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Chapter 7 — The Rift
Even the air in my room felt different now.
Heavier. Closer. Like it had been listening.
Three days since the storm, and I couldn’t shake the way Nyxion’s voice had fit into my head like it had always belonged there.
Be hot or be cold… Pick the one that answers back.
I had picked—or at least, I was practicing how to.
The circle on my bedroom floor was almost done. Chalk dust clung to my fingers, fine enough to taste if I licked them. A candle burned in each corner, their flames steady despite the draft from my half-cracked window. The incense was thick, spicy-sweet, the kind that curled into shapes if you stared too long.
I leaned over the deck of cards on the floor, flipping through until I found the three Nyxion told me to focus on. The Lovers. The Tower. The Wheel. They sat in a perfect line beside a small bowl of water that reflected the flicker of light back at me.
The quiet hummed—like it was waiting.
That’s when I felt it.
Not a noise. A presence.
“What is this, Elias?”
Mama’s voice. Low. Steady.
But the kind of steady that came before something broke.
I turned my head slowly, the chalk still between my fingers. She stood in the doorway, framed by the hall light, her house robe loose around her shoulders. Her eyes went from the candles to the cards to the half-finished circle on the floor.
“Art project,” I muttered.
Her brow lowered, a shadow cutting across her face. “Don’t lie to me.”
I turned back to the chalk, dragging the line another inch. “Maybe I just like circles.”
She stepped into the room. The carpet didn’t even sigh under her house shoes, but the air shifted with her. “This is witchcraft.”
The word cracked like a whip.
I laughed—short, sharp. “Funny, I thought it was truth. Freedom. You know, all that stuff you said God wanted for me.”
“That’s not freedom, Elias. That’s chains dressed up pretty.”
I straightened up, meeting her gaze. “Chains? No. This is power. And at least this answers back when I call.”
Her lips pressed into a line. “You don’t even hear yourself. You’re repeating lies like they’re gospel.”
“Better than repeating gospel that don’t work,” I snapped. The words tasted bitter the moment they left my mouth, but I didn’t pull them back.
Her eyes glistened, not with anger—but something worse. Hurt. “You’re not the son I raised.”
I let out a slow breath, letting Nyxion’s voice slide in over my own. “Maybe I’m not. Maybe that’s the point.”
Silence.
I stepped past her, the air between us colder than the rain outside. She didn’t call after me. Didn’t try to stop me.
But when I reached the door, I heard her sink to her knees, her voice breaking into prayer.
I didn’t look back.
---
End of Chapter 7
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Your writing style is very good. I think you should put your stories all in one post instead of chapter by chapter to make it easier to read.
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