Aurora woke up around 10 a.m., sunlight slipping through the curtains and casting soft patterns on her blanket. She sat up slowly, still a little dazed, and reached for her phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up—just the time.
No messages.
"Of course," she muttered to herself. "That's always the case."
With a sigh, she tossed the phone back and got up to freshen herself. After a quick wash and a change of clothes, she headed downstairs.
As she reached the last few steps, a familiar voice called out, "Surprise!"
She froze—then lit up instantly. "Rowan!"
Aurora rushed forward, throwing her arms around him. He laughed and hugged her back, ruffling her hair the way he always did.
"You still sleep like a rock, huh?" he teased, grinning.
"You're actually home!" she said, pulling away just enough to look at him. "You didn't tell me you were coming!"
"Wanted to see the look on your face,still the same kid." he said with a wink.
They made their way to the kitchen, falling into the easy rhythm only siblings share. Rowan leaned casually against the counter, while Aurora settled into one of the chairs, her hands curled around the warm mug he handed her.
She talked—fast, full of half-finished sentences and jumbled thoughts. He listened with a smile, nodding, asking questions, just the way he always did.
Somewhere in the middle of her ramble, she started to talk about the strange glow she had seen. The words came before she even realized.
"I don't know… there was this glow and—"
Suddenly, the watch on her wrist flared hot. Burning hot.
"Ah—!" she gasped, standing up abruptly and clutching her wrist.
Rowan's face turned serious. "What happened?"
"Nothing," she said too quickly, hiding the watch under her sleeve. "Just—burned my tongue. Coffee's hotter than I thought."
He raised an eyebrow but didn't push. "Here," he said, placing another napkin beside her. "Be careful with your hands too."
She gave a faint smile, heart still thudding.
"Where are Mom and Dad?" she asked, desperate to change the subject.
"Off to work. Same as always," he said, taking a sip from his own mug. "But I'm here. So… spill everything."
She laughed weakly but nodded.
Still, something lingered. A weight in the air.
She turned her head toward the window—slowly. A strange stillness had crept in, as if the wind itself held its breath.
No one was there. But something was.
A faint hum beneath her skin. A pull she couldn't explain. The watch had cooled, but it felt alive again.
Caelum.
She couldn't see him—but she could feel him. Somehow, impossibly, he was near.
---
That night, sleep didn't come.
Aurora lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the silence in her room broken only by the soft ticking of the old wall clock. Her thoughts spun in loops—Caelum's words, the way he looked at her burn, the strange way he vanished.
"I'm not just your protector. I'm your consequence."
She sat up, restless. The air felt heavier than before. She glanced at the watch.
Cold. Still.
And then—
A whisper.
So faint, she wasn't sure if she imagined it.
"Aurora..."
Her breath caught.
She looked around. "Caelum?"
No response.
But the room was colder. As if the warmth had been drained from it entirely.
The watch began to glow—not golden like before, but a dull, sickly red. The burn on her wrist began to sting again.
Then—she felt it.
Something was here.
Not just watching.
Moving.
The shadows near her window shifted—lengthening, reaching.
A dark outline began to form. Not solid. Smoke-like. Its presence sent a wave of dread crawling up her spine.
The whisper came again, harsher this time. Not Caelum's voice. Not even human.
"You should not be awake…"
Aurora stumbled back, heart slamming against her ribs. The thing moved, a tendril of black mist inching toward her—
Suddenly, the watch flared.
A golden light burst from it, flooding the room.
The shadow hissed and recoiled—but didn't vanish.
"Aurora!"
Caelum's voice. This time, real.
He appeared just beside her, fire erupting from his palms as he stepped between her and the shadow.
"You do not belong here," he growled.
The shadow hissed again, then melted away into the floor like smoke into cracks.
Silence.
Caelum turned to her, eyes burning. "You called it?"
Aurora shook her head. "No. I didn't. I—I didn't even know what that was."
Caelum didn't answer.
He looked toward the place where the shadow had vanished. His jaw clenched.
"It knows you now," he said quietly. "And it will come again."
Aurora's voice trembled. "What… was that thing?"
Caelum didn't meet her eyes. "A shadow-walker. It slips through cracks when the veil is thin."
"But… why me?" she whispered.
"You don't understand what you are yet," Caelum said, stepping away from the spot where the thing had vanished. "But they do."
She blinked. "They?"
"There are forces far older than Eldridge Hall," he said, low. "Some want to guide you. Others want to consume you."
Aurora sat down slowly on the bed, hand still over the mark on her wrist. "You said I'm your… consequence."
Caelum hesitated.
"You're not ready to know what that means," he said at last. "But I will tell you this—"
He turned, eyes glowing faintly in the dark.
"Your existence changed everything. And not just for me."
Aurora sat motionless, the mark on her wrist pulsing faintly under her skin. It no longer hurt, but it felt… alive. Like something had been etched into her, something she couldn't see—only feel.
Caelum stood by the window, watching the shadows like he didn't trust they were truly gone.
"Why do they want me?" she asked again, softer this time. "I didn't do anything. I didn't even ask for this."
Caelum didn't turn around.
"You exist and that is more than enough." he said.
"What does that even mean?" she demanded.
"Tell me something real, Caelum. I deserve that much."
He sighed—long and low—and finally turned to face her.
"I can't give you the whole truth yet. But I'll give you a piece."
He stepped closer, crouching beside her bed so they were almost eye level.
"You're not just anyone, Aurora. Eldridge Hall didn't bring you there by mistake. It doesn't make mistakes. That shadow that came tonight? It crossed through the veil not because it could… but because you called it."
"What? I didn't call anything—"
"You're tied to both light and dark," he said, voice steady. "You're something rare. Something the Hall hasn't seen in generations. That's why I was assigned to you."
Aurora swallowed hard. "To protect me."
"To make sure you survive long enough to choose what you become."
The weight of that sentence settled like a stone in her chest.
Choose.
Not discover, not learn—but choose.
"What happens if I choose wrong?" she whispered.
Caelum stood, his shadow stretching behind him.
"Then you're no longer the only one in danger."
The watch glowed once—softly, golden again. As if it agreed with him.
He turned to go.
"Wait," she said, standing quickly. "Are you just going to disappear again?"
Caelum paused. "Only if you want me to."
She didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she looked at him—not the fire, not the fear—but him.
"No," she said at last. "Stay. Just for a while."
For the first time, a faint smile flickered at the corner of his mouth.
"I will. But only if you try to get some sleep. You'll need it."
Aurora climbed into bed slowly, mind still buzzing with everything he'd said. Caelum sat in the corner, half in shadow, the flicker of protective fire still in his palm.
And as her eyes drifted closed, the last thing she saw was the glow of her watch—and his eyes, watching her not with indifference…
…but with a quiet promise.