“What are you talking about?”

  Imogen flipped the journal open, pages rustling in a hurry until she found the entry. Her fingers trembled as she turned it around and held it out to Malachite.

  Sorya, the Queen’s personal guard, just told me she’s three months along. We’ve bonded over fear, over hope, over names. She’s brave and steady, and I trust her in ways I can’t explain. I hope one day you meet her child… and that the two of you become best friends

  Malachite stared at the page.

  Then at Imogen.

  Then back at the page.

  Her mouth parted, but no words came.

  Silence hung heavy between them, not uncomfortable, but stunned. Reverent.

  “…Looks like they had plans for us long before we did,” Imogen said softly.

  Malachite’s voice cracked when she finally spoke. “They really did.”

  She stepped further into the room and sat on the rug. Her movements were slow, deliberate like if she moved too fast, the whole moment might break apart.

  “I still can’t believe it,” she murmured. “She never talked about any of this. Not to me. My father made her into a ghost long before she was gone.”

  Imogen sat across from her, placing the journal gently between them.

  “She’s not a ghost here,” she said softly. “She’s on every page.”

  Malachite didn’t respond. Her hand drifted to the pouch at her hip, and from it, she pulled out a small crystal, round-edged and raw, the color of pale copper and dusk. She turned it over slowly in her palm, the light catching faint traces of green shimmer veined through the stone.

  Imogen tilted her head, intrigued. “What’s that?”

  Malachite stared at it, like it was the only solid thing in the world. “I don’t know exactly. I’ve had it since I was a kid. My father gave it to me after my mother died. Said she wanted me to have it.” She paused, thumb brushing the edge. “It helps when things feel too big.”

  Imogen leaned forward, eyes fixed on the crystal. “It’s beautiful. It looks like… it’s humming.”

  Malachite gave a dry smile. “It does that sometimes. Especially when I’m stressed.”

  Imogen looked from the crystal to her. “Do you think it’s tied to her? Your mom?”

  Malachite shrugged. “I used to think it was just a rock. Then it started glowing whenever I got hurt. Or scared. Or… angry.” She chuckled softly. “At this point, I think it’s just as confused as I am.”

  “Maybe it’s a piece of her magic,” Imogen whispered. “A part of her that couldn’t stay, so it stayed with you.”

  Malachite didn’t answer. Her fingers closed gently around the stone.

  “…What else does the journal say?” she asked, voice low. “About them. About us.”

  Imogen reached for the pages again, “Let’s find out.”

  Journal Entry – 14th Day of Emberfall

  Sorya’s due any day now. But something’s… wrong. She won’t say it outright, but I can feel it in the way she avoids my eyes, the way her hands shake when she thinks I’m not looking. She used to hum when she walked the halls, but now she just listens like she’s waiting for something to strike. She keeps touching her stomach, not like a mother cherishing the life within her, but like she’s afraid someone might take it. I asked if she was in pain but she lied. I know she lied.

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  Journal Entry – 1st Day of Stormrise

  The sky turned red last night.

  Not sunset. Not clouds. Red. Like blood and magic spilled across the heavens. The dragons were restless. Some refused to shift. Others couldn’t shift back.

  I’ve never seen the mountain spirits go quiet before.

  Imogen had been born just the day before. She slept through the chaos like a flame curled inside a lantern, unaware of the storm outside. I told no one but Sorya and the Queen. I hid her, wrapped in binding charms and song-threaded blankets.

  Something unnatural moved through the kingdom that night. I don’t know what it was… only that I’d never felt more afraid to be a mother.

  Journal Entry – 6th Day of Stormrise

  Sorya reappeared today.

  She said she’d given birth the night before. Said the child came quietly. She smiled when she spoke, but it didn’t reach her eyes and she looked far too steady. Her armor still had blood on it. Her hands were cut. But her voice was calm.

  She didn’t look like someone who just brought life into the world. She looked like someone who’d barely survived a war no one saw.

  She wouldn’t tell me where she’d been. Only that the child was safe… and that the child was strong.

  I didn’t press. I wish I had.

  Journal Entry – 10th Day of Stormrise

  There’s word that two healers and one of the elder scribes vanished in the night. The guards are saying they fled, cowards who couldn't stomach the pressure of war.

  But I don’t believe that. One of those healers tended to me through Imogen’s labor. Another helped Sorya through her early pregnancy. They were loyal.

  Now they’re gone.

  Someone is sweeping tracks in the ash.

  Journal Entry – 22nd Day of Stormrise

  They met today.

  Imogen wouldn’t take her eyes off of little Malachite, up until they were set next to each other. Sorya’s little ember was wide-eyed and silent, all copper curls and storm-colored eyes. Imogen sat beside her like she’d known her in another life.

  When it came time to leave, Imogen screamed. Sobbed, really. We tried to calm her, but she kept reaching for Malachite like her heart was breaking. And when Malachite was carried away, she cried too. No sound, just big, quiet tears.

  Something ancient lives in those girls. I don't know what it is, but I pray I live long enough to understand it.

  Imogen's voice quieted as she finished reading the last entry aloud, her fingertips lingering on the page like it might vanish if she let go.

  Across from her, Malachite sat very still, eyes fixed on the journal, lips slightly parted, breath coming slow and uneven. The room felt heavy again, but not in a quiet way. In a ticking way. Like something ancient and waiting had just been disturbed.

  Her fingers twitched around the crystal in her palm.

  “That can’t be right,” she murmured. “I… I don’t remember any of that. I was barely a month old and my father never- he said she died after I was born. That she didn’t-” Her voice cracked. “He never said anything about the red sky. Or her disappearing. Or…”

  The crystal in her hand pulsed softly.

  A low hum vibrated through her bones not loud, not bright, but alive. The veins of green shimmer inside it sparked faintly, swirling like breath caught in stone.

  Malachite flinched, looking down at it like it had just spoken aloud.

  “…It’s never done that before.”

  Imogen’s eyes widened. “It reacted to the journal.”

  Malachite slowly turned the crystal in her palm, as if trying to see beneath the surface. Her brows drew together. “Or maybe it reacted to her. To my mother’s name. Or mine.”

  Imogen leaned closer, gaze flicking between the glowing crystal and Malachite’s face. “Do you feel anything?”

  Malachite opened her mouth then hesitated. Her throat worked around the words.

  “I feel…” She shook her head. “I don’t know. Like something’s waking up. Like something’s… remembering. But it’s not me.”

  The hum grew a little louder, not menacing, but insistent. Like a thread being tugged deep in the earth.

  “Gods,” she whispered. “What if this thing isn’t just magic? What if it’s a lock?”

  Imogen’s breath caught. “Then what happens when it opens?”

  Malachite met her gaze and for the first time since she walked into the room, she looked scared.

  “I think we’re going to find out sooner rather than later.”