Zeph's POV
My entire body went rigid, and my fingers fumbled at the knot binding our legs together as if untying it fast enough would sever whatever connection Sage was talking about.
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” i muttered, keeping my eyes locked on the rope.
“I do,” Sage said, his voice firm. “You feel it too.”
I scoffed, finally freeing herself. I took a step back, but even without the rope binding them, i still felt connected to him in a way i couldn’t explain.
No. I refused to accept this.
“I don’t feel anything,” i lied, brushing off my gown. “And I’m done playing games.”
Sage studied me carefully, like he could see straight through me. “Running won’t change the truth.”
“I’m not running,” i snapped, spinning on my heel. “I’m walking away.”
Without another word, i strode off into the festival, ignoring the way my heart clenched with every step I took.
Why did it hurt?
Why did rejecting the idea of being his mate feel like i had just lost something important?
“I think I am going crazy. That’s the only explanation.”
Shoving the thought aside, I focused on finding Ashral. If anyone could help clear my mind, it was my aunt.
I found her among a group of women, laughter spilling from their lips as they exchanged gifts. Ashral’s face was brighter than I had seen since I had been with her.
She noticed my presence and motioned for me to come closer.
“Zeph, come meet these wonderful women. I have to admit, I’m actually enjoying
this festival.”
I hesitated. I had come looking for guidance, but seeing Ashral so at ease, I didn’t have the heart to pull her away. Whatever worries I had could wait.
Forcing a small smile, I shook my head. “I’ll let you have your fun." I just wanted to check in.
Ashral raised a brow but didn’t press further. I turned and slipped away, my thoughts still in turmoil.
The library. I needed answers, and I knew exactly where to look.
The noise of the festival faded behind me as I entered the vast room of books. Making my way to the shelf where Sage had retrieved the book before, I carefully pulled it out and opened it.
My breath caught in my throat as the words on the aged pages sent a chill down my spine.
“The wielder of this power should find their strength tied to the emotions of those around them. Their voice, an instrument of devastation. When charged with sorrow, rage, or despair, the echoes of their cry shall lay waste to all in their path.”
My hands trembled as I turned the page.
“Over time, the power will grow, uncontrollable. Destruction shall follow, and with it, the world may fall to its knees.”
No.
No, no, no.
“This can’t be about me.”
But deep down, I knew.
The more powerful the emotions, the more devastating my scream could be.
I slammed the book shut, my breath unsteady.
This was exactly what the prophecy spoke of. One who would bring the world to its knees.
“And I...am the person the prophecy speaks of.”
A heavy weight settled in my chest.
If my mother were there, she would have told me what to do, how to stop it—how to not become the monster this book describes.
But she wasn’t.
And I was completely, terrifyingly alone.
My fingers clenched around the book as a flood of memories surged through my mind—dreams I had dismissed as meaningless nightmares.
The blood. The destruction. The screams.
I had seen herself standing amidst the ruins of a battlefield, bodies strewn across the ground. In those dreams, I wasn’t horrified. I wasn’t grieving. I was laughing. A ruthless, merciless force of destruction.
My own voice had torn through the air, an unstoppable force that shattered everything in its path. In those dreams, I enjoyed it.
“No...” I shook her head violently, backing away as if she could escape the images in her mind. “That’s not me." I could never do that.”
I wasn’t a killer. I wasn’t some heartless monster.
Desperate, I reopened the book, scanning for anything—anything—that could contradict what I had just read.
But instead, my eyes landed on something even worse.
"When power erupts beyond control, the wielder will cease to be themselves. They will become a mindless force of destruction, incapable of reason, consumed only by the need to destroy. They will not recognize friend or foe."
My breath caught.
No consciousness. No control. Just destruction.
Panic clawed at my chest, stealing my air. The walls of the library seemed to close in, the weight of the prophecy pressing against me like an unrelenting force.
I couldn’t breathe.
My heart pounded wildly, my vision blurring.
And then—
A deep, unsettling tremor rumbled along the floor beneath me. The bookshelves quivered. Dust trickled down from the ceiling.
The more I panicked, the worse it got.
The ground shook and the windows rattled.
Something inside me was responding to my fear— reacting to it.
“No... stop... please stop—”
My voice wavered, but it was too late. The library shuddered violently, a deafening crack splitting through the air as one of the shelves collapsed behind me.
I gasped, stumbling back as more books tumbled from the shelves, crashing to the ground in chaotic bursts of paper and sound.
I pressed my hands to my head, trying to will it all away, but the panic was suffocating, my mind a storm of terror and denial.
If I couldn’t even control myself now—
Then what would happen when the power truly erupted?