13. Keldarion
Keldarion
The wind howls across the endless white horizon as I run.
Snow whips against my fur, sharp and biting, but I hardly feel it.
My paws dig deep into the ice-crusted powder, pushing forward, relentless.
The hunger for movement, for escape, is a gnawing thing, but no matter how far I run, she is always there.
Rosalina.
I can’t stop seeing her. Her voice is in the wind. Her scent clings to the frozen air. And Cas, curse him, lingers like a shadow at the back of my mind, tormenting me with all the things I should have done differently. All the ways I failed him. Failed her.
I snarl and push harder, leaving deep gouges in the ice. If I run fast enough, maybe the memories won’t catch me. Maybe the ghost of her warmth won’t reach into my chest and tear me open all over again.
The storm howls louder, a beast of its own. Ice shards spin through the air, but I don’t stop. Not until the land changes, shifting from rolling drifts to jagged peaks jutting from the snow.
I slow, breath misting in the thick clouds around me. Justus told me to meet him here. But why? This is the middle of nowhere, nothing but unending white and the silence of the frozen expanse. Yet I know I’m in the right place.
I shift.
Pain lances through me as my form bends and twists, bones snapping and reforming, fur withdrawing into skin.
The cold bites, but I ignore it. My clothes were strapped to my back, and I move quickly, pulling them on.
The thick cloak and furs help, but they do nothing to chase away the unease curling in my gut.
Where are you, Justus?
A figure steps from behind a jagged rock, Justus’s form barely visible against the misty snow. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes gleam.
“I’ve found what I was looking for,” he says. “When you’ve been alive as long as I have, your memories start to feel like dreams.”
“And what exactly were you looking for?”
Justus gestures me forward. “Come and see.”
I follow him. The peaks around us twist into strange, jagged formations, and something shifts beneath the ice. Not only cracks and fractures but shapes.
Ruins.
High columns and pillars, half-buried in ice, stick out of the earth. Their surfaces are carved with sigils. The further we walk, the more the ruins reveal themselves, winding across the frozen landscape.
I glance at Justus. His face is unreadable, but something flickers in his eyes. Something ancient.
Aeneas.
The first High Prince of Summer. That’s who he truly is.
My breath fogs in the frigid air. “What is this place?”
Justus doesn’t answer. Instead, he places a hand on a pillar, fingers tracing the faded markings. “A memory,” he says at last. “One I thought lost.”
We step up to the remnants of a building, its entrance half-buried beneath thick sheets of ice. Light filters through the cracked walls, illuminating dazzling runes carved into every edge. These symbols must form words, but I can’t read them. Though I do recognize them.
From the note of the underfae assassin.
It’s the language of the Above.
A round table stands in the center of the chamber. Five faded circles are etched into the ground around it. I step closer, brushing a gloved hand over an engraving. A leaf. Beside it, a rose.
“This was once known as the Celestial Landing,” Justus says, his voice reverent. “A portal Aurelia created in hopes to one day return home.”
I straighten, the weight of his words settling on my shoulders. “And you needed all the high rulers and the queen to make it work?”
“Aurelia was able to open it on her own,” Justus says. “But without her, its power comes from the divine weapons.”
“Just like Kairyn theorized,” I continue. “It’s why he wanted them so badly.”
I glance down at the circle beneath my feet, the designs eroded by time. A snowflake, its edges chipped and broken.
“It took a great deal of magic to make these work,” Justus murmurs, tracing his fingers over the faded symbols. “Far more than any single high ruler could muster.”
I exhale, my breath clouding before me. The Celestial Landing. A portal between realms.
“All this time, I knew it was here,” Justus continues, “but I couldn’t recall how we powered it. It’s been coming back to me slowly, and I’ve finally remembered!”
I frown. We’ve spent the last few weeks researching, trying to decipher if it’s possible to reach the Above.
Kairyn theorized there might be ancient forges there, ones where we could work the mythkarite, the metal ribbed along the stars I pulled down.
It’s the same metal used to craft the divine weapons we carry in our tokens.
George is working with what mythkarite was liquefied from the volcano’s lava.
As for the rest…no forge in the Vale is powerful enough to melt it.
Not anymore, at least. The divine weapons were forged in the Vale, crafted by the first high ruler of Spring, Rafael.
Justus explained how Rafael had carried with him a gift from the Above: a single flame from the Forge of Onaulion, the same kind of fire Faustrius had used to awaken the volcano in Winter.
But Rafael used such a flame not to destroy the Vale, but to save it.
His final remnant of the Above was spent forging the divine weapons.
But now…if there is a way to repair the weapons here in the Vale, I can’t fathom it. So we’ll need a forge beyond my imagining.
And for that, I need to find a way to the Above.
I cross my arms, my gaze flicking back to the faded sigils on the ground around the table. “Don’t suppose this could work with three weapons?”
Justus’s expression darkens. He doesn’t need to say what he’s thinking. I already know. Rosalina’s bow is shattered. So is my sword, both broken by Faustrius’s blade.
“The danger would be too great to try,” Justus says, his gaze lingering on the crumbling portal. “Far greater than we can afford. If it didn’t work, we’d risk losing some of the most powerful fae in the Vale.”
“This was one theory on how to defeat Sira, not our only,” I say, turning from the table. “But there still may be answers here.”
I let my gaze drift to the ruined walls. There, carved into the stone, are depictions of islands floating in the sky with fae suspended beside them. Behind each figure is a pair of wide, tapering wings that flare outward, symmetrical down to the patterns etched within them.
Justus steps beside me, his fingers ghosting over the carving. He shakes his head. “We fae forgot how to fly in the Vale. There was no need. Not like up there. Such a different world.”
Is that true? Did the fae once have wings? Or are these an old man’s ramblings? The underfae don’t have wings, but perhaps that’s another thing they sacrificed in their change to become Sira’s monsters.
I study the image, my thoughts drifting to Aurelia. Is this why she loves birds? Some forgotten longing for what we lost?
Another carving catches my eye. Five powerful fae, each holding a divine weapon and an amulet in their hands. They are clad in magnificent armor, unlike anything I’ve seen, even in the Spring Realm.
A pang of sorrow grips my chest, and I shake my head. “If only we could get to the Above, we could forge armor like this again.”
Justus exhales, his eyes focused on the ancient warriors. “Ah, we forged great armor in the Above,” he murmurs. “But this…this was something different.”
His hand drifts to his chest, pressing against the place where a token once lay, fingers splayed as if searching for a presence long gone. Then, with a slow inhale, he lifts his palm outward, fingers curling into a fist before unfurling, releasing an unseen weight into the air.
A strange sensation stirs inside me. A call, waiting for an answer.
I touch the snowflake token on my chest. It should be Farron, the scholar, in these ruins. Rosalina, whose intuition never fails her.
I can’t help but feel like I’m overlooking some hidden truth. The heart of all these questions.
But maybe I’m searching for the impossible.
There’s no simple answer to winning this war. No simple way to get Rosalina and Caspian back.
I’ll do what Rosalina taught me—protect my realm. Protect all the realms.
I don’t need the Sword of the Protector to win this war.
I just need us. Together.