Heir of the unseen

CHAPTER EIGHT

ESTELLE

I stand in front of the mirror, my reflection blurred by the steam from the bath I didn’t even want. My fingers hover over the mark. It wasn’t there this morning, or maybe I just didn’t notice. Now it’s dark and curling across my shoulder, like it was drawn by someone who knew exactly how to make me feel small.

I can’t believe I got by an illusion of mother. The same mother who left when I was five.

Vega comes from behind me and touches the mark too. We both stare into the mirror, trying desperately to understand what is happening.

Vega left the forest unscathed.

Being born awake saved Vega.

The task was to show who had the strongest mind, and unfortunately, the Yul boy won. The same boy I had underestimated.

I slipped into my dress and made my way to the dinning area. Apparently the commander was kind enough to cater to our taste buds.

“Estelle” the voice echoed, like it was afar off, but I could feel it inside of me.

I stop walking.

The corridor feels longer than it should, the walls too close. The sound of my name fades, but the feeling does not. It sits in my chest, heavy and familiar, like a memory I never lived.

I turn, expecting to see someone behind me. The passage is empty.

“Estelle,” the voice says again, softer this time.

It does not come from one place. It comes from everywhere and nowhere at once. From the stone beneath my feet. From the mark on my shoulder. From the part of me that still remembers being five years old and waiting for a door that never opened.

My fingers curl into my palm.

I keep walking.

The dining hall doors are open, light spilling out, laughter drifting through. The smell of food reaches me, rich and warm. Normal. Too normal. For a moment, I almost believe I can step inside and forget everything.

Then the room shifts.

Not visibly. Not enough for anyone else to notice. But I do.

The tables stretch farther apart. The shadows deepen beneath them. Faces blur when I try to focus. Vega is there, talking to someone, smiling like nothing has touched her, like the forest never learned her name.

“Estelle,” the voice says again.

This time, I see it.

Not a figure. Not a face.

A presence. Sitting where the commander’s seat should be empty. Watching. Waiting. Patient in a way that makes my stomach turn.

I lower my head and take my seat.

My shoulder burns.

I know, with a certainty that scares me, that the trial did not end in the forest.

It followed me out.

And it knows my name.