Esabella
The Circle’s shouting still echoed through the walls long after the council ended. Esabella sat curled on her cot, journal clutched to her chest, silence pressing heavier than ever. It felt as though the moon itself leaned closer, pulling at her bones.
She didn’t want to open the book. She knew what waited. But her hands moved anyway, trembling as she slid the cover back.
The ink poured fast, more furious than ever:
The blood moon rises.
Storm strikes fire. Fire burns storm.
Witness must choose who stands, and who falls.
Her breath caught. Tears blurred her vision, dripping onto the page, smearing the black lines into gray. She tried to push the pen away, but it dragged back into her hand, scrawling harder, darker:
Circle cannot hold both.
Silence will shatter if choice is denied.
Visions surged behind her eyes:
—Asher, storm raging, silver eyes burning, lightning splitting the sky.
—Eliana, fire blazing, arms raised, defiance fierce enough to scorch stone.
—The Circle between them, torn, wolves striking wolves, Mira against Elias, Jared pulled apart.
—And herself, standing frozen in the red light, journal in her hands, throat sealed, prophecy screaming through her silence.
Her chest ached. She wanted to scream, to beg them not to break, but no sound came. Only the journal’s voice:
Witness must choose.
Naomi’s psalm faltered as she noticed Esabella’s trembling. Priscilla’s hum broke into a sob. Deborah rushed forward, notebook snapping open, eyes sharp with dread.
Eliana was there in a heartbeat, fire blazing as she caught Esabella’s shaking hands. “What did it write?”
Esabella shoved the book toward her, tears streaking her face.
Eliana read, her lips parting, fire flickering uncertain. She looked at Deborah, at Naomi, at Priscilla—and then at Asher, who stood in the doorway, storm already alive in his eyes.
Silence weighed heavier than thunder.
Esabella clutched her mother’s arm, her wide eyes screaming the truth she could not say:
The blood moon would not just test the Circle.
It would tear storm and fire apart.
And she—silent, trembling, cursed—would be forced to choose.