POV: Lucian Feels the Weight of Time

Night has fallen over Whispering Pines, but the town doesn’t feel quiet. Not to me.

There’s a hum in the air, low and constant, like a drumbeat only I can hear. It’s the ley lines. I’ve spent centuries tuning myself to their rhythm, learning to listen when others couldn’t. Now, that rhythm feels wrong—fractured.

I stand by the window in Pixel & Fangs, looking out at the empty streets. My reflection stares back at me in the glass, sharp and pale. Behind me, the others are scattered around the room. Finn mutters something under his breath as he sharpens his claws on the edge of a counter. Melody is humming softly, her tune faltering now and then like she’s unsure of herself. Raven, as always, is in the corner, her shadows curling at her feet like restless cats.

And Zoe...

Zoe sits at the table, the map of the ley lines glowing in front of her. Her light flickers at her fingertips, steady one moment, faint the next. She’s tired—more than tired. I can see it in her eyes, in the way she leans forward as if the weight of the map itself might crush her.

But she won’t say it. She won’t admit it.

I’ve seen that look before.

The weight of leadership. The pressure to keep everyone else moving forward, even when you’re the one about to break.

It’s a familiar sight. Too familiar.

I turn back to the window. The hum of the ley lines is louder now, and it’s pulling at me, like a thread unraveling in the back of my mind.

I’ve been here before. Not in this town, not with these people, but here. In this place where the magic twists and frays, where the foundations of the world tremble, and everyone looks to someone else to hold it all together.

The last time it happened, I wasn’t strong enough.

The memory comes back, sharp and vivid: a village on the edge of a ley line, its people unaware of the power beneath their feet. I tried to save them. I thought I could stabilize the line before it collapsed.

I failed.

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I see their faces sometimes. In dreams, in shadows, in the cracks of the world where the ley lines bleed through. They weren’t much older than Zoe—some younger. They trusted me, and I let them down.

“Lucian.”

Zoe’s voice pulls me back to the present. I glance over my shoulder and find her watching me, her light flickering faintly.

“You’ve been standing there for a while,” she says. “You okay?”

The others glance my way, their expressions varying shades of concern. I give them a small, tight smile—the kind that’s meant to reassure but probably doesn’t.

“Fine,” I say, turning back to the window.

It’s not a lie, not exactly. Fine is the only thing I can be right now.

Finn snorts. “If I had a dollar for every time someone in this room said ‘I’m fine’ and lied through their teeth, I could retire.”

“Keep sharpening your claws, wolf,” I mutter, earning a low growl from him.

“You don’t have to deflect,” Zoe says quietly.

Her voice is calm, but there’s something behind it—a firmness that wasn’t there when we first met. She’s changed since this all began. She’s stronger now, more certain of herself.

I turn to face her fully, meeting her gaze. “Neither do you.”

For a moment, there’s silence between us. The others don’t speak. They know better than to interrupt whatever this is.

Finally, Zoe looks away, her light dimming slightly. “We’ve got work to do,” she says, more to herself than anyone else.

I nod, though my thoughts are elsewhere.

The weight of time presses down on me, heavier than it’s been in years. I’ve spent centuries watching people like Zoe rise and fall, carrying the burden of leadership until it breaks them. I’ve told myself I wouldn’t get involved again—that I wouldn’t let myself care.

But I do.

I care about all of them, as much as I hate to admit it.

And that scares me more than the fraying ley lines, more than the Convergence, more than anything else in this town.

Because the last time I cared, it didn’t end well.