THIRTY
REAWAKENING
Most students mistake the relationship at first. They assume that magics give rise to power. In reality, the causality runs the other way. When a great force enters the world, magics stir and gather around it, seeking equilibrium.
—VALEN’S JOURNAL
AMARA
We sit in Valen’s quarters, the conversation behind us but still echoing in the room.
We told him everything. The shift in the bond. The way Thane heard my thoughts. The way I was able to hear his thoughts in my mind. And what happened when he let go—when the shadows answered.
Now Valen watches us, that inscrutable stillness settling over him.
“Valen,” I say, after too long a stretch of silence. “Say something. Please.”
The tea is cooling now, but I sip it anyway, trying to quiet the nerves fraying under my skin. The scent of chamomile lingers between us.
“This shouldn’t be possible,” Valen remarks. “And yet . . . everything about the two of you keeps rewriting what I thought I understood.”
He leans back, eyes narrowing with focus.
“I’ve read of something like this. Once. A bond that wasn’t between rider and dragon—but between two people. Rare and ancient. The last time it was recorded, it involved the final Shadow Warden.”
His gaze flicks to Thane, then back to me.
“They could speak through thought. Sense one another’s pain. Their emotional states were constantly . . . open. It wasn’t a bond you reached for like a rider and their dragon does. It was always there. Like breath.”
He falls quiet for a moment, and when he speaks again, the weight of it settles deep.
“They sealed the Unmaking inside the Shadow Realm. Together. And after that . . . the bond vanished from record.”
Valen turns toward the shelves that line the far wall.
“There’s mention of it in the archives. Buried, but it’s there. Possibly the same kind of bond you now share.”
My fingers tighten around the cup, the heat of the tea grounding me as the weight of Valen’s words sinks in.
“What happened to them?” I ask, unable to keep the tremor from my voice.
Valen takes a measured sip from his cup, as though the answer doesn’t come lightly. He places it carefully back on the table between us, his gaze briefly flicking to the edge of the room before returning to me.
“We don’t know.” His voice is even, but there’s a flicker of something darker there—something unsaid. “The assumption is that they both died in the process of sealing the Shadow Realm. But there’s no record, no certainty. We can only speculate.”
His eyes linger on me a moment longer before he adds, softer but no less grave, “Burnout is likely. It would take a staggering amount of power to seal an entire realm—especially one like that.”
Thane braces his elbows on the table, leaning in. “Valen, do you know why this kind of bond disappeared? Why did it stop forming at all?”
Valen leans back in his chair, gaze distant for a beat.
“Maybe it didn’t vanish,” he says. “Maybe it just . . . wasn’t needed.”
He turns to Thane, then lets his eyes settle on me.
“Until now.”
It suddenly becomes hard to breathe. If the bond only forms when it’s needed—when something like the Unmaking rises—then that means it’s happening again. The world is beginning to break.
I look at Thane. He’s already watching me, lips pressed into a hard line. He’s come to the same conclusion.
The silence between us is thick, heavy with what none of us want to say aloud. It takes several moments before anyone breaks it.
Thane shifts in his chair, his voice low, clipped.
“Valen, just so I’m clear—this bond between us. You’re saying it’s the same one the last Shadow Warden had?”
A beat. His eyes sharpen.
“And it appears that bond only existed because of the Unmaking.”
He exhales, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
“Does that mean it’s breaking free?”
Valen’s gaze drops to the cup in front of him. He drags a hand back through his hair, fingers pausing at the crown of his head like the weight is too much to carry.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this. Not uncertain. But . . . unsettled. When he looks back at Thane, his eyes are unwavering.
“I’m afraid so.”
“Shit,” Thane mutters, bowing his head, his hands braced against the table.
I grip the arms of my chair, fingers digging into the wood.
Valen’s eyes soften. And in that moment, the years seem to settle into him all at once. His shoulders round. And the warrior I’ve always known gives way to something quieter. Older.
Thane lifts his head, jaw tight. “So this isn’t just a war against the Shadeheart anymore.” He looks between us, voice low. “We’re also facing something much bigger. Something older.”
Valen gives a single nod. “It appears so.”
The room is still, but my chest is tightening like the air has thickened. I draw in a breath—but it doesn’t feel like enough. Another. Shallower. Something cold spreads beneath my skin, like a current winding through my veins. My fingers tremble. I curl them into fists, trying to stop it.
My thoughts begin to loop.
This is too much.
I can’t—
No one’s saying anything. Why isn’t anyone saying anything?
The walls feel closer. The floor, too far. Everything familiar starts to feel just a little bit wrong. And somewhere in the blur, I know I’m not dying—but try telling that to my body.
The spiraling is interrupted when a hand presses against the back of my neck.
I turn to my left.
Smoke-gray eyes meet mine, the still point in my spinning world.
Thane.
Valen rises swiftly, then returns with a glass of water, pressing it gently into my hands.
“Drink, girl. All of it. But slowly.” His voice is calm, deliberate. “Focus on each sip. Feel the water move down your throat. It’ll calm your mind. Bring you back to yourself.”
I nod, wordless, and do as he says—cheeks burning with shame I don’t know how to hide.
The Spiritborn. Chosen. Powerful. Unyielding.
That’s who I’m supposed to be. Instead, I come apart the moment things get too real.
Thane’s thumb grazes my skin. His touch is somehow too much and not enough at once.
I glance down. Goosebumps ripple across my arms. I rub them, like I can press the feeling away.
“I’m sorry,” I breathe. “I’m sorry, I just—”
Valen cuts me off, gently but firmly.
“Amara.”
His voice is quiet.
“You may be for this world,” he says quietly. “But you weren’t born of it. Not of battles, shadows, or the weight of what’s coming. This could break anyone.” He places a callused hand over mine. “You’re allowed to feel what you’re feeling. But don’t carry it alone. Talk to us. Let us help.”
I nod, still unable to find my voice. Through the bond, I feel Thane’s worry—just as he must have felt the panic rising in me before he reached out. I draw a few measured breaths, each one steadier than the last. Then I glance at him.
“I’m okay,” I say. “I will be.”
I reach for my Earth Elemental magics, grounding myself.
I picture the ancient oak at the outpost, its weathered trunk and broad canopy offering quiet refuge whenever the world became too much.
The magics rise within me, wrapping around my spirit with the quiet certainty of deep roots and the familiar comfort of coming home.
He studies me for a moment longer, then he nods, but his hand doesn’t leave. Instead, he drapes it across the back of my chair, fingers pressing lightly against my spine. A quiet tether.
“What’s our next move?” Thane says, the words clipped. “Because I don’t plan to wait for this thing to come to us.”
Valen stands and crosses to a narrow shelf behind his desk. He pulls down a familiar leather-bound ledger worn at the edges and opens it, flipping past pages filled with angular script and faded sketches.
“I wish I had clearer answers,” he says without looking up. “What we know of this bond is fragmented—buried in conflicting records, forgotten by most.”
He sets the ledger down and turns to us.
“But the records we recovered from the Starlit Chamber—those matter. And General Veyne’s journal .
. . there’s something in his last entries.
Mentions of a dual resonance. A binding unlike any seen before.
” He hesitates. “I’ve only begun to cross-reference them.
But the deeper I look, the more I’m convinced this isn’t just history repeating itself. ”
Thane leans forward. “What do you mean?”
Valen’s gaze flicks to the window.
“I think someone—or something—has already noticed the bond’s return.”
Valen’s fingers tap once against the rim of his cup before he sets it down.
“Not openly. Not directly. But something changed last week.”
His eyes remain fixed on the distant horizon.
“There is a ward buried deep within the outer ring of the High Archive. The magics is ancient, older than the clans themselves. Most of the time it lies dormant. It was created to react only under very specific circumstances.”
A long silence follows.
“Last week, it activated.”
The words settle heavily between us.
“The Master Archivist informed me immediately. She and her team have been gathering every scrap of information they can find, but there isn’t much.”
His gaze shifts from Thane to me.
“The ward does not respond to Elemental magics. Not Fire. Not Water. Not Earth. Not Air.” His voice lowers. “It was designed to react only when something unknown moves through the weave.”
Valen folds his hands together.
“It lit up for the first time in my lifetime.”
“Could it have been us?” I ask, quieter than I mean to. “The bond?”
Valen doesn’t answer right away. And in the space between silence and reply, the thought coils tighter in my chest.
What if we didn’t just respond to something waking up? What if we woke it?
Valen finally speaks, voice low—measured. “No. I don’t believe it was the bond that set anything off.” He folds his hands, fingers lacing tightly. “If anything, I think the bond responded.”
He looks between us, searching.
“Magics this old don’t awaken without reason. The world doesn’t conjure a connection this rare just to make history repeat itself. It does it to protect itself. To restore balance.”
He pauses, eyes narrowing slightly.