Oro
Nothing had helped with finding out how to create a portal yet. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t learned something.
The lost king was right. The past informed the future. He started to notice cycles that always repeated. So many events were entirely predictable. How could people not see it as they were living it?
How had he been so blind to the obvious?
The more he watched, the more he understood, as if the truths of the world were being laid out in front of him. Every second was priceless. He couldn’t bring himself to stop.
Even when hunger forced him to take a quick break in the kitchens, it was like the threads were calling to him. He found himself racing back to his throne, to sit and watch. And learn.
For this . . . it was the ultimate knowledge.
He understood now why the lost king had been in that trance.
Why he had lived a thousand lives, sitting right there on the ocean floor.
So far, Oro had only explored the past here, on this island.
Was it possible to look at the history of other places too?
He tried to control where he went in his mind in order to follow Horus.
But time often jumped. Even when he did hear conversations featuring his ancestor, he hadn’t been able to learn much about portals.
It wasn’t surprising—the Founders hadn’t wanted to return to the otherworld. Lightlark was their new beginning.
But that didn’t stop Oro from trying. He knew he had to sleep—he hadn’t since Isla had left. But when he tried to pry himself off the throne the next time . . . he just couldn’t.
He sat back and was lost in time again. He was starting to feel more familiar with the past than the present.
He was in the middle of a council meeting a thousand years prior, listening as—
There was a flash of blinding pain, and he was thrust from his mind. The golden sand and smoke of the past vanished.
His friends stood in front of him. He growled, furious at having been ripped out of such an important moment . . . before noticing the worry on their faces.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded. Had something happened?
His friends only stared at him. Finally, Zed shot forward in frustration.
“What’s wrong?” he snarled. “Those cursed threads almost ended us all, what’s wrong!”
Oro blinked. What? What was he talking about?
Calder was approaching him with a pouch of water.
He shifted—and winced. His arm was throbbing.
He looked down to see his skin had been cut open from the crease of his elbow to his wrist, and his blood was gushing onto the gold floors.
It was everywhere, and Oro didn’t know how he hadn’t noticed it at first.
“The threads had woven into your veins . . .” Enya said, her face pale, her freckles starker than usual. “You were in there too long. We had to pull them out.”
Oro’s brows came together. How long was he gone? It couldn’t have been more than a few hours. He looked around . . . and saw darkness outside.
“Days, Oro,” Enya said. “We left you two days ago and came back to find you like this.”
He had spent days in the past? How many years had he swept through in that time?
He winced, the full weight of the exhaustion hitting him. He blinked, his vision blurring. His skin stung as Calder worked the cold water across the gushing wound.
The pain and tiredness was worth it, though.
“The things I’ve seen . . .” he said, shaking his head. “You have no idea. The knowledge . . .”
Enya bared her teeth at him then. “I don’t care what you’ve seen, Oro,” she snarled. “I don’t care what you think you know. Because you were almost bested by a few pieces of damned string.”
Calder had finished healing his arm and shook his head. “It can’t be healthy, seeing so much, so quickly . . .”
Healthy? Oro didn’t care. “You don’t understand,” he said. None of them did. Why couldn’t they just get it? “I’ve seen every triumph. Every mistake. That’s how we save everyone . . . we learn! We don’t repeat history!”
His friends didn’t seem convinced. They were still looking at him like he had gone mad.
Oro shook his head. They weren’t listening. They weren’t understanding. “Here,” Oro said, lunging for the threads. “I’ll show you.”
Enya shot forward, flaring her fire-wings between him and the threads. “No.”
Oro frowned. What did she mean, no? He struggled to keep his tone patient as he took a step forward. “Move.”
Her gaze did not drop his as she very clearly repeated, “No.”
He lunged before he knew what he was doing.
Only Zed and Calder holding him back prevented him from reaching her.
He thrashed in their grip, all his powers unleashing.
A wave of energy sent Calder against the wall, the stone splintering on impact.
Zed flew into the air to avoid a stream of flame—but the edge of the heat caught his arm.
When he landed, his skin was raw, slipping off his muscle.
“What is wrong with you?” Enya demanded. She held the threads now. And she was the only thing standing in the way. Oro could turn her to ash in—
Oro blinked, horrified. Enya was his oldest friend . . . He looked around and stumbled back. Calder. Zed.
He had hurt them.
“I’m s—sorry,” he said, stammering. “I—I don’t know what happened.”
“This happened,” Enya said, throwing the threads across the room. “That thing is evil. It seeped into your mind.”
Oro took a breath. No. It wasn’t all evil. It had already shown him so much. It was going to help him get to Isla.
But he couldn’t deny that the Threads of Time had turned him into someone he didn’t recognize. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
Calder got to his feet. He healed Zed’s arm. His friends assured him they were fine.
They led him out of the room, escorting him to his room to rest.
Oro tried not to look at the threads on the floor, though he could hear them calling to him.