Before You Read Chapter 12

Take a moment before you step in.

This chapter does not roar. It hums.
It waits.
There is a silence inside its bones that speaks louder than thunder.

The boy, the one found at Master Dan’s house, is not what he seems.
His presence unsettles even the strongest among them, and that unease is no mistake.

Eric is tense.
Alec is watchful.
And Max begins to feel something stir beneath her skin that is not just power, but prophecy.

And then…
He arrives.

The one who always watched.
The one who waited.
The one who only speaks when it matters.

This chapter marks a threshold.
One, you will feel, even if you do not yet understand why.

Let it unfold. Slowly. With wonder.
Some introductions were written into the stars.

Master waves a hand at us, his voice calm but firm. “Settle down first. Someone brew some tea.”

The scent of steeping leaves fills the air as we sink into our seats.

Samuel, Jamey and I decline, but the rest accept a cup. The earthy bitterness of Master’s green tea is something I never learned to stomach.

He takes a slow sip, his gaze sweeping over us as we wait, breaths held in unspoken anticipation. “Well,” he begins, setting his Celadon cup down with a quiet clink. “You were right, he was neither a demon nor a dark entity.”

Another sip. Another pause.

He extends his cup for a refill, his fingers drumming lightly against the porcelain. “He could be one of two things.”

His gaze drops to the floor, his expression unreadable. “A forsaken soul, trapped between realms, manipulated or cursed to serve as a vessel for cryptic messages.”

No one says a word, listening like we’re in school. Only now, we’re grading whether a ghost boy is cursed, chosen, or just really bad at introductions.

He exhales through his nose. “The tear… could signify his final release.”

A murmur of unease ripples through us, but he raises a hand, silencing it before it can grow.

“Or,” he continues, “he was a Divine Messenger in disguise.”

His eyes flick between us, searching for understanding. “Not all messengers come in light and warmth. Some appear in corrupted forms, testing those who seek the truth. The tear could have been his last moment of humanity breaking through.”

A thick silence settles over the room. No one moves. No one speaks.
I can almost hear the weight of our thoughts pressing against the air.

Alec is the first to break it. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, voice steady. “I think it was the latter.”

Master picks up his cup again, swirling the liquid inside. “Pray, do tell. Why do you think so?”

Alec doesn’t hesitate.

He perches at the edge of his seat, eyes sharp with certainty.

“When I held him in my arms at the road, he was cold. Not just cold, vacant. Like the body had been emptied long before we found him.”

He pauses, frowning.

“It felt… positioned. As if something moved him just far enough to be seen, then stepped back.”

Something sharp twists in my stomach. I raise a hand instinctively, like a student seeking permission. “Yeah, but… wouldn’t that fit a forsaken soul too?” My brow furrows.

Then it clicks.

I slap the heel of my palm against my forehead. “Wait… no. You’re right. A forsaken soul wouldn’t have known that language.”

I glance around at the others, realization settling over me like a heavy cloak. “That boy wasn’t just relaying a message. He was guiding us.”

A moment of clarity. But even clarity comes with shadows.

I look back at Master Dan. “But… if that’s true, if he was sent to help us, then who sent him?”

That question hangs heavier than the silence.

“If he was forsaken, someone used him. If he was divine… someone chose us.”

No one answers. Not right away.

And that, somehow, is worse.

Samantha grimaces beside me, arms crossed as she sinks into the seat. “If we’re saying he was sent to guide us with that cryptic message, and factoring in what Thania mentioned about the Sepulcher of Echoes, then we have a lot to figure out.”

Master Dan rises from his chair without a word and strides toward the cupboard.
He pulls out a small handheld vacuum and, without looking at us, switches it on and begins sweeping up the remains of the boy.

His voice cuts through the low hum. “What’s this about the Sepulcher of Echoes?”

We wait until he settles back into his seat, then lay everything out: the ordeal with Aleesha and her demon, Jamey’s disappearance, Alec’s explosive power, the sudden surge in our abilities… and me.

The Living Scripture.

Master listens in silence, his face unreadable. Finally, he exhales through his nose, his fingers tapping the armrest.

“The Sepulcher of Echoes is not a place you want to step into lightly,” he says, the edge in his voice sharp enough to draw blood. “It has taken more than it’s ever given and it’s tied to an older prophecy. One most have forgotten or deliberately buried, about a woman whose markings would awaken not from study… but sorrow. One whose words would not be read, but lived.”

He taps the armrest. “They say she would not find her path through learning… but through remembering.”

He pauses, then continues more softly, “If I may suggest, follow the boy’s lead first. Find the one who knows it all.”

His sharp gaze scans each of us. “Do any of you have an idea who this person might be?”

A collective shake of heads. The answer is obvious, but I say it anyway. “No. So our next best bet is finding someone who does.”

Across the room, Samuel, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet, sticks out his tongue, sets his tea down with a soft clink, and fishes a candy from his pocket.

He peels back the wrapper with deliberate slowness before speaking. “I think I might have an idea.”

Every head turns toward him.

“All prayer warriors are part of a chat group,” Samuel says, unwrapping a candy like he’s not about to drop a bomb. “There’s this one older guy, he’s been around longer than any of us. We just call him the Scribe.”

He pops the candy into his mouth, tone casual. “Never gave a real name. He’s the one who taught most of us how to read the ancient glyphs.”

He pauses, rolling the candy over his tongue. “Says he was trained by someone who ‘walked with God before Heaven closed its doors.’”

The air tightens, but Samuel shrugs like he just commented on the weather.

“If we drop something in the group, someone’s bound to have info on this ‘one who knows it all.’”

He flicks his eyes toward us, unfazed. “Only question is… what exactly do we post?”

I glance around the room, waiting to see whose lightbulb flickers first.

Eric leans forward, fingers steepled. “Post the exact message the boy gave us,” he says, eyes dark with thought. “And see where it leads.”

A beat of silence follows, too long.

Alec narrows his eyes. “That move could backfire. What if the Judicars see it? Or worse … hidden enemies we are unaware of?”

The air tightens. Even the candy seems to stop rolling in Samuel’s mouth.

“That’s the point,” I say, locking eyes with Alec. “If they bite, we’ll know who’s watching.”

Master Dan doesn’t interrupt, but the slight lift of his brow says he approves, and that he’s worried.

After posting the message and assuring Master Dan we’d keep him updated, we finally headed home.

Exhaustion clings to us like a second skin. Heavy in our steps, etched into our faces, dulling the very air around us. No one says it out loud, but we all silently agree: tomorrow will be a lazy day. A day to sleep in, to breathe, to wait.

We didn’t have to wait long.

Samuel comes barreling into the dining room, his phone waving wildly in the air. “We have feedback!”

The weight in the room lifts instantly. Backs straighten, eyes sharpen. I barely manage to swallow the last bite of my croissant before snapping, “Well? Don’t just stand there like an idiot who won a prize, spit it out!”

He grins, eyes gleaming. “The message was posted by a trustworthy ally and only to me. It says…” He clears his throat for effect. “…‘The person you seek can be found in the Labyrinth of Books.’”

Jamey shuffles in, still rubbing sleep from his eyes, barely registering the excitement buzzing around the table.

He mutters something unintelligible before reaching for the coffee pot. “Labyrinth of Books,” he repeats groggily. “I’ve been there before. The place is massive, filled with scribes.” He takes a slow sip, then frowns. “How the hell are we supposed to know who we’re looking for?”

Samuel claps a hand on Jamey’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
“Already ahead of you, bro. The next part of the message says…” He glances at his phone again. “…‘He will find you. He knows you are coming.’”

My hand jerks, knocking my coffee mug against the table. Coffee spills over the edge, seeping into the grain.

“I am so tired of all the maybes and mysteries,” I mutter, jaw tight. “Now it’s someone who will find us? Someone who already knows we’re coming?”

I shove back from the table, my chair screeching across the floor as I rise. “It’s always someone, something, somewhere…”

I slam both fists down, the sound cracking through the room. “Some this or some that, and somehow, we’re the last to know!”

Eric exhales, pushing a napkin toward me with deliberate calm.

“Well, that settles it,” he says dryly. “No day off, then. Just riddles, ghost kids, and someone who apparently knows we’re coming.”

He leans back, eyes narrowing.

“Maybe we should start by finding this guy who ‘knows it all.’ If he does… maybe he can help us cut through all the ifs and buts, before they bury us.”

We decide to depart in two days, it gives us enough time to prepare our gear and steel our minds for the task ahead.