Afterlife Chronicles

Testing High Waters

The air in the room feels wrong. Not stale or suffocating, but heavy—like it carries something unseen, something that presses faintly against my lungs with every breath I take. It smells of damp wood and earth, like rain-soaked soil left too long in darkness. Ancient. Unsettling.

I stand still, forcing myself not to fidget as my eyes take in the room. Shelves tower around me, endless rows packed tightly with books that look older than anything that should still exist. Their spines are cracked, their pages uneven, some bound in materials that don’t quite look like leather—some look almost organic. The desk before me is carved from a dark, polished wood, its surface etched with intricate patterns resembling hieroglyphs, though not quite. The symbols twist and coil into one another, forming something deliberate, like a language I cannot understand but instinctively feel carries meaning.

My gaze drifts to the objects scattered across the desk, and my stomach tightens. A jar sits near the edge, filled with small writhing creatures suspended in a cloudy liquid. They have too many limbs, too many eyes, their movements slow and unnatural. Beside it is another jar—worse. Eyeballs. Dozens of them. Floating. Blinking. Watching. I quickly look away, swallowing hard. This isn’t an office. It’s a collection. A place where things are kept, studied, preserved… taken apart to understand how they work.

My chest tightens at the realization.

This is her office.

Councilor Ravenna.

And I’ve been sent here because I refused. Because I chose not to forget. Because I decided I wasn’t going to let them take everything from me—not without knowing the truth. The memory flashes briefly in my mind—the crash, the impact, that feeling that it wasn’t an accident. That someone wanted me here.

Whatever happens next, I won’t back down.

A quiet sound breaks the silence as the door behind me opens. I don’t turn immediately. I don’t need to. I can feel her. That presence—cold, sharp, deliberate—enters the room like it belongs to everything in it. Her footsteps are slow and measured, each one precise. She passes me without a word, the faint brush of her presence sending a chill down my spine as she moves behind the desk. Only then do I turn.

Councilor Ravenna lowers herself into her seat with effortless grace, her posture immaculate—too perfect to be natural. Even seated, she carries herself like something that cannot be diminished. Her eyes settle on me, and just like that, the room feels smaller.

Silence stretches, thick and intentional.

Then a smirk curves slowly across her lips.

“So,” she says, her voice smooth, almost conversational, “you don’t want to take the elixir.”

It isn’t a question. It’s a conclusion.

Her gaze drifts briefly to something on her desk before returning to me. “I suppose you have unfinished business in your former life.”

My lips part, ready to respond.

“You were not permitted to speak.”

The words cut cleanly through the air—calm, flat, absolute.

I freeze. Whatever composure I had fractures instantly. Her gaze doesn’t sharpen; it doesn’t need to. It simply exists, and somehow that’s worse. Fear coils tightly in my chest, because in that moment one thing becomes painfully clear—whatever she decides to do to me, no one will stop her.

“It is not uncommon,” she continues, almost idly, “for Veilborns to resist. Attachment is… a stubborn thing.” She rises from her seat slowly and begins to walk, not aimlessly but deliberately, circling me as though studying something of interest. “We’ve had cases,” she adds, her voice softer now, almost thoughtful. “They rarely end well.”

She stops just behind me, and I feel it before I see it—the weight of her presence pressing close.

“You, however…” she pauses. “You are different.”

My breath catches as she steps into my line of sight again, closer this time. Her wings shift faintly behind her, and up close they are worse than I remembered. The eyes embedded within them blink at uneven intervals, slow and wet, disturbingly aware.

Watching me.

Her gaze locks onto mine. “You intrigue me, Ellora.”

The way she says my name doesn’t feel like recognition. It feels like ownership.

She steps closer—too close—and before I can react, her fingers tilt my chin upward. Her nails are sharp, not enough to cut but enough to remind me that they could. My breath hitches as her face lowers closer to mine.

“When something captures my curiosity,” she murmurs, a faint, dangerous smile forming, “I tend to… dissect it.”

My stomach drops.

“To understand what lies beneath.”

For a moment, I forget how to breathe.

Then she releases me just as suddenly, stepping away as if nothing happened. Air rushes back into my lungs, and I don’t realize how tightly I’d been holding my breath until now.

She returns to her desk and opens a drawer with unhurried precision, retrieving a vial. It looks similar to the elixir—but different. Clearer. Translucent. Unsettling in a quieter way.

“While the elixir is not optional,” she says lightly, placing it on the desk, “your refusal does present… complications.”

With a subtle motion of her fingers, something shifts in the air. A projection forms, and I instantly wish it hadn’t. The creature that appears looks like it was once human—now twisted beyond recognition. Its wings are malformed, covered in clusters of blinking eyes, its body unstable, as if it cannot decide what it is meant to be.

An abomination.

My breath stutters.

“That,” Ravenna says calmly, “is one possible outcome.”

I tear my gaze away, horror crawling up my spine.

“Or,” she continues just as casually, “you lose your mind.”

I look back at her, searching for something—emotion, hesitation, anything—but there is none. Only quiet certainty.

“The choice, as always, is yours.”

Silence settles again.

Then she leans back slightly in her chair, studying me with renewed interest. “Despite that,” she adds, almost thoughtfully, “I find myself… inclined to indulge this situation.”

My brows knit slightly.

“As you suspect, your arrival was… irregular,” she continues. “There are disturbances that do not occur without cause.”

My heart skips.

Her gaze drifts over me, lingering, assessing, and only then do I notice it—my clothes. The white garment I woke up in, now stained with dirt and faint streaks of dried blood. A reminder of everything. A wave of discomfort washes over me.

“I am not assisting you out of goodwill,” Ravenna says sharply, drawing my attention back. “Do not mistake this for kindness. I think you are reckless—possibly foolish—and I do not care what becomes of you.”

My chest tightens.

Then a faint smile returns.

“But,” she says, sliding the vial across the desk until it stops in front of me, “I am curious.”

The word lingers, heavy and deliberate.

I stare at the vial, then slowly pick it up. It feels cool against my skin, unassuming, dangerous.

“It will dull the severance,” she explains. “Enough to preserve fragments. Not enough to destabilize you immediately. It is… a compromise.”

I swallow, my voice quieter than I intend. “And why would you do that?”

Her smile deepens, not kindly.

“Because,” she says softly, “I want to see what you become.”

A chill runs through me.

“You will be given an opportunity,” she continues. “Sooner than you think. Take it when that moment comes.”

Silence falls, final and dismissive. The conversation is over.

Slowly, I rise to my feet, the vial still clutched in my hand. My mind races, my chest tight, but beneath it all something steadier begins to form.

Resolve.

I turn and walk toward the door. I don’t look back. I don’t speak.

Because one thing is clear now—

Whatever I’m stepping into…

I’m stepping into it alone.

And somewhere behind me, I can still feel it.

Ravenna watching.