10-15-2025, 12:40 AM
Nora exhaled, long and slow, watching the door close behind Eliot. The air in the safehouse still felt strange like it hadn’t decided whether to settle or break open again. Her fingers flexed at her side, her mind already spiraling through what he’d said: teacher, Brotherhood, secrets.
Claude’s voice broke through her thoughts.
Her first instinct was to wave him off. “You’re right, it’s not important right now.” The words left her before she’d thought them through, reflex more than malice. She wanted him to rest, wanted him to stop talking about symbols and prophecies while her brain was still sifting through everything else Eliot had dropped in their laps.
But Claude didn’t let it go. He never did.
She turned toward him reluctantly, arms folded as she listened. His tone was patient, his logic crisp, and even through the exhaustion she could hear that little spark of curiosity that always got him going. Context, he said. Cycles. Cataclysms.
She nodded, though her mind was a mile away. “The cataclysms… yeah, maybe,” she murmured absently, eyes drifting to the window. Outside, the streetlights shone, and she wondered if the Atharim had ever truly understood how many gods they were hunting and sheltering.
Eliot’s light still burned behind her eyelids. He’d used it casually and effortlessly. Not as a weapon, not even as a warning. Just as proof. There had to be more like him. More hiding in plain sight. How many of us are there really? How many godmarked inside the Atharim, playing at being mortal hunters?
Her mouth twisted at the irony. Policing the brethren, indeed.
And then the Brotherhood came back into focus. If Eliot wanted her to investigate them, she’d have to find a way to get close without tipping her hand. She could do that. She’d always wanted to work in the field; it was the kind of assignment she’d once dreamed about before her life had turned inside out.
Now it was finally happening.
Her thoughts drifted again to Claude: her brother, a channeler, like her. She didn’t even have time to decide how strange that was. If they could find this Nox Durante, maybe Claude wouldn’t end up like the others she’d read about. Maybe neither of them would.
She frowned slightly, trying to recall the names Eliot had given. Kallisti. The Almaz. They didn’t mean anything to her, but maybe Grym would know. Grym always knew the places normal people avoided.
Her brow furrowed as another thought struck her. Would they tell Grym about Claude? About all of it? The idea of sharing the secret tightened something in her chest. Grym would handle it, sure, but at what cost? Maybe it was safer if it stayed just between them for now.
“Claude,” she said finally, pulling her thoughts back to the present. “You’re probably right. The pattern isn’t linear. Maybe it’s never been. I’ll look at the past, see what I can find.”
Her voice softened then, quieter, thoughtful. “I guess I’m going to the Brotherhood tomorrow… you go find this Durante guy?”
Claude’s voice broke through her thoughts.
Her first instinct was to wave him off. “You’re right, it’s not important right now.” The words left her before she’d thought them through, reflex more than malice. She wanted him to rest, wanted him to stop talking about symbols and prophecies while her brain was still sifting through everything else Eliot had dropped in their laps.
But Claude didn’t let it go. He never did.
She turned toward him reluctantly, arms folded as she listened. His tone was patient, his logic crisp, and even through the exhaustion she could hear that little spark of curiosity that always got him going. Context, he said. Cycles. Cataclysms.
She nodded, though her mind was a mile away. “The cataclysms… yeah, maybe,” she murmured absently, eyes drifting to the window. Outside, the streetlights shone, and she wondered if the Atharim had ever truly understood how many gods they were hunting and sheltering.
Eliot’s light still burned behind her eyelids. He’d used it casually and effortlessly. Not as a weapon, not even as a warning. Just as proof. There had to be more like him. More hiding in plain sight. How many of us are there really? How many godmarked inside the Atharim, playing at being mortal hunters?
Her mouth twisted at the irony. Policing the brethren, indeed.
And then the Brotherhood came back into focus. If Eliot wanted her to investigate them, she’d have to find a way to get close without tipping her hand. She could do that. She’d always wanted to work in the field; it was the kind of assignment she’d once dreamed about before her life had turned inside out.
Now it was finally happening.
Her thoughts drifted again to Claude: her brother, a channeler, like her. She didn’t even have time to decide how strange that was. If they could find this Nox Durante, maybe Claude wouldn’t end up like the others she’d read about. Maybe neither of them would.
She frowned slightly, trying to recall the names Eliot had given. Kallisti. The Almaz. They didn’t mean anything to her, but maybe Grym would know. Grym always knew the places normal people avoided.
Her brow furrowed as another thought struck her. Would they tell Grym about Claude? About all of it? The idea of sharing the secret tightened something in her chest. Grym would handle it, sure, but at what cost? Maybe it was safer if it stayed just between them for now.
“Claude,” she said finally, pulling her thoughts back to the present. “You’re probably right. The pattern isn’t linear. Maybe it’s never been. I’ll look at the past, see what I can find.”
Her voice softened then, quieter, thoughtful. “I guess I’m going to the Brotherhood tomorrow… you go find this Durante guy?”
![[Image: Shield-removebg-preview.png]](https://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2025/01/Shield-removebg-preview.png)