Chapter 33 #2
Nova, however, reminds me: “It must be your control, Metra. Lowan cannot ease the way for you. There may come a time when you need to gift this instantly. You must know your magic obeys you alone.”
So Lowan does not hold back. He meets my gaze, steady, sure, but does not try to soften his magic for me. The strain is mine to bear.
We stand in the center of the library’s hushed expanse, hands laced. My magic surges toward him, wild and hungry, as it always does—but this time, I force it back. Not all of it. Just one strand. The one Thread I need: The language of the mortal realm.
Sweat beads at my temple as I hold back the tide, searching inward until I find that bright filament of power. I seize it, channel it through our joined hands, and release.
A zing cuts through me—sharp, sure—like the first time I touched a Vaelorian text. Lowan stiffens slightly, then squeezes my hand. His silver eyes widen, dawning awareness spreading across his face.
I whisper in the mortal tongue, “Did it work?”
The others glance at each other, puzzled—they don’t understand the words.
But Lowan smiles and answers in the same tongue. “Yes. It worked. In any tongue, you are the same: Fucking radiant.”
Of course, he begs me not to share the gift with anyone else right away.
For a while, it’s just ours—our secret language.
And Lowan makes the most of it. Outside, while the others spar or practice their magic, he’ll lean close and murmur the dirtiest, filthiest things in the mortal tongue, right in front of everyone.
I bite back giggles until my face burns.
Arden finally snaps one afternoon. “All right, I’m officially sick of your superiority.” Lowan smirks, utterly unrepentant.
The game continues even in our chamber at night. He murmurs against my skin, “Say it in the mortal tongue, love. Let me hear how much this pleases you. Every language. Every way.” And I do, breathless and laughing, until words melt into sound.
But eventually, it’s time. The others need the gift, too.
We start with Zillah because, if my magic lashes too wildly, her shield will somewhat protect her.
It doesn’t. I am careful, disciplined, and laser-focused.
The connection is easier than I expected—familiar, because I’ve trained beside her for so long—but it lacks the effortless intimacy I have with Lowan, which strangely makes it simpler to keep my magic in check.
Still, the work drains me. I can only gift one person at a time.
Each attempt empties me until I need food, rest, and hours to recover before trying again.
One by one, though, I succeed. Zillah. Remli.
Arden. Selene. Each new spark of recognition, each first word spoken back to me in the mortal tongue, fills me with exhausted joy.
And when Arden finally grins and says, “So that’s what you were saying the other day,” Lowan groans dramatically.
“Filthy,” Arden declares, shaking his head. “You two are absolutely filthy.”
The entire group bursts out laughing. Even I can’t deny it. But now, at last, all of us stand on common ground. They can speak Thrae. They can speak the mortal tongue. And I know, deep in my bones, that we’re ready for whatever realm awaits us next.
Eventually, the day comes when everything I’ve practiced finally feels enough.
I can summon my phoenix fire without it consuming me, hold it longer, and wield it not only to burn but to shield.
It still drains me, but not like before—it is no longer a desperate gamble, but a real, tangible weapon I can carry into the world beyond this cave.
I can open a portal, even narrow it to a specific place within a realm. Slowly, painstakingly, I’ve learned to focus on the finer strands that coil within the greater Thread. It is difficult, not yet quick, but it is mine.
And I can gift the Tongue of Realms. Not endlessly, not without cost, but enough. Enough that I know I could do it, out there, when it matters. Nova watches me with quiet satisfaction. At last, she nods.
“I think you are ready.”
For once, I nod too. “So do I.”
She tilts her head, eyes shining with something between pride and sorrow. “Fate whispers it is time. You could stay here forever, training, but what good is skill if it never leaves the shelter that shaped it? My Thread was to give you truth and tools. And I believe I have done that.”
She gestures to my companions. “You have friends who would walk through fire with you—”
Arden snorts. “No pun intended.”
The group chuckles, and the sound steadies me. Nova’s gaze softens. “You have grown into your power. You have taken all that this place has to offer. Rest tonight. Tomorrow, you return to find your mother.”
A shiver runs through me—fear, longing, anticipation all at once.
“Will we ever come back here?” I ask quietly.
“Perhaps. This place will always exist, waiting. You know its Thread now—you can portal to the Atrium whenever you need it. Offer your blood, and the cave will accept you again. Whether I will be here, I cannot say. My task is complete. Fate will tell me what comes next.”
I nod, throat tight.
That night, Lowan presses a glass of sparkling spirit into my hand. “The cave knows you’re restless,” he teases gently.
“How could I not be?” My voice cracks. “Tomorrow changes everything. My mother—she’s right there, waiting. And the last time I saw her—” I can’t finish.
His hands clasp mine. “You’ll hear her side. You will repair what was ruptured. And whatever comes after, you won’t face it alone. Never.”
I drain the glass in one swallow, trying to still my racing heart. My eyes sweep over the chamber that has been home, refuge, crucible. “I’ll miss this place.”
“Me too.” His grin is crooked, boyish. “One last soak in the water? For old time’s sake?”
I eye the bed, heat curling in my chest. “One last everything.” His answering smile is all the promise I need.
Morning comes too soon. I wake buzzing with nerves and purpose. Lowan helps me dress. The cave has provided new clothes—simple tunics and pants fit for the mainland, blades strapped at our sides.
“Won’t we stand out in the mortal realm carrying these?” he asks, frowning.
“Maybe. But a glamour will hide them if we need it.”
He nods. “Good. We’ll pass as mortals then—like you and your mother, all these years.”
Together, we step into the common room. The others are waiting, blades gleaming, dressed like us—tension thrums in the air, thick as storm clouds.
“You are ready,” Nova says simply.
We file into the Atrium, taking our places. I stand at the center, Lowan’s steadying hand warm at the small of my back, the others behind me.
“You know the Thread,” Nova says. “Call it forward. Hone to the place you last stood.”
I shut my eyes—and then pause. “Nova… how long has it been? For her? For my mother?”
Her expression is unreadable. “Time moves differently between realms. Not here, where ancient magic bends it further still. It has been long, yes. But how long? I cannot say.”
I swallow, heart thudding. “Then, before we go, I need to thank you. For everything. You’ve shown me truths about myself I didn’t always want to see. You gave me tools I never dreamed I’d wield. I couldn’t have done this without you.”
Her voice is soft. “I do not see what lies ahead for you, Metra Donovan. But I believe you will change the Fates of many realms.”
I draw a long, shaking breath, turn back to the space, and reach inward. The Threads appear endless, humming. And there—it glows, blue and pulsing. The mortal realm. I call it forward, let the smaller strands whip past me until—yes. A place etched deep in memory—my college apartment.
I grasp the tiny loop of it, pull. Open. Light flares, and the portal yawns wide before me.
Nova’s voice drifts across the silence: “Close it quickly, once you’re through. Do not let Calidora’s eyes find you.”
I nod. Lowan’s touch presses firmly on my back. “I’m right here,” he murmurs.
I lift my gaze. On the other side of the shimmering light, I see it—the living room where my mother and I stood together for the last time. The space where I was ripped from all I knew.
My breath hitches. And I step forward.