Whispers Between The Walls

For the first time since I arrived at Montclaire, the hallways whispered my name.

Not in the usual way — not in riddles or warnings or whispers behind curtain folds. No. This time it was different.

This time it was in the way they watched me.

The way students stepped aside in the library, eyes wide but not cruel. The way candles seemed to burn lower when I passed. The way a single red feather had been left on my desk that morning — not a threat, not an invitation.

A gesture.

And the silence that followed… wasn't fear.

It was expectation.

Petra hadn't spoken to me since the Rite.

She'd been taken away the moment the mirror shattered, and no one had seen her since.

Theo had tried to find out what happened — said he even asked one of the senior Order guards — but the only answer he got was a sharp "She's under correction."

That could mean anything.

Or it could mean what it had meant for Anastasia.

Julian had barely left my side since.

He didn't say much — didn't have to — but the shadows under his eyes were getting darker, and when he touched me, it was always like he thought it might be the last time.

We sat together that evening under the broken observatory dome. Stars above. Cold wind between us. And something sharp in the quiet.

"They'll come after you harder now," he said finally, voice low.

"They already were."

"This isn't like before."

He turned his face slightly, looking at me through his lashes.

"This is what the Order fears — a girl who remembers, and two boys who don't care what it costs."

I reached over and touched his hand.

Julian didn't flinch.

His fingers curled into mine, slow and sure, like they were learning the shape of safety.

"I don't want to lose you," I said.

"You might," he whispered. "But not because I let them take me."

Later that night, Theo found me in the library alcove.

He said nothing at first. Just handed me a page — something torn from an older, handwritten book. I unfolded it carefully.

"The mirror is not just a tool of reflection. It is memory, captured and sealed. Those who shatter it awaken what the Order has forgotten — and risk remembering what they were never meant to see."

— From The Auralith Manuscripts, Vol. II

"I found it behind the North Wing archive," he murmured. "In a box of discarded texts they were supposed to burn."

"You think the mirror showed them their own guilt?"

Theo's mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Not quite grief.

"I think it showed them you."

That night, I dreamt of Petra.

She stood in the courtyard beneath the cloaked statue — barefoot, her school skirt torn, her eyes wide with static.

"Elena," she said. "They want to make you a myth."

"What does that mean?"

But she only reached into her chest — through it — and pulled out a stone, smooth and black and glowing red in the cracks.

She placed it in my palm.

"If you forget who you are, this will remind you."

I woke gasping.

The dream clinging like silk to my skin.

And my hand clenched around nothing.

Or almost nothing.

Because there, at the foot of my bed, was a single white card.

The Midwinter Gathering Approaches.

Wear the red. Come alone. The Velvet Order watches.

The gathering was held in the Great Hall three nights later.

Every student was required to attend — in full uniform, cloaked, and silent.

I wore the red ribbon they left at my door. Tied it around my throat like a warning and a vow. Theo had wanted to walk me there, but I shook my head.

"I need them to know I'm not afraid."

He nodded. But his hand stayed on the doorframe even after I walked away.

The Great Hall was… transformed.

All the long tables were gone. The windows were covered in velvet. Candles floated midair, though I saw no wires or wax. It smelled of old roses and cold iron.

And at the center, beneath a crimson chandelier, stood a single black pedestal.

On it: a box.

Small. Lined in gold. Unlabeled.

The students gathered around it in a wide circle — no one speaking, no one blinking. The silence was thick as snow.

Then a voice broke through.

Not the Headmistress.

Someone older. Male.

"One among you shattered the mirror. One among you defied the Rite. The Order has voted. The Gathering begins."

From the back of the room, five hooded figures stepped forward. Faces hidden. Movements slow.

They stopped before the box.

The tallest among them spoke again.

"Three names lie within. One will be chosen. One will be tested. One will decide."

The box opened.

A name was drawn.

Not mine.

Theo.

Another drawn.

Julian.

Final name.

Elena.

I didn't move.

Couldn't.

I looked to Julian — who was already looking at me. His expression was calm, but I saw the fire behind it.

Theo's jaw tightened.

They both stepped forward.

As did I.

The circle parted.

A path opened between us.

We stood at the triangle's points.

And the hooded figure spoke again:

"One must speak the truth.

One must surrender memory.

One must choose what is worth saving."

I blinked.

Julian exhaled.

Theo's fists clenched.

"I'll speak," Julian said, without waiting.

"I'll surrender," Theo said next, voice heavy.

And then — all eyes turned to me.

"Elena," the voice said. "Choose what is worth saving."

Time paused.

Not just in the room.

But in me.

And in that silence — I remembered Anastasia's voice, her notes, her sketches.

I thought of Petra's dream-stone. Of the mirror. Of the fire.

And then I said:

"Not memory. Not names.

What's worth saving… is choice."

The candle flames flared blue.

The box slammed shut.

And the lights went out.

When they returned, the hall was empty.

Only I remained.

Standing at the pedestal.

And beside it — a single object:

A crimson-bound book titled The Names Beneath.

I opened it.

Inside: blank pages.

Waiting to be written.

And at the very bottom, in gold ink:

You are the next Keeper.