Chapter 35: Echoes of Power

SIOBHAN

Maeve stirred on the bed, her eyes flickering open like a slow sunrise, pulling herself out of whatever darkness had swallowed her whole. 

"You're back!" I said.

Relief flooded my chest, and without hesitation, I reached for her hand, clasping it as if my own touch could anchor her to this moment, to us. I felt her pulse, strong but shaken, beneath my fingers, and I could almost breathe normally again. I settled beside her on the edge of the bed, letting her know, without words, that she wasn't alone.

Ronan stood right next to Maeve, as solid and unmoving as a boulder, his usual strength now tempered by worry etched into every line of his face.

"How are you feeling?" Worry started wearing off of him.

His hand hovered protectively above her, as if even the slightest brush might offer her some stability. Though he kept silent, the relief radiated off him, nearly as intense as the tension coiled in his body, ready to spring into action if she needed him.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. What happened? I mean I know I had a vision, but after that?" Maeve asked, still confused with the aftermath of everything she went through.

Nimah was close by, her usual calm replaced with a somber, almost clinical focus as she silently assessed Maeve's condition. Her empathic senses, no doubt, were catching the fragments of disorientation lingering around Maeve, piecing together the edges of her confusion. Nimah looked concentrated but uneasy, her gaze occasionally flicking to Ariadne with an expression I couldn't quite place.

"He caught you and brought you back here." She said, pointing head at Ronan, not stopping even for a second with examining Maeve."Then he stood by the door protecting you, and giving you some time to recover."

Mave's eyes snapped to Ronan's. He didn't take his eyes off her this entire time even for a second. Like he was afraid something bad might happen if he did.

"Caught? Protected? What was going on while I was out?"

"You were levitating Maeve. Your eyes were shining." Nimaha added.

"Wow… that… that is something new."

"And then after Ronan brought you back here, Jean showed up. She wanted to spin the story. Manipulate everyone again, and –"

"And then I told her to back off. Permanently" Ronan said silently, but his voice was strong.

Mave was slowly taking in all the new informations, still confused with everything as she looked behind Ronan's arm.

And there she was, Ariadne, standing across the room, just out of reach. 

There was an air of mystery around her, a quiet, simmering power that seemed to radiate from her like the faint hum of static before a storm. She watched Maeve this whole time with a look that was both familiar and distant. 

As if Maeve was someone she'd dreamed to meet a thousand times but never expected to really see from that close. 

Nimah's expression shifted subtly whenever she looked at Ariadne, her eyes narrowing, as if trying to size her up, yet unable to reconcile something about her presence.

I knew Ariadne was wary of witches — she'd made that clear enough — but this went deeper. This wasn't just simple distrust; there was something sharper to it, something almost visceral, though I couldn't put a name to it. 

And while Nimah looked slightly on edge, Ariadne seemed to simmer with emotions barely restrained. If anything, she was the one struggling to contain herself. Her gaze shifted occasionally to Nimah, with unmistakable intensity. The air between them practically crackled with tension, whatever it was left unsaid adding weight to an already thick atmosphere.

Once Maeve began to regain her bearings, she asked her directly "And who are you?"

Ariadne took a cautious step forward, her expression softening.

"Maeve," she began, her voice carrying a resonance, a quiet depth that hinted at the weight of what she knew. "I'm Ariadne. I came because Ciaran asked me to. He believed I might be able to help you." Her gaze lingered on Maeve with something almost like recognition. "He told me we're alike, you and I. And he was right. I can't believe it, but everything in you… calls to what I am."

Mave shifted cautiously, not taking her eyes off Ariadne. She was more than ready for answers.

"And what are you?"

"A Banshee."

I felt Maeve's hand tighten in mine, her grip betraying her unease, and I squeezed back, grounding her as best I could. 

This revelation was clearly unsettling, but there was something in Ariadne's tone that kept us all rooted to the spot, listening intently.

With a slight nod, Ariadne continued, her gaze locked with Maeve's. "A banshee," she said softly, almost reverently. "We carry a lineage connected to visions, premonitions of truth, the kind of truth that's often better left unknown. But it's in our nature. And it's within you, too." She paused, letting her words settle over us.

"If you allow me, I could… show you. It might help you understand."

The room seemed to collectively hold its breath. I could see Maeve hesitate, her eyes flicking from Ronan to me before returning to Ariadne. There was hunger for knowledge in her look, but there was also a sense of fear. Still, she nodded, giving Ariadne silent permission.

With a deliberate slowness, Ariadne reached out and placed her hand gently on Maeve's shoulder. The tension was electric, as if we were all caught in a web of anticipation, waiting for something inevitable to unfold. As her hand made contact, Maeve's body suddenly went rigid, her face contorting as whatever vision Ariadne had unlocked surged through her.

Maeve's eyes widened, and her breathing turned shallow, almost gasping, as if she were fighting for air. 

In an instant, a strangled gasp escaped her lips, a sound of pure shock and pain that pierced the silence. The rest of us could only watch, helplessly anchored in place, caught in the wake of something we couldn't understand.

Ronan reacted instantly. 

His fury surged, and with a near-silent snarl, he lunged at Ariadne, his anger like a living thing. His hands clamped around her shoulders as he pinned her against the wall, and for a heartbeat, his eyes flashed dangerously, catching a feral gleam. His breathing was ragged, almost guttural, and the faint shimmer of his wolf's presence rippled beneath his skin. It was as if he were on the verge of shifting, the beast within him straining to break free. 

I held my breath, wondering if his instinct to protect Maeve might finally fracture that ironclad control he always held over himself.

"What did you do to her?" he growled, his voice sharp and menacing, each word laced with the edge of a barely contained snarl. His grip tightened, his fury so tangible that, for a moment, I wondered if he'd go too far. This protective instinct ran deep, primal.

But Ariadne remained unnervingly calm, seemingly unbothered by the force holding her in place. Her gaze shifted from Ronan back to Maeve, as if the threat he posed was irrelevant to her. 

"It's not me," she said evenly, her voice as steady as stone. "It's her. She needs to let it out. She has to scream."

Ronan's grip slackened just a fraction as he glanced back at Maeve, the hint of a snarl still on his lips but tempered by something else — confusion, maybe even dread. And in that moment, Maeve's mouth opened, and what followed was not simply a scream but an explosion of pure, uncontained power.

The scream tore through the air with the force of a hurricane, a cry so raw and consuming that it seemed to reverberate in my bones. The walls themselves trembled, and a wave of energy surged outward from her, like the shockwave of a bomb. 

It hit us with brutal force, sending Ronan, Nimah, and me flying back, helpless against the storm raging in that single scream. We slammed against the walls, held there like leaves caught in a brutal wind, each of us struggling against the unyielding force pinning us in place.

The room was caught in a vortex of Maeve's unleashed power, a chaotic whirlwind that lifted objects from the ground and whirled them in a dizzying dance around her. Dust and debris spun through the air, every ounce of energy in the space bending to the will of her voice, as if she were the eye of her own storm, commanding it with nothing but her anguish.

It was overwhelming — a raw, primal force, like something ancient and long-buried had clawed its way up from the depths of her soul. I fought to catch my breath, my back pressed hard against the wall, eyes locked on Maeve in equal parts awe and fear.

Beside me, Ronan was just as helpless, pinned back by the storm's intensity. I could see the strain in his muscles, the desperate urge to break through the barrier and reach her, to protect her. But even with his strength, his wolf barely beneath the surface, he couldn't push against the sheer force of her power. The intensity of her scream kept him locked in place, his protective rage and anguish clear in his expression, yet utterly thwarted by the onslaught.

And then, just as abruptly as it began, the scream faded. The chaotic energy dissipated, and the room fell into an eerie silence. Objects dropped to the ground with dull thuds, dust settling in the aftermath. Maeve collapsed onto the bed, her face ashen, her eyes haunted, as though she'd poured out everything within her and left only silence in its place.

After everything went quiet, we were left stunned, shaken, and fully aware that something intense and unsettling had awakened in her.