MARKED FOR PRETEND - Chapter 52: Chapter 52

Chelsea hit the ground hard knees scraping across stone, lungs dragging in air that felt too dry, too thin, too real.
The light vanished behind her like a curtain falling.
Kaden landed beside her, silent and tense, already half shifted . His eyes scanned the treeline as his body shielded hers.
But no one attacked.
No whispers. No crashing footsteps. No Keepers.
Just… stillness.
They were back.
But everything felt wrong.
⸻
The trees surrounding Duskveil weren’t how she remembered them. They were taller. Tighter. The air tasted like metal and rain, and even the birds held their breath.
Chelsea stood slowly, legs shaking beneath her.
Her mark still glowed faintly.
Nyra was awake now — quiet, but alert.
“We’re home,” she whispered.
“Are we?” Kaden’s voice was low, suspicious. “Or did we bring part of Kaelvarin back with us?”
⸻
They walked the familiar path toward the pack’s outer ridge — except it didn’t feel familiar anymore.
The ground was warm. The air charged.
The veil between realms had thinned. Chelsea could feel it pressing against her skin like mist, waiting to be pulled open again.
“This place remembers you,” Kaden muttered.
“I don’t think it ever forgot.”
⸻
The moment they stepped beyond the trees, someone shouted.
“Alpha!”
Kaden tensed. Chelsea turned sharply —just in time to see Bevy staggering toward them, half carried by two guards.
Her face was pale. One of her sleeves was soaked in dried blood, and her magic flickered weakly around her like dying embers.
“Bevy—” Chelsea rushed forward.
“You’re alive,” Bevy breathed, eyes wide. “I wasn’t sure you’d make it out.”
“We shouldn’t have,” Kaden muttered. “Kaelvarin was collapsing.”
“It’s not just Kaelvarin,” Bevy said. “You’ve been gone a week, Chelsea. And in that time…”
She glanced behind her — to the great hall.
“They came.”
“Who?” Chelsea asked.
“Wolves from the fractured packs. And witches from outside the borderlands. Some say they heard your name in the wind. Others just… felt something shift.”
Bevy looked at her, eyes heavy.
“They’re not here to serve you, Chelsea. Most don’t even know who you are.”
“Then why are they here?”
“To decide if they should follow you.”
⸻
They entered the hall.
Dozens of strangers turned.
Some were warriors in foreign cloaks. Some bore arcane tattoos. One woman had no pupils — just silver eyes glowing faintly. A boy near the back wore three rings of ash around his wrist: a sign of the Hollow Kin. Another had moon-dust woven into his hair.
They all stared. At her.
Not with kindness.
Not even curiosity.
But calculation.
⸻
A very old woman stepped forward. Skin like dried bark. Eyes like pearls.
“You walked Kaelvarin,” she rasped. “And the realm did not consume you.”
Chelsea didn’t answer.
“The realm speaks,” the woman said softly. “But it doesn’t speak for free. You’ve opened the gate between worlds.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
“Intentions matter little,” the woman replied. “The veil is thin now. Something else has stirred.”
Chelsea felt Nyra rise inside her — slow, tense, and listening.
“You will be tested,” the woman added. “Not with blade or spell… but with choice.”
“Choice of what?”
The woman looked toward the darkening sky.
“What kind of weapon you’ll become.”