The Guardians Chronicles

For the next two days, Keira drifted through London with her camera as her only company.

The world narrowed to light, angles, and shutter-clicks. Through the viewfinder, the city became something she could control: a frame here, a focus there, a decision about what to keep and what to blur into the background.

It helped keep her thoughts away from the things she didn’t want to think about, terror-stricken eyes in an alleyway, her mother’s sharp questions, Aunt Vic’s unreadable looks, and a pair of hypnotic blue eyes that seemed to linger in her thoughts.

She walked until her legs ached and exhaustion became a kind of mercy, pushing everything else to the edges of her mind.

At night she returned to the flat, made tea, and lost herself in the rhythm of downloading images, sorting, editing. Cropping out clutter, sharpening colour, chasing that elusive “perfect shot” that might one day land in a magazine like National Geographic. It was a quiet, stubborn dream she nourished in secret.

On the third morning, as she was loading fresh batteries and mentally mapping out new streets to explore, the doorbell shrilled through the apartment.

She froze, then crossed to the door and slid the security chain across before opening it a crack.

“Miss Keira Wilde?”

“Yes?” she said cautiously.

“Good morning, Miss Wilde. I’m Detective Constable Paul Samuels. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?” A warrant card appeared through the narrow gap.

For a second, the words didn’t connect. She was still in aperture settings and train routes.

Then cold lightning shot through her.

Keira swallowed and forced her voice steady. “Just a moment, please.”

She closed the door, slid the chain free, and opened it fully.

The man on the threshold was tall, dressed in neat but unremarkable clothes. His expression was polite, professional.

“Hallo,” Keira said. “I’m actually on my way out.”

“This won’t take long. Just routine.” His smile was practiced, reassuring.

“How can I help you?” She arranged her features into a mildly curious, blankly cooperative mask.

“Your friend, Miss Samantha Knight, told us you were at a private party at a club called Poison Ivy on Friday evening. That correct?”

“Yes,” Keira said.

“At what time did you leave the club?”

“About midnight, I think.”

“Was anyone with you when you left?”

“No. I left alone.”

“How did you get home?”

“I called a taxi, but it never arrived.” She heard how calm she sounded and almost didn’t recognise herself. “So I walked to the Underground and took the train.”

He studied her face briefly, then consulted his notebook. “Did you, at any time, see anything out of the ordinary? Hear any unusual noises?”

“Such as?” Keira asked, lifting a brow.

“Screams for help. A fight. That sort of thing.” He hesitated. “Also… well… strange lights. A… tornado.”

“A tornado. In London,” Keira repeated, eyebrow climbing higher.

He gave an awkward half-laugh. “We took a statement from a man found wandering in the area. He insists he was attacked by a woman. Claims there were green lights. Some sort of… wind event.” His voice trailed off, the disbelief obvious.

“I see,” Keira said. “No. I didn’t hear or see anything unusual.”

The silence between them stretched.

Then he nodded. “Right. Thank you for your time. This is just follow-up. If you do remember anything, please call me.” He handed over a business card.

“I will,” she lied politely.

He gave another professional smile and turned away, heading towards the lift.

Keira closed the door slowly and slid the chain back into place with shaking hands. She moved blindly to the nearest chair and sat down heavily, folding herself forward until her forehead almost touched her knees.

She exhaled. Once. Twice. The tight knot that had been lodged in her gut since that night finally began to loosen.

The phone rang.

She jolted upright, heart leaping. Fumbling in her pocket, she answered.

“Hallo?”

“Good morning, Keira. Are you busy?”

Relief flooded her at the sound of Victoria’s voice. “Aunt Vic. No, I’m not busy. Is everything all right?”

Victoria usually avoided phones, grumbling about “new-fangled contraptions,” delegating anything technological to Simone. The fact that she was calling herself made Keira sit up straighter.

“Everything is quite fine. Why wouldn’t it be?” Victoria asked.

“No reason. Just… it’s nice to hear your voice.” Keira leaned back into the chair, tension easing a little. “What are you up to?”

“I have a proposition,” Victoria said, getting straight to the point. “I am going to Europe for a few days and I want you to accompany me. I need to check on an estate on the border between the Czech Republic and Germany. The place is somewhat remote and needs renovations. I would like photographs of the buildings so I can discuss my plans with the contractors when we return. Are you interested?”

“Oh.” Keira blinked.

She adored Aunt Vic, but she had never been invited anywhere alone with her before. And she hadn’t even realised Victoria knew about her photography, let alone considered it good enough to be useful.

She was also fairly certain that Victoria could hire any professional in London with a single call.

Still… a few days away. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere that wasn’t this flat, this city, this tangle of memories and questions.

It sounded like bliss.

“It sounds amazing,” she said slowly. “But I’ll need to check with my parents first.”

“I’ve already spoken to them,” Victoria said. “They’re delighted. That settles it. My car will collect you tomorrow morning at nine. The plane leaves at eleven. Don’t be late.”

“Aunt Vic—” Keira began, but the line went dead.

She stared at the phone. “Well. That’s… typical.”

The rest of the day passed in a whirlwind: packing clothes and camera gear, charging batteries, clearing memory cards, leaving strict watering instructions for the doorman, and firing off messages to Alison and Sammy to say she’d disappeared to Europe with Aunt Vic for a few days.

---

London glowed in dusk’s soft oranges and reds, shadows lengthening as the sun retreated behind the buildings.

In her office, Victoria looked up from her desk when Simone appeared in the doorway.

“Do you need anything else before I go?” Simone asked.

“No, thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Victoria gave a small nod.

Simone left. The door clicked shut.

Victoria swivelled her chair towards the window, watching twilight unfurl across the sky. The city’s lights winked on, one by one, like stars answering some unspoken signal.

It had been thirteen years, almost to the day, since she first understood what Keira was meant to become.

I should have told her sooner, she thought. But late is better than never. She’s strong enough now.

For generations, Victoria had watched Wilde children grow from small, sticky-fingered creatures into poised adults—some brilliant, some foolish, many a mix of both. Occasionally, she caught a flicker of magick in them. More often, there was nothing.

Those few whose gift shone bright and undeniable were quietly invited to the Initiates’ School. They joined the inner circle. They became Guardians, protectors of that which binds all things in this world and beyond: the Akasha.

It wasn’t only the Wildes. All over the globe, allied Families watched their children with careful eyes. When a child’s gift emerged pure and strong, they too were sent to the Initiates’ School on the estate in Europe, to be trained in the old ways and the new.

From each graduating class, a handful of the very best were chosen to come to Victoria.

Under her tutelage, they honed their skills further. Those who met her demanding standards joined the Draaken, the elite warriors tasked with protecting the Guardians and, when necessary, the Council itself. When a seat on the Council fell vacant, it was often a former Draaken who stepped into it.

For all those years, for all those secrets and trainings and battles fought in shadows, her task had never felt complete.

Because she was not just searching for Guardians or warriors. She was waiting for the child whose power burned with a pure, unquenchable flame. The one born to be High Priestess.

Thirteen years earlier, she had finally found her.

At first, she’d hardly dared to believe it.

It had been a Sunday afternoon. Victoria had gone to visit her great-great nephew and his wife, a social obligation she fully expected to be a waste of time. A year before, at a wedding, she’d thought she sensed a faint spark of magick near their little girl. Keira had been five then, chattering and darting between adults’ legs, due to be sent off to boarding school the next year.

If Victoria wanted to be certain, she had to see the child before that.

An hour into the visit, she had been close to concluding that no child raised in that particular household could possibly possess that kind of power. Her parents were lovely in their way, but completely ignorant of anything beyond their narrow social and professional spheres.

She excused herself to “get some air” and stepped into the garden, grateful to leave the drawing room behind. By chance, she saw Keira slip down the stone steps into the lower garden and sprint across the lawn toward the trees.

Curiosity pricked. Victoria followed at a distance.

Unseen, she watched the girl stop beneath an oak and hold out her arm. A black raven swooped down from a branch and landed neatly on the small forearm, claws carefully distributed so as not to hurt.

Keira whispered to him. The bird cocked his head as if listening.

Victoria followed them into the trees, feet silent on the leaf-strewn path.

As they walked deeper into the woods, small figures emerged from the shadows—birds, wild hares, two foxes, a doe with her fawn. They drifted toward the girl, forming a little procession. Keira laughed, greeting each by name.

She spoke to the trees and the stream as well. The branches rustled overhead in answer. The water’s murmur shifted to something that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

Then the girl lifted her face to the breeze, eyes closing. “Hello,” Victoria distinctly heard. “I missed you.”

The wind answered with a playful gust that swirled her hair.

Joy so fierce it bordered on pain washed through Victoria. She had to sit down on a nearby log, legs trembling.

At last, she thought, breathless. At last.

She’d been tempted, in that instant, to walk into the clearing, pick the girl up, and carry her away. But Keira’s safety came first. The fewer who knew what she was, the longer she would live.

In the years that followed, Victoria watched closely. Keira’s parents, dazzled by “Aunt Victoria” and her rumoured bottomless wealth, welcomed her into their lives with open arms. She was invited to birthdays, holidays, school events. Gradually, she became part of the furniture: the indulgent, slightly intimidating aunt with excellent gifts and endless advice.

To Victoria’s immense relief, Keira’s magick survived childhood, survived the storms of puberty, survived St. Catherine’s. The core of it remained bright and clean.

But while Keira was growing, so was Daemon.

His influence spread faster and darker than anyone had anticipated. The magickal world turned increasingly violent. Victoria made a brutal calculation: the safest place for Keira, for now, was hidden. Untrained, yes, but unmarked and unknown.

She turned her attention to shoring up the Guardians and the Council, training more Draaken, reinforcing every line of defence she could.

Now, as the sky darkened outside her window and the weight of years pressed heavily on her shoulders, she knew that time of protection-by-obscurity was over.

The next moves in this war could not be played without a High Priestess.

Without Keira.

For the first time in a very long life, Victoria allowed herself to admit the truth: She was afraid.