Chapter 4: Echoes Beneath the House
1327 Words
The kettle whistled. Selene Thorne reached for it absentmindedly, pouring hot water into her teacup as her mind drifted far away. The whole evening until this hour had been quiet, unusually so. Elara hadn’t come down for dinner. Again. But Selene didn’t press. Her daughter had been distant these past few days, consumed by thoughts and dreams Selene had hoped she would never remember.
She sat at the kitchen table, cradling the cup in her hands, staring at nothing in particular. The flames in the hearth danced lazily, casting flickers of orange across the old wooden cabinets and shelves lined with jars of dried herbs. The quiet was comforting.
Until it wasn’t.
A sound tore through the house.
A *bang*, low and powerful, like the thrum of magic released from deep below. The tea cup slipped from Selene’s hands, shattering on the floor.
Then came the light.
From under the floorboards, between the cracks, a pulse of golden light surged upward like a heartbeat. A hum filled the air, thick and vibrating through the walls. Selene gasped.
“No,” she whispered, already on her feet.
She bolted through the hallway, her bare feet thudding against the floor as she reached the narrow door at the end of the corridor—the one that had remained shut for years. The one she had sealed herself.
But now, the sigils were gone.
Faint whorls of magic glowed in the wood, flickering like dying stars. The door was ajar.
Selene’s heart pounded in her chest. She pushed it open.
A sharp rush of air greeted her, the smell of ozone and wild magic still lingering. She hurried down the spiral stairs, her breath catching as she stepped into the old workshop.
The space buzzed with residual energy, the air shimmering as if reality had been torn and stitched back together. The altar at the far end was bare, the velvet cloth scorched at the edges. Candles lay melted into pools of wax. And carved into the stone floor was a sigil.
A powerful one.
One she hadn’t seen in decades.
Her eyes widened.
“No,” she whispered again, her voice cracking. “Not her... Not now.”
She ran forward, falling to her knees before the sigil, pressing a hand to the ground. The stone was still warm.
The magic was fresh.
“Elara!” she called, her voice echoing through the empty chamber. “Elara, where are you?!”
Silence.
Only the hum of faded power answered.
Selene’s shoulders sagged. Her hands trembled as she touched the edge of the sigil, tracing the lines she once knew by heart. She hadn’t seen this one since… since her grandmother used it. Since the last Keeper ritual.
Memories surged.
A little girl peeking from behind a doorframe. Her grandmother, standing tall and powerful, glowing with magic as light poured from the cellar. A ritual unfinished. A promise broken.
Selene remembered the look in her grandmother’s eyes when it failed. The desperation. The fear.
And now… it had happened again.
“Elara,” she whispered, her voice softer now, filled with dread. “What have you done?”
She searched the room, hoping to find her daughter hidden in the shadows, asleep behind a shelf, anything. But the truth settled like lead in her gut.
She was gone.
The sigil wasn’t just a seal—it was a door.
And Elara had walked through it.
Selene stood, her legs shaking, and turned in a slow circle. The entire room felt like a memory. A ghost. A relic of something meant to stay buried. She had spent her entire life locking this place away, praying Elara would never find it. Never feel its pull. Never become what destiny demanded of her.
But she had.
Selene wiped at her face, not realizing tears had fallen. She took one last look at the empty altar.
The silence was deafening.
She whispered one more time, barely audible.
“Come back to me.” And then she turned and climbed the stairs alone, the hum of old magic fading behind her.
---
The moment the ritual was complete, Elara felt a pressure against her chest—like the inhale before a scream. The portal that rose before her wasn't just light. It was *alive*. It pulsed, cracked, and howled with ancient energy. The sigils she'd etched into the floor blazed beneath her feet, their edges blurring with the force of the spell. Her vision began to stretch, twist, and melt into a vortex of shifting colors, like someone had unraveled the fabric of reality and was pulling her through the threads.
She barely had time to draw a breath.
Then—
Everything shattered.
Elara wasn't falling. She wasn't flying. She was *becoming*. Shapes and symbols danced across her skin. The air was thick with magic so dense, it stung like fire and ice together. The world around her spun backward—fast. Trees grew in reverse, stars blinked out, cities unbuilt themselves, and the sky folded into itself.
She screamed.
Not out of fear. But pain.
Raw, unrelenting pain.
Her body tore apart, molecule by molecule. Every memory she had, every part of her—past, present, future—was exposed to the light. It wasn't just a portal. It was a gate of judgment. And she had to be *worthy* to pass.
Flashes came next.
A woman with silver hair and storm-colored eyes—her great-grandmother, Luna era Thorne—stood at the edge of a cliff, her robes flaring in a wind that came from nowhere. She turned, looked directly at Elara, and mouthed something Elara couldn't hear.
Then another woman, younger, cloaked in green. Her face nearly identical to Elara’s. Tears ran down her cheeks as she walked into the portal—and was thrown back with such force her body disintegrated.
Then another. An older woman surrounded by candles and herbs, whispering to herself before collapsing in convulsions.
One after another.
Generations of witches. Reincarnations. Echoes of the Goddess Keeper.
Some never found the truth.
Some found it too late.
Some tried… and died.
Elara pushed forward.
She could feel the magic resisting her, testing her.
*"You are not her."*
The voice was everywhere and nowhere.
"I am!" she screamed. Her blood burned.
*"You are a fragment. A shadow."*
"I'm more than that!"
The light thickened, wrapped around her like molten chains.
Her skin blistered. Her lungs struggled.
But she kept going.
Her mother’s voice echoed through her mind.
*“You’ll always have a choice.”*
Louis’s voice joined it.
*“Believe in yourself, and I will too.”*
Then—the pain stopped.
Suddenly, she stood in stillness.
The light had thinned into a gentle hum. The chains dissolved. A path lay before her. And at the end of it, a door.
Simple. Wooden. Familiar.
Her house.
Elara stepped forward, her hand reaching for the brass handle.
The moment her fingers touched it, the door creaked open.
A wave of warm air hit her, smelling of cinnamon, parchment, and lavender.
The light surged behind her—then vanished.
She stepped inside.
Everything was… the same. But not.
The furnishings were older. The walls cleaner. A fire crackled in the hearth, and voices murmured in another room. She looked at her hands. They were whole again.
She was breathing. Her heart pounded in her chest like a war drum.
Then she heard it.
A voice she recognized from memories she never lived. A voice same as her mother.
"Lunara, are you finished with your herbs? The council meets at dusk."
Elara’s breath caught. She saw an older version of her in the room. It feels like she was floating. Watching herself fix the herbs infront of her.
She had made it.
She was in the past.
In the time of the Goddess Keeper.
The coven’s final era.
And her journey was just beginning.
Until everything went black.
- Writer
