"Some magic doesn't burn, it beckons. And when it calls, even the proudest heart leans toward the flame."
ELLOWEN'S POV
The air in my study shifted subtly, but undeniably. The candle flames flickered, not from wind but from will. I glanced up from my scrolls, spine tensing, as a soft shimmer passed across the far wall. A thread of light unfurled, weaving through the air like silver mist drawn by thought alone.
Ancient magic. Fae magic. To be precise Caelan's magic. I stood slowly, heart thudding not with fear, but something strange and curious. The spell coiled midair, blooming into the shape of a sigil only those trained in the old ways would recognize: a crescent moon entwined with a vine of thorns.
It was the hollow weave magic. A subtle, forbidden thread of magic that can be used to send messages between Faes.
