Chapter 64 #3
“If they intervene,” Kaela continued, golden eyes sweeping over the gathered refugees, “then it means the elders’ judgment has strayed from the mother’s will.
” She turned to face the people—if that was what they were considered—who had just denied them sanctuary.
“Balance is the highest law of our land. Just as Mythravar holds all four clans in unity despite our differences, perhaps the mother wishes to unite her other children as well.”
The nightglider elder hissed. “These are not her children. They are Empire-born.”
“But the Empire’s crimes are not theirs,” Kaela countered, her calm voice a stark contrast to the elder’s agitation.
“Though the Empire has desecrated her soil and stolen her gifts for generations, the mother does not hold individuals accountable for the deeds of their oppressors.” She gestured toward the truthkeepers watching from above.
“The mother judges the heart of each being separately. And the truthkeepers know what truly lies within.”
Kaela turned to face them, her expression unreadable. “Someone must step forward into the center,” she said, indicating the nest of vines. “The truthkeepers wish to demonstrate.”
No one moved. Symond certainly wasn’t volunteering to be the first test subject for whatever strange ritual these people had planned. He glanced at the others, noting the fear etched on their faces, the way they shrank back from the writhing vines.
Then Rowan stepped forward.
Symond’s hand shot out, fingers closing around the smaller man’s wrist. What the hell was he doing? But Rowan pulled free, giving Symond a tremulous smile before walking toward the center of the platform.
The vines responded immediately, rising like serpents to meet him. They wrapped around his ankles first, then slithered upward, encircling his legs and torso. Rowan’s face contorted in panic as the vines tightened, binding his arms.
“Relax, Rowan,” Kaela said. “The vines will not harm you.”
The vines stopped moving, holding Rowan suspended a foot above the platform in their twisted embrace.
Silence fell over the gathering, so complete that Symond could hear his own heartbeat thudding in his ears. Even the elders seemed to hold their breath.
Then it came—a single, pure note that pierced the silence like a shaft of sunlight through storm clouds.
Another joined it, then another, until thousands of truthkeeper birds sang the same melody, bright and flowing.
The sound vibrated through the wood beneath Symond’s feet, resonating in his chest like a second heartbeat.
“The mother deems Rowan worthy,” Kaela announced, her voice a whisper beneath the chorus of birdsong.
The vines didn’t untangle, though. They remained wrapped tightly around Rowan’s small frame, holding him suspended in their grasp. Everyone watched, transfixed, as Rowan’s lips parted.
“Yes,” he said, the single word ringing out with unexpected clarity.
What happened next made Symond’s knees go weak.
One moment Rowan was there, suspended in the vines’ embrace—the next, he simply wasn’t.
The vines collapsed, Rowan’s clothes falling in a heap on the platform.
From the pile emerged a truthkeeper, but this one was different—its eyes weren’t like the others, but a familiar warm golden brown.
No way, Symond thought, his mouth falling open. Did Rowan just turn into a fucking bird?
He looked around, finding the same stunned expressions on everyone’s faces—even the elders appeared shocked.
The truthkeeper—Rowan?—fluttered its wings, hopping around the pile of discarded clothing.
Then, with a shudder that rippled through its small form, the bird began to change.
Feathers melted away into skin, wings extended into arms, and within moments, Rowan stood before them, entirely human again and completely naked.
Symond immediately looked away, his face burning hot as Rowan stood there completely exposed.
All around him, the other Empire-born refugees gasped and turned their heads, hands flying up to shield their eyes from the unexpected nudity.
Only the Al’terans seemed unfazed, watching with curious expressions rather than embarrassment.
“This is impossible,” the nightglider elder snarled. “The truthkeepers are not thrask. They are sacred messengers, born of the mother herself.”
Kaela stepped forward, her golden eyes fixed on Rowan with newfound interest. “Perhaps they were not thrask before,” she said thoughtfully. “But it seems they are now.”
Before anyone could fully process what had happened, Rian stepped into the center. The vines surged to life, coiling around her ankles and spiraling up her body until she hung suspended like Rowan before her.
The truthkeepers’ song swelled again, filling the platform with their harmonious approval. Rian’s eyes widened as the vines tightened around her.
“Yes,” she said firmly, her voice steady despite her precarious position.
The transformation was just as sudden as Rowan’s had been.
One moment Rian hung suspended in the vines’ embrace, and the next, her clothes collapsed in a heap as a truthkeeper with distinctive, amber-flecked eyes emerged, fluttering its wings experimentally before transforming back into Rian’s human form.
One by one, others stepped forward and received the truthkeepers’ approval, emerging as a bird.
Marcus stepped forward next, his shoulders squared as if bracing for impact.
The vines rose to meet him, coiling around his legs and torso until he hung suspended like the others.
The truthkeepers’ song filled the chamber, their melody washing over him like a blessing.
But when the question came, Marcus shook his head. “No,” he said firmly.
The vines immediately unwound, gently lowering him back to the platform. They retreated, leaving him standing there whole and unchanged.
Symond blinked in surprise. It was giving them a choice. The birds weren’t forcing anyone to change.
Violette moved forward next. The vines wrapped around her with the same deliberate motion, lifting her into the air. The truthkeepers sang their approval, but to Symond’s confusion, the vines simply released her after a moment, never posing the question they’d asked the others.
The same thing happened to Rell. The vines accepted him, held him briefly, then set him down without transformation.
Violette’s face fell slightly, a flicker of disappointment crossing her features before she masked it with her usual stoicism. Rell, on the other hand, looked visibly relieved.
“Thank the gods,” Rell muttered, walking back to Elora’s side. “Not really keen on becoming cat food.” He wrapped an arm around Elora and placed a kiss on her head. She hadn’t moved since they’d arrived on the platform, her golden eyes fixed on the center where the vines waited.
Symond scanned the platform. Everyone else had taken their turn. Everyone except him.
A heavy weight settled in his gut as he realized he was the last one. He wasn’t surprised that everyone had been accepted—even Marcus, who had declined the offer. But would the truthkeepers find him worthy? After everything he’d done?
Did he repent enough? Did that even matter? He was here, wasn’t he? He’d chosen this life over continuing as the tool Thorn and Gerard had shaped him to be. Surely that meant something.
Symond took a deep breath and stepped forward.
The vines stirred immediately, snaking across the platform toward him. His heart hammered against his ribs as they brushed against his ankles, then began to wind upward. The sensation of being restrained sent panic surging through him. His chest heaved with frantic, half-starved breaths.
Trapped. Held. Unable to move.
He tried to focus on Violette’s lessons. Breathe in for four counts. Hold for seven. Release for eight. His lungs burned as he forced the pattern, fighting against instinct that screamed for him to thrash and tear at the vines.
The panic receded just enough for him to regain control. The vines tightened, lifting him from the platform until he dangled in front of the gathered crowd. He waited for the song, the same harmonious chorus that had greeted the others.
Silence stretched.