She who sees

The morning came slow and grey, the kind of light that didn't quite reach the corners of the cottage. The snow had softened into mist overnight, curling around the edges of the window like breath on glass. Aisha woke before dawn, not because she wanted to, but because something—someone—had called her name in her dreams.

Not Ruby.
Not Doreen.
A softer voice. Familiar.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes, and for a moment the world around her shimmered. The shadows at the front of her bed wavered, forming the outline of a woman's silhouette—tall, still, her hair like a dark halo around her shoulders.

Aisha's breath caught.
"...Mum?"

The shape didn't move closer, but the air grew warmer, pulsing faintly in rhythm with the pendant at Aisha's throat. A whisper brushed her ear—so faint she might have imagined it.

"The path before it breaks. Don't follow what you see. Follow what you feel."

And then it was gone. The mist, the warmth, the voice—all snuffed out like a candle.

Aisha sat motionless for a long time, heart hammering against her ribs. When she finally rose, the pendant was glowing faintly, steady as a heartbeat.

Downstairs, Doreen was already awake, muttering to herself as she sorted through a pile of yellowed papers and half-burned candles. The scent of rosemary and smoke filled the air.

"You heard her again," Doreen said without looking up. It wasn't a question.

Aisha froze. "How did you—?"

Her grandmother smiled faintly. "You think your mother could reach across the Veil without leaving a mark? The walls hum when she does."

"She said...something about follow what I feel."

Aisha hesitated, then added quietly, "what does that mean?"

Doreen's expression darkened. "It means she's trying to keep you from repeating his mistakes."

Aisha frowned. "My father?"

Doreen nodded slowly. "He followed signs. Symbols. Clues in books and ruins. But she—your mother—she followed her instincts. That's why she's still alive."

That word—still—hit like a spark.
"You mean you know she's alive?"

Doreen hesitated, then sighed. "I don't know where. The connection is faint. But when the storm first began, I felt her. A flicker. That's how I knew Sadon's shadow wasn't gone."

Ruby shimmered faintly near the window, her form more defined now than ever. "Your mother carries part of the key," she murmured. "A fragment hidden in her spirit. The legacy was split between three—father, mother, child—each one bound to the other."

Aisha turned sharply. "Three fragments? Then to complete it—"

"You'd need all three," Doreen said softly. "But to claim them means unbinding what your father sealed—and that seal wasn't meant to be broken easily."

The words sank in, heavy and electric.

"So..if I find the rest of the key, I find them?"

Doreen's silence was answer enough.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of movement. Aisha cleared the table, spread out the parchment, the dagger, and the pendant. Each object hummed in a different note, but when she brought them close together, something shifted in the air a faint vibration that made the floorboards creak.

Ruby leaned closer, eyes gleaming. "It's aligning. Whatever Sadon forged, your bloodline can undo. But power like that—"

"—has a cost," Aisha finished quietly. "You've said that before."

Ruby nodded. "I didn't say it was yours to pay."

The pendant flared suddenly, and the symbols on the parchment began to rearrange, curling into new patterns. Aisha grabbed a pen, tracing them before they faded. The words thar emerged weren't English. Not entirely. But they felt familiar.

"Between shadow and flame, the blood remembers.
Between silence and scream, the lock yields."

The air thrummed once, and then stilled.

Aisha looked up, breathing hard. "It's part of the key. I know it."

Doreen crossed herself quietly. "Then the first gate will open soon."

A shiver rippled through the room, faint but undeniable. The candlelight bent, flickering sideways instead of up, as though the air itself had tilted.

"Grandma?" Aisha whispered.

"Every gate has a guardian," Doreen said, her voice low. "And every guardian knows when it's being summoned."

Ruby's gaze darted toward the window. Outside, the mist had begun to thicken again, curling with unnatural purpose. Shapes moved within it—too tall, too deliberate to be wind.

Aisha stood slowly. "Then it's started."

By nightfall, the mist had swallowed the trees completely. The air felt heavier, charged, like the moments before a thunderstorm. Aisha sat by the window, pendant warm against her skin, the parchment folded neatly beside her. Ruby hovered nearby, less solid than before, her light dimming.

"I'll draw them," Ruby whispered. "The ones bound to the old power. You've awakened something that's been waiting for a century."

Aisha didn't look away from the window. "Then let them come."

Doreen watched her granddaughter—truly watched her—and for the first time, saw not the frightened girl she'd raised, but the one who might end what their line had begun.

"You remind me of her," she murmured. "Your mother. Always walking toward the storm, never away from it."

A faint smile touched Aisha's lips. "Maybe that's where the answers live."

Outside, a low hum filled the air—like distant thunder, except it was coming closer. The mist began to glow faintly at its edges, pulsing in rhythm with the pendant's light. Ruby straightened, her outline sharpening. "They've found you."

Aisha rose, the dagger in one hand, the pendant in the other. Her pulse matched its rhythm—fast, steady, certain.

"No," she said quietly, her voice steady as the mist pressed against the glass.
"I've found them."