Page 23 of Hex and the Dragon
"Secure for now," Ivy replied, though the word felt like a lie. "The library's wards held through the night. What about the rest of the team?"
"We're at the town hall with about thirty residents who are still fighting the Chronicle's influence," Leo said. "But it's getting harder to resist. The dreams are becoming more vivid, more tempting. We've lost another dozen people since yesterday."
"Any word from Aerin and Nico?" Ivy asked.
"Aerin's here, researching some disturbing developments about magical bonds and reality anchoring. Nico's... struggling. The Chronicle seems to be targeting him specifically because of his knowledge about the other affected communities."
Ivy felt ice settle in her stomach. If Nico, with all his experience and fae magic, was having trouble resisting the Chronicle's influence, what hope did the rest of them have?
"We'll try to make it back to you before sunset," Ivy said. "The Chronicle's power seems to peak at night."
"Be careful," Leo warned. "The shadow-figures are more active during daylight hours now. Whatever this thing is planning for the equinox, it's not waiting for celestial alignment anymore."
The radio fell silent, leaving Ivy and Dorian alone with the weight of their community's deteriorating situation. They moved around each other with careful politeness, gathering supplies and checking defenses, but the easy intimacy of the previous night had been replaced by a tension that made every interaction feel awkward and potentially dangerous.
"The perimeter's clear," Dorian reported when he returned from his patrol, though he remained near the archive room doorway rather than approaching her desk. "No shadow-figures within a hundred yards, but I can sense them massing in the town center."
"Gathering for something," Ivy agreed, trying to focus on the tactical situation rather than the way Dorian was avoiding her gaze. "The equinox is still thirty-six hours away. What's it planning?"
As if answering her question, the Chronicle opened itself again, revealing new text that made both of them freeze with recognition and dread:
Distance breeds doubt. Separation weakens resolve. You see now how dangerous your connection truly is, how much safer you both would be apart. But safety is an illusion when reality itself hangs in the balance.
"It's doing this on purpose," Ivy realized with growing horror. "Showing us those visions, making us afraid of our own bond—it wants us separated."
"Because we're stronger together," Dorian said, understanding dawning in his amber eyes. "When our magic works in harmony, when we're emotionally connected, it can't influence us as easily."
Your connection serves as an anchor,the Chronicle confirmed with smug satisfaction.A stable point around which I can reshape reality more efficiently. The stronger your bond becomes, the more power I can channel through it. You were wise to pull apart.
The revelation hit them both like a physical blow. Their love, their magical connection, the very thing that made them stronger individually was also making the Chronicle more powerful. Every moment of intimacy, every shared magical working, every touch that deepened their bond was also strengthening their enemy.
"So we can't be together," Ivy said with hollow understanding. "Our love is literally helping it destroy the world."
"Or it's lying," Dorian said with desperate intensity. "Manipulating us into believing that our connection is dangerous when it's actually the one thing that threatens its plans."
Before either of them could explore that possibility further, the library's front door chimed. Mara Voss entered carrying a basket that smelled of protective herbs and followed by Griff, who looked like he'd been running on determination and coffee for far too long.
"We brought supplies," Mara announced, unpacking her basket to reveal dozens of small sachets and bottles filled with herbal remedies. "Sleeping draughts that should block Chronicle-induced nightmares, protective teas to strengthen mental defenses, and clarity tinctures to help distinguish real thoughts from external influence."
"How did you get past the shadow-figures?" Ivy asked with concern.
"Griff knows the old maintenance tunnels under the town," Mara explained. "They're not warded, but they're too narrow for the Chronicle's manifestations to follow."
Griff studied both Ivy and Dorian with the assessing gaze of someone who'd dealt with supernatural crises before. "You two look like hell," he observed bluntly. "And not the good kind of hell that comes from fighting cosmic entities. The bad kind that comes from second-guessing yourselves."
"The Chronicle showed us what could happen if our magical bond goes wrong," Dorian admitted, his hands clenching at his sides. "Futures where our connection leads to destruction, where we accidentally destroy each other or innocent people."
"And you believed it?" Mara asked with the kind of gentle incredulity that only came from someone who'd faced similar manipulations.
"Shouldn't we?" Ivy asked. "Our magic is unprecedented. Bibliomancy and dragon fire working together—we don't know what the long-term effects might be."
"I know what they are," Griff said firmly. "I've seen magical partnerships before. The entity crisis, Lyra and Cade's bond, my connection with Mara—when two people's magic works in harmony, it creates something stable and protective. It doesn't create destruction unless one or both partners chooses destruction."
"But what if we don't have a choice?" Dorian demanded. "What if the Chronicle can force us to lose control?"
"Then you'll face that together," Mara said simply. "The same way you've faced everything else. But pulling apart now, when your community needs you most, when you've finally found something worth fighting for—that's exactly what this thing wants."
She moved to Dorian, studying his face with the clinical assessment of someone trained in herbal healing. "You'reexhausted. Not just physically, but magically. Dragon fire isn't meant to be suppressed and controlled constantly. You need to find balance, not perfect restraint."
