Chapter 30
We emerge from the mountain hollowed and hungry, and our bodies remind us of the time we spent sealed away. After food and quiet, Lowan and I slip into the steaming pool, plates balanced at the edge, our silence threaded with something softer than exhaustion.
“I think I can forgive him,” he says at last, water dripping from his hands as he rinses his face. “You were right about his mask. And hearing my father’s voice, hearing his voice made my anger feel small.”
“Your father did a brave and selfless act by choosing to follow Fate’s Thread knowing where it would lead,” I whisper. “I see him in you every day, but I don’t think he would have wanted that sacrifice to be in vain. He wouldn’t have wanted you to live in anger.”
Later, with the taste of strawberries and wine still on my tongue, I follow Lowan back into our chamber.
His bare form in the low light steals the air from my lungs.
The memory of this morning—how close we came before being interrupted—flashes hot through me, and my body reacts before reason can catch it.
He turns, silver eyes blazing. “Whatever you just thought of,” he murmurs, “my answer is yes.”
I point to the couch. “You. Sit.”
He obeys instantly, hunger flickering across his face. When I kneel before him, his answering growl is pure anticipation.
My hand wraps around him, slow strokes drawing a curse from his lips. His head falls back as my mouth closes over him, the taste of him unraveling me almost as much as it does him. His fingers thread through my hair, guiding me, urging me.
His eyes find mine, silver glowing with desire, and I know I need more. Crawling up his body, I straddle his hips, lowering myself onto him. The stretch is exquisite, my head falling back as I sigh his name.
His hands glide up my body, fingers lacing with mine as we move together, a rhythm older than language. Each thrust pulls me tighter, higher, until I’m moaning, flames licking along my skin. He grips my hips, guiding me through the storm as waves of pleasure crash, heat exploding out of me.
I’m still gasping his name when he lifts me from the couch to the floor, never breaking contact, one arm hooking beneath my leg to drive deeper. This new angle tears another cry from my throat, the intensity almost shattering.
“Gods, Lowan,” I pant, each word broken, “every time… you undo me.”
His lips brush fire along my neck, his growl rumbling against my skin. “I can feel you, love. I know exactly what this does to you.”
The words vanish from me, replaced by whimpers as the storm rises again. Flames spill from me in fierce bursts. His shadows answer, curling and feathering over my skin, until the two of us are nothing but fire and smoke, breaking apart together.
When the world steadies, he kisses me deeply, reverently, as though worshiping every breath. We stay there on the stone floor, tangled and glowing, long after the cave has gone still.
The next few days blur into a strange rhythm. Elaris disappears into the Atheneum for hours at a time, her expression unreadable when she emerges. She only tells us, go outside, train, learn what you can from each other, before retreating into the depths again. So we do.
Selene shows us which plants are safe to eat, how to track animals' paths, and how to tell direction by the tilt of moss or the shift of the stars.
Zillah drills us endlessly on shields until my head aches from the constant strain of holding them, reinforcing them, rebuilding them until they spring up without thought.
Lowan and Remli spar like lightning striking stone—blades flashing, fists flying—and then shift mid-strike to keep us guessing.
It’s brutal and brilliant. Even Arden, who’s never lifted a blade in his life, learns how to duck a swipe, how to hold his balance, how not to get gutted by a shifter’s claws.
And then there’s me. I have nothing to teach.
Nothing to give. I absorb everything the others share, and I memorize it.
I practice until my body trembles. But while they bring knowledge, skills, hard-won experience—I only take.
Even Arden, who shrugs off most lessons with his infuriating smirk, offers quiet observations—how a shifter’s pupils flare before they shift, how certain powers leave faint traces if you know what to watch for.
The insecurity creeps in like smoke. By dusk it coils tight in my chest, whispering that I don’t belong here, that I’m only dead weight.
At night, I push it away, drowning myself in Lowan’s touch, in the warmth of his body pressed to mine, in the way he says my name like it’s a vow.
For a little while, I can almost forget the truth.
The days stretch, filled with sweat and strain beneath the open sky.
Every dawn I wake, pretending eagerness, pretending purpose, even as the hollow inside me gnaws deeper.
Lowan notices—of course he does. His silver gaze lingers on me when the others aren’t watching.
Every night when we return to our chamber, he asks, softly and insistently, what’s wrong.
And every night, I silence the question with my mouth against his, my hands pulling him closer. I bury the ache in the only place it can’t follow me—beneath his touch, in the fire we make together. I offer my body like a shield, and for a little while, it almost works. Almost.
This morning is no different. We dress for another day outside—swords, shifts, survival lessons. I smooth my expression into something steady. Inside, the darkness coils tighter.
We file into the common room, laughter muted, weapons ready. I brace for the pale light of another long day. But Elaris is there already, waiting, her teacup untouched beside her. Her eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen them, as though the shadows of the Atheneum have followed her out.
“Come.”
She rises and moves toward the stone passage without another word.
The air shifts. Every breath tastes heavier. We follow her into the dark. We gather around the table again, the weight of the Atheneum pressing close. But this time, Elaris’s gaze finds only me.
“Metra. Offer your magic to the tome.”
The air thickens in my throat. I press my finger against the waiting page. Power stirs, slipping free. The Atheneum answers with a single book. Its cover is a vivid living green, the gold lettering glowing faintly in the dim light. The pages shimmer with gilded edges as though lit from within.
Elaris watches me for a long moment before asking, “Have you seen this language before?”
I shake my head. “No. What is it?”
“It is not of this realm, but another. Vaeloria. Once a place of great beauty, where many carried gifts of fire. They were close allies of Thrae—long ago.” Her voice lowers. “Now I cannot say.”
“Does the realm still stand?” Zillah asks, hushed, cautious.
“Now the way into their realm is shut. None can pass it. None can reach them.”
“Maybe Nova Donovan will know a way?” Selene offers softly, ever the hopeful one.
Elaris shakes her head. “I think the one who will know the way is not here with us. But perhaps in time, we can find her.”
My heart stutters. “Do you mean my mother? Why would my mother be the key to this Vaeloria? She isn’t there. I know she isn’t.”
“No, she is not there,” Elaris says, her tone sharp as iron. “But your blood runs with Valemar, too.”
“What are—” I begin, but Lowan reaches for me, his hand brushing mine. His silver eyes widen, dawning with a truth he doesn’t want to speak.
“Tell her,” Elaris commands, her gaze fixed on him.
“Tell me what?” I demand, turning to him.
He swallows hard, then lifts his gaze to mine, voice quiet, reverent. “Metra… she’s saying your father was Leander Valemar. He wasn’t from Thrae—he was from Vaeloria. I didn’t put it together before, when the Illusion broke. There was too much to absorb. But now? Now I understand.”
The words slam into me. “Okay…” I whisper, slow, uncomprehendingly. “So what does that mean?”
Lowan lifts a hand to my cheek, thumb tracing my skin with aching gentleness. “It means…” His voice falters, then steadies. “It means you are the child in the vision. You were born of two realms: Thrae and Vaeloria.”
My knees threaten to give. The vision. Me? No. I stare at the floor, fear snaking cold through my veins. I can’t be the answer. I can’t even offer anything to this group, let alone an entire realm. My power is useless. All I do is take.
“No,” I hear myself whisper, then louder, shaking my head hard. “No. There has to be a mistake.”
Elaris’s gaze pins me, sharp and unrelenting. “No, child. There are no mistakes. Fate always finds a way.”
My breath comes ragged, too fast, too shallow. Which is absurd—I’ve always known the vision might mean me. Always. But there was still a chance it didn’t. Still, there was a thin thread of denial I could cling to. Now it’s severed. Another fear I’d stuffed down for later rises, choking me.
Lowan is there instantly, silver eyes locking on mine, blocking out the rest of the room until he’s all I see. His hand cups my face, his voice steady even as worry shines in his gaze.
“Breathe, love. Breathe. You don’t have to face anything alone. I will walk with you through any realm. Always.”
The words tether me. Slowly, I drag in a breath. Then another. His fingers stroke through my hair, soothing me back into myself.
It’s Remli who finally breaks the silence. “Okay, maybe I’m not understanding either. We already knew Metra’s father was most likely Leander Valemar, right? So now we know he came from another realm, but I feel like something’s missing.”
Elaris shuffles closer, her robes whispering against the stone. “I can tell you as much as I know. Beyond that, you will need to seek answers from those who were there—if any still live.”
We lean in, drawn to her words. Lowan slips behind me, his arms circling me, his chin resting on my head as though to anchor me to the earth itself.
Elaris’s voice deepens, the glowing orbs dimming as though the Atheneum itself listens.