.

★★★

Rowan awoke to the sensation of pressure, like he was under the weight of a thousand tonnes. He opened his eyes to a strange room with bright white walls with symbols just like the ones in his dreams. The crown was resting on the floor beside him and the moment he saw it, everything that had happened kicked back in. He sat up so fast that a wave of nausea hit him. There were no windows. Just one mirrored wall. He stumbled to his feet and banged on it.

"Hello? I didn't mean to. I... I'll put it back! I didn't want to do it, they made me," he shouted. "Please let me go!" No answer. Only his reflection stared back at him, pale, disheveled, and sweaty. His shoulders sagged. "Please let me go." It was barely a whisper.

Behind the mirror, the Solvane stood with his hands clasped behind his back watching Rowan silently. Beside him, the Censor, a being with ivory skin and silver eyes held out a crystal vial.

"The blood confirms it," she said. "He is the anomaly from the prophecy."

The Solvane didn't blink. He didn't tear his gaze from Rowan. His eyes were filled with wonder. "By Alura," he murmured. "It is true?" The Censor nodded. He turned sharply and ordered, "Summon the others. The Veilborne walks among us and there is no time to waste."

Liora Halewind's fingers slipped into the soft waves of Zavian's hair as their mouths met again, slow and searching. His hands skimmed along her waist, tugging her closer until there was barely space to breathe. Her sheets were tangled beneath them, the scent of lavender oil and her own skin in the air between them.

His lips brushed hers then her jaw to the hollow just beneath her ear, drawing a silent moan from her. She chased his mouth when he pulled away towards her chest, smiling into the kiss this time. His soft laughter vibrated against her as he rolled over and flipped her, their legs tangled without a care, lips smacked, tongues seeking, hands exploring.

Then, his whisperstone pulsed in his pocket. He pulled back exhaling and reached for it out of habit. Liora stayed still, her breath slowing as she watched him. Zavian glanced at the glowing crystal and laughed, falling back into the sheets.

"Seriously?" she asked sitting up and brushed her hair behind her