She was sixteen when the voices changed.
Lucien had heard the whispers in the Shaman's book since she was fifteen. At first, they were faint—like echoes behind a closed door. But that night, under a moonless sky, the voices screamed.
The fire she lit in the woods should've brought warmth. Instead, it flickered cold blue, casting long, twisted shadows that didn't move when she did.
The book rested on her knees. Its leather binding pulsed gently, like a heartbeat. It hadn't spoken in weeks—not since the last full moon. She thought maybe it was done with her.
"Don't open it here…"
The voice that came wasn't hers, and it wasn't the usual whisper. It was trembling. Desperate. And it came from inside the flames.
But curiosity always beat fear.
Lucien opened the book.
The pages didn't flip—they shuddered. And then turned by themselves, stopping on one that bled red ink through the parchment.
A name appeared:
Jonas Rook
She didn't know the name. But her hands shook, her stomach turned, and a weight settled on her chest. A memory she didn't have. A guilt she didn't understand.
"He's dying," the book whispered.
"But he's not yours to save."
Lucien snapped the book shut. The flames went out instantly, and the clearing dropped into silence—too sudden, too empty.
She didn't sleep that night. And two days later, in the alley behind the butcher's shed, she saw him:
A scrawny kid, covered in dirt, hiding behind crates and shivering.
He grinned through cracked lips and said,
"You look like a ghost."
And then he laughed.
Lucien's eyes turned white. Just for a second.
A flash.
She stepped back.
Why him?
Why that name?
He coughed into his sleeve.
He was sick. So sick. But the kind of sick that didn't feel ordinary.
She sat down beside him, not knowing what she was doing, only knowing it was already done.
That night, she whispered to the book:
"He's just a kid…"
But the book stayed silent.
It had made its choice.
Jonas wouldn't stop talking.
Lucien sat on the edge of the abandoned greenhouse roof, arms crossed, staring at the dusk-colored sky. Jonas sat beside her, swinging his legs like a bored schoolkid who'd just cheated death.
"You touched me and now I feel weird," he said.
"Like… not sick. Like my organs got baptized or something."
Lucien didn't answer. Her eyes were still pale, recovering from the vision.
"Do you do that to all strangers or just the good-looking ones?" Jonas smirked.
She rolled her eyes.
"You were dying."
"Still am, technically," he said, tapping his chest. "Just slower now. You stalled the reaper or something. He's probably pissed."
She finally looked at him. "You shouldn't be this calm about it."
"You shouldn't glow like a haunted candle either, but here we are."
She hated that he made her laugh. Just a little. Quiet. Unwanted.
Jonas leaned back, arms behind his head. "So what, you're a witch? A healer? An angel that reads cursed bedtime stories?"
Lucien shook her head. "I'm no angel."
"Cool. Those are overrated anyway."
"But hey… for a sixteen-year-old, you've got some pretty insane side gigs."
She frowned. "You're thirteen."
"Thirteen and a half," he corrected proudly. "And apparently, that's old enough to nearly die and get saved by a spooky forest girl with glowy eyes and a talking book."
Lucien blinked.
"The book didn't talk."
"Sure," Jonas said. "But it looked at me. I think it blinked. I'm not okay."
Silence settled for a moment, heavy but not awkward. Just real. The kind that says we're both too young for this, but it's happening anyway.
Lucien stood up. "You should go home."
"I don't have one," Jonas replied. "But you knew that already, didn't you?"
She paused. Didn't answer.
He sat up, his tone suddenly softer. "You got a name?"
"…Lucien."
"Cool. I'm Jonas. Jonas the Gravedigger."
She tilted her head. "Why the hell would you call yourself that?"
"Cause after you touched me, I saw a hole with my name on it—and then it closed up. So yeah. That counts."
"Besides… it sounds badass."
Lucien couldn't argue with that. Not really.
"Alright then, Jonas the Gravedigger."
"Let's see if fate's as scared of you as you think."
And with that, she turned and walked into the trees. The book pulsed against her side.
Behind her, Jonas called out—
"Hey! If I start growing wings or coughing up spells, I'm suing you!"
She almost smiled.
Almost.