6. The Summons
The Summons
"There," Lyralei said, stepping back to admire her work. "Perfect."
I stared at my reflection, barely recognizing the woman looking back at me. I looked powerful. Dangerous. Beautiful in a way that demanded attention.
Which was exactly what I needed.
But even as I tried to center myself on that single purpose, other thoughts crept in. Sulien would never see me like this. The thought threatened to crack my chest open, and I shoved it down.
Focus, I told myself. This is for Thatcher.
Footsteps echoed in the corridor, and one of the other Dreamweavers slipped back into the room. She seemed younger than Lyralei, with hair that shifted between silver and deep purple.
"Novalie," Lyralei said, turning to her. "Did you tell them that our candidate would like to present early?"
"Yes, the request has been passed on," Novalie sighed.
"And the verdict?"
"It will be... considered."
"Considered," I repeated, my voice flat as I tried to stifle my anger. "What the fuck does that mean? "
"It means they're thinking about it," Lyralei said gently.
"Which is better than an outright refusal. The first rounds are typically reserved for those who volunteered. Many have been training for this their entire life. And you…” She trailed off, smiling softly.
“Well, you were forced here. They could be less enthusiastic about conceding to your requests.”
I wanted to scream. Wanted to tear off this ridiculous dress and storm out of here to find Thatcher. But I forced myself to take a breath, to remember that this was the only chance I had. The only way I could help him.
Be smart, I told myself. Use the anger. Don't let it use you.
I tried to summon the competitive fire that I'd spent years suppressing in favor of keeping my head down, staying unnoticed. It was strange to let it fully surface now, to embrace that part of myself that had always wanted to prove I was better than anyone expected.
Growing up, I'd beaten every boy in the village at arm wrestling, out-sailed fishermen twice my age, drunk grown men under the table.
But I'd always had to be careful about it, make it look like luck or an accident.
Never let anyone see how much I craved the moment when I proved I was stronger, faster, smarter than they'd assumed.
Now, finally, I could use all of that.
It should have been liberating.
Instead, it was hollow. Because the person who had sacrificed everything to prevent this exact moment was gone.
Stop it, I commanded myself. Stop thinking about him. I clenched my hands into fists, nails biting into my palms hard enough to draw blood. I could not fall into that spiral of grief again. Not now. I refused to lose someone else.
"What should I expect?" I asked, my voice steadier than I felt. All mortals knew about the Trials, but the details were kept deliberately vague.
"When you enter," Lyralei began, "you will only see a fellow grouping of contestants and the seven presiding Legends, of course. "
The Legends. Children of the first generation of Aesymar, born of divinity, along with those who Ascended during the Trials.
"Will it only be them? I thought this was supposed to be more of a spectacle ." I couldn’t hide the disdain in my voice.
"Oh, all eyes from every domain will be watching you, dear. But from the luxury of their own palaces." Lyralei gestured gracefully. "You might notice slight shimmers in the air, or something that looks like a wave in reality. Those are viewing portals."
I couldn't decide if I preferred that. It would feel more intimate without the distraction of a roaring crowd, but knowing that countless beings were watching from afar somehow made it worse. Like being a specimen under glass.
"So what happens when I go in there?" I pressed.
"They don't allow us to speak of specifics beforehand."
The frustration must have shown on my face because she held up a hand.
"I know it's maddening, but there are rules even we must follow.
What I can tell you is that the Proving is designed to test your power, yes, but also your control, your creativity.
" Her star-filled eyes met mine. "Give them a display they've never witnessed"
"And if I can't?"
"Then you'll join the ranks of those who tried and failed. But I don't think that will be your fate."
I wished I shared her confidence. But confidence wasn't what I needed right now. I needed rage.
They killed him, I thought, letting the anger build. They murdered him in front of everyone I've ever known, and now they want me to perform.
And I’d have to play along.
"What comes after? If I survive?"
"Today you will compete in the Proving, and tomorrow, the Legends will choose who they want to mentor."
It was impossible to escape stories about the Gods, no matter how much I’d tried over the last twenty-six years. The Twelve that ruled, the lesser Aesymar, and the Legends. The hierarchy of the gods.
"How many of the blessed entered the last Proving?" I asked, though I wasn't sure I wanted to know.
"Two hundred. But only fifty made it through to the Trials proper."
My stomach dropped. One hundred and fifty people dead. One hundred and fifty families destroyed, one hundred and fifty futures snuffed out.
"And as you probably know, the Forging ended with five newly ascended."
"And now they'll be mentors," I said, trying to keep the disgust from my voice.
Novalie and the third Dreamweaver—a willowy being who I'd heard called Vesper—exchanged glances.
“Yes,” Lyralei murmured. “But it is not only them—all Legends have the opportunity to mentor. Even those born to divinity.”
"The son of Olinthar will be among them," Lyralei added. "Chavore."
My blood went cold at the mention of Olinthar's name. Of Chavore. My half-brother. Gods. No one here knew who I really was, what connection I had to the King of Gods. And I intended to keep it that way.
“But there's no point in worrying about who you might end up with," Vesper cut in. "The Legends choose their mentees, not the other way around. It's entirely out of your hands."
Just like everything else in this cursed place.
Novalie's expression shifted, her star-filled eyes turning pitiful. "It must be strange, being ripped from Elaren so suddenly."
I tensed. “You could say that.”
"I can't imagine how you're feeling. Being on the precipice of Voldaris now. Never going back to the mortal world unless..." She trailed off, clearly not wanting to say 'unless you ascend.'
"And even then, barely ever," Vesper added quietly .
Lyralei shot them both a warning look before turning back to me. "You'll be traveling between domains for the trials. Each of the Twelve rules their own."
"And they're all... separate places?"
"Think of Voldaris as a realm containing twelve territories," Lyralei explained, her tone careful. "Very different from Elaren, where you lived before."
"Exactly. Your kingdoms are all mushed together. Here, each domain is its separate world," Novalie added softly. "No walking between them. Only portals, only with permission."
I nodded, silence filling the space.
Lyralei studied me for a moment. "You're from the Eastern Coast, aren't you?"
I tensed. "How did you know that?"
"Your accent. Your sun-drenched skin. I've encountered mortals from that region before." She leaned forward slightly. "What was your life like there?"
The question gnawed at me. I could almost feel the salt air hitting my face, that constant wind that made your eyes water and your hair stick to your skin.
Saltcrest wasn't pretty—it was rough and weathered and half the buildings needed repairs we couldn't afford.
But it was home. A place where the worst thing that could happen was a bad harvest or a storm.
And it was a life that felt like it belonged to someone else. A life I would never get back.
"Quiet," I said finally. "Simple. We worked the oyster beds, sold our catch at market. Nothing special."
"And your family?"
The question hit like a blade between my ribs. For a moment, I couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Could only see Sulien kneeling peacefully by the fire, accepting his death with more grace than his killers deserved.
"My father raised us." It was all I could manage.
Lyralei's expression softened. "We don’t have to speak of it. "
I nodded, surprised. "I don't understand why you're being so kind."
Lyralei was quiet for a moment, seeming to look right through me. "Perhaps because some of us remember what it's like to hope for something better.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Not all who serve the divine realm agree with every tradition we're asked to uphold."
But before I could ask what she meant, heavy footsteps echoed in the corridor outside. A metallic-skinned guard appeared in the doorway.
"Thais Morvaren," he announced, "you have been summoned."
My heart lurched, but I stood on steady legs. This was it.
I was ready.
I had to be.