Chapter 100 The Watchtower
Bella
The darker path does not immediately punish us. That, somehow, is worse, because I keep waiting for something with claws and teeth to jump out and ruin my day. We move slower than I’d like, the road narrowing beneath our boots as the trees crowd in closer. The light dims, gradually disappearing behind the foliage, and the air grows cooler, heavier with anticipation for what is to come. Damien walks at my side, his presence helping calm my nerves more than he knows. The dragon hums quietly beneath his skin and in my mind, alert but not agitated, like he’s pacing a boundary only he can see. Red scouts ahead with efficient silence, and soldiers spread out behind us in loose formation. Meanwhile, Ashlyn trails slowly enough to complain about it.
“If something comes at us today,” she mutters, “I’m suing the universe.”
Nothing does, thankfully. I'm not sure I could handle another universe mishap. Hours pass, and the path remains stubbornly uneventful, and by the time the light starts to turn into evening, my legs ache, and my shoulders burn with a familiar, bone-deep exhaustion. Adventure, I’ve decided, is vastly improved by chairs and hot chocolate.
Damien slows, scanning the horizon. “We’re not making the next camp.”
Red glances back. “I figured.”
“We’ll need shelter,” he continues. “Somewhere defensible.”
As if summoned by the word, the trees thin ahead, revealing a squat stone structure rising from the earth—an old, weathered watchtower. Moss creeps along its base and climbs the stones in green veins. The wooden door hangs slightly crooked, iron fittings rusted but intact. The structure itself is solid, wide enough to offer shelter, tall enough to see trouble coming. The soldiers relax a fraction at the sight of it. I, however, do not. I really hate towers.
I slow without meaning to, fingers curling reflexively into Damien’s sleeve.
He notices immediately, how could he not, with my nails practically digging into his skin. “Bella?”
“I don’t like it,” I say quietly.
He follows my gaze, assessing the tower with a tactician’s eye. “It’s abandoned. High ground. We’ll have visibility through the night.”
“I know,” I say. “That’s not what I mean.”
The stone rises against the darkening sky, silent and unblinking.
“I’ve lived in one before,” I add. “Well...I was trapped in one before, remember?”
Damien turns fully to me then, concern softening his expression. He steps closer, lowering his voice so only I can hear.
“You’ll be safe,” he says firmly. “I won’t let anything touch you. Not here. Not anywhere.”
The dragon agrees with a low, steady presence beneath his words, like a hand braced against my spine. I believe him but that doesn’t stop the unease from crawling higher. The soldiers move in first, Red leading the sweep with ruthless efficiency. The door creaks open under her push, dust puffing outward as torchlight cuts through the dim interior. Stone walls. A spiral staircase winding upward. No movement. No traps.
“Clear,” Red calls.
Damien nods, issuing quiet orders. The soldiers start filing in with practiced ease, gear stowed, torches placed. The tower fills with the low murmur of voices and the scrape of boots against stone.
Ashlyn peers up at the staircase, eyes lighting with something dangerously close to delight. “Ohhh. Top floor is mine.”
I snort. “Why would you want that?”
She grins. “You get to watch everyone. Judge them silently. Feel superior.”
“That’s horrifying,” I say.
“Exactly.”
Despite myself, I smile.
We climb the stairs together, the stone worn smooth beneath our feet. The higher we go, the more my stomach plummets. The top level opens into a circular room with narrow windows cut into the stone, offering a view of the road and trees beyond. It’s sparse. A few broken crates. A rotting chair. A table pushed against the far wall, half-collapsed under its own age. Ashlyn immediately begins rummaging.
“Do not touch anything cursed,” I warn.
She waves me off. “Relax. If it tries to eat me, I’ll stab it.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
Damien moves to one of the windows, scanning the treeline below, posture relaxed but alert. Red positions herself near the stairwell, ever-watchful. Gilfred clings to my shoulder, tail tight against my neck, eyes fixed on the room with unusual intensity.
He clicks softly.
“What is it?” I murmur, stroking his head.
He hisses, eyes focused on the far wall. I follow his gaze just as Ashlyn tugs a cloth free from something leaning against the stone, and the fabric falls away. A mirror stands revealed. It is tall, framed in dark, ornate metal etched with patterns that twist and coil like vines. The glass itself is pristine—no dust, no cracks, no warping despite the tower’s age. It catches the lantern light and reflects the room with unsettling clarity.
“Nope,” I say immediately.
Ashlyn doesn’t respond. She’s frozen in place, one hand still clutching the fallen cloth, eyes locked on the mirror like it’s reached inside her and taken hold.
“Ashlyn,” I say sharply. “Don’t.”
She blinks once. Swallows.
“I just—” Her voice sounds strange, too quiet. “It's beautiful.”
“It's creepy,” I mutter.
Gilfred hisses again, louder now, claws digging into my cloak as he leans away from the mirror with his body tense. Gilfred is an excellent judge of character, even in matters of decor, so yes, I'm trusting him completely.
“I don’t like that mirror,” I say firmly. “I really, really don’t like that mirror.”
Damien turns at the edge in my voice, gaze snapping to the far wall. The dragon stirs, heat rolling beneath his skin in immediate response.
“What is it?” he asks.
“A problem,” I reply.
Ashlyn takes a step closer to the mirror, but Damien moves faster.
“Don’t touch it,” he orders.
She stops—but she doesn’t look away. “I look… different,” she says softly.
My pulse spikes. “Different how?”
She frowns, confusion flickering across her face. “I don’t know. Just—clearer. Like everything makes sense for once.”
That’s the moment the unease crystallises into something colder. Mirrors don’t show clarity. They're supposed to show what you look like, that's it. I move forward, placing myself between Ashlyn and the mirror, very careful not to look into whatever hellscape that thing is.
“We’re covering it,” I say. “Right now.”
Ashlyn’s fingers twitch.
“Ashlyn,” I repeat, softer but no less firm. “Step back.”
She hesitates. Then, reluctantly, she does.
Damien joins me, his presence a solid wall at my side. “We’ll deal with it in the morning,” he says. “For now, no one looks at it.”
Gilfred scratches at my collar, very clearly telling me to run for the mountains now, far away from that thing. Red retrieves the fallen cloth and drapes it back over the frame, concealing the glass once more, but even covered, I can feel it...Waiting. The tower settles into uneasy silence, the lantern flickering as shadows stretch along the walls. Outside, night closes in, and the road disappears into darkness. Gilfred does not stop hissing, scowling, pulling at my clothes. I know he's trying to warn me...but it's okay as long as we don't look at it, right?