Chapter 38
“You want me to help you save the person who tried to kill me?”
“Yes.”
The Hunter stood before her, shoulders rigid, muscles coiled tight. Every inch of him was braced for the inevitable conflict, but something in his stance had shifted—he wasn’t resisting the compulsion anymore. The weight of the oath no longer tethered him.
Elara’s heart lurched, a cutting, painful jolt. She had just wasted all three questions. Curse me and my absolute inability to mind my own business.
But… even after her last question, the one that didn’t count, he had still answered, “Yes.” An honest answer, freely given, despite no longer being bound by the oath.
Just like all those months ago, after Fenlin’s murder.
Honest, even when he didn’t owe her anything.
He might still answer, if she framed it right—if she hit the right nerve.
“Were you going to tell me at some point, or just hope I didn’t notice until it was too late?”
He didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink.
She let out a dull, humorless laugh. “You've lost your mind.”
“You knew him.”
Her body went still, cold creeping up her spine. “What?”
“You were… close. In a way.”
Close? She couldn’t form a response before he turned away, striding toward a large, weathered cabinet tucked between two towering bookshelves.
She watched, frozen, as his fingers traced over the runes carved into the wood, dismantling the wards that layered thickly over the cabinet—wards that seemed as strong, if not stronger, than the ones that had trapped her in her cell.
With a quiet creak, the cabinet door swung open, and he pulled out a thick stack of scrolls and loose parchment, all tied together with a fraying piece of string. Dust motes danced in the low light as he held the bundle, hesitating for just a moment, his eyes flicking to hers.
“You want answers?” His voice was low, tightly controlled. “It starts with the shade. The one who named you Tuatha.”
Elara’s fingers curled into the fabric of her dress.
Tuatha. The word slithered through her mind, dragging up the memory.
She hadn’t realized the shade had called her anything.
In that moment, she’d been too focused on its fangs to notice much else.
But Caelion… he had called Reynnar the same thing.
“What does it mean?”
He shook his head, eyes hard with frustration.
“I don't know. I've been searching for answers. But you have to understand—shades are mindless. Spirits of death. No thought, no will. They’re perfect weapons. They don’t tire, they don’t bleed, and they obey Osin without question.
” His face hardened. “But that one… it spoke. A fragment of its soul clawed its way to the surface, just enough to break through. Enough to speak to you.”
She shivered, pulling her arms tighter around herself.
“What are they?” She pressed her lips together, thinking.
“I spent nearly my entire childhood reading about the spirits, but I’ve never come across any mention of shades.
” Her brow furrowed. “It doesn’t make sense.
There should be something—a record, a trace of their existence.
Spirits like that don’t just appear out of nowhere. Not without someone knowing.”
“You wouldn’t have heard of them. They’re something new. A species Osin created… twisted through his experiments.”
Elara's heart plummeted, the world tilting as a cold, hollow ache settled in her chest. The answer she didn’t want but had feared all along.
The extraction. The trials. Bile surged up, burning the back of her throat as she fought to steady her breath.
Her voice cracked. “He’s turning the Sidhe into those… things. Why?"
“Vredia,” he said simply. “It’s the last stronghold Osin hasn’t claimed.
He’s been trying to break through the Northern Ridge for years.
But the ridge is enchanted—old Draoth from the Mothers, from Epona herself.
Her love for the Sidhe... it’s woven into those mountains, blocking his armies at every turn.
His men get lost—or never return. So, he sends the Sidhe, mutated into those things, hoping they’ll succeed where his soldiers can’t. ”
Elara pressed her trembling hand to her mouth. “How is Osin stealing the Sidhe in the first place? I’ve been trying to figure it out. Is it the Aelfhenge?”
He dipped his chin. “Yes. But it’s not as simple as that.
After the shade spoke… after the Draoth Cara revealed itself, I began hunting them down.
Capturing them. Tried to force answers from them.
” He let out a harsh breath. “It was a fool’s errand.
But every time, they reacted to one word—Tuatha.
So, I dug deeper. Pored over old records, traveled to places that kept their histories hidden before the war burned it all away. ”
“Bravell.”
He gave a low hum of agreement. “The kingdom’s little more than a graveyard now.
When that led nowhere, I shifted my focus to the source of the destruction.
To Osin.” He lifted the bundle of scrolls.
“This… this is what I found. Hidden, warded under curses so thick it took me days to unravel. And even then…” He cleared his throat, his voice dropping, almost hesitant. “It belonged to you.”
Elara's brow furrowed, and she moved toward him, feeling as if her body was wading through water, slow and disconnected.
The rough texture of the parchment barely registered under her fingertips as she took the stack and moved to the desk.
With a tug, the fraying string snapped, and the scrolls spilled across the surface, scattering in every direction.
Drawings. Detailed sketches. Diagrams layered with strange, looping symbols.
Notes scribbled in the margins with a frenzied hand.
At the bottom of the pile, half-hidden between loose sketches, lay a journal.
The leather cover was cracked, weathered.
Her fingers hovered over the cover, an instinctive hesitation pulling her back. The energy around it felt… wrong.
“What is all of this?”
The Hunter moved beside her, his gaze flicking over the chaotic mess of papers. He picked up a drawing—a series of overlapping circles, strange symbols lining the edges. “Your research on the Void.”
“My research?”
He nodded. “Yours and Thanes.”
She blinked, once, twice, as if the world around her had just shifted and left her stranded.
They had been researching the Void? She swallowed hard, her gaze flicking over the scattered documents—rituals, symbols drawn in blood.
But this wasn’t just abstract theory. Her eyes caught on a sketch—a map, twisted and spiraling, trying to chart the layers of the Void.
Each line pulled inward, toward a central point, like a gravitational well of shifting currents.
Notes beside it theorized about the Void’s power to consume energy, bend time, and manipulate space.
Arrows circled pathways that led to nowhere, hypotheses scribbled in frantic handwriting. This wasn’t research—it was obsession.
Elara flipped open the journal, the old leather creaking, and froze.
A name—her name—written in her own handwriting.
She stared, fingers gripping the edges of the paper.
The letters, the curve of each stroke—undeniably hers.
But the memory… it wasn’t there. No flicker of recognition, no trace tugging at her thoughts. Just… nothing.
Her fingers trembled as they traced the ink, the sensation unsettling, like staring at a ghost of herself.
She flipped through the pages, revealing diagrams layered with complex equations and symbols spiraling into vortexes, all centered on how the Void served as a bridge between realms. The notes weren’t just about the Void—they focused on the spaces between, places never meant to be reached.
They had been testing it—how to control the flow, manipulate the pull between worlds, even disrupt the fabric of reality itself.
It required more than just ether; it demanded an understanding of how to bend one world’s pull into another without collapsing them both.
She had even outlined theories on using the Aelfhenge as a focal point. Equations charted the flux, calculating the exact moment to force a tear, positioning the rift directly at the heart of the stones.
It was methodical. Exacting. Terrifying in its brilliance.
And yet, she didn’t remember writing any of it.
A cold dread crept up her spine as she found a detailed list filled with dates, notes on strange experiments—testing the Void’s impact on memory. Her memory.
Elara's pulse quickened, the ink blurring as her heart raced.
They hadn’t just been studying the Void. They had been testing their theories on her. Trying to break through it, to cross the boundaries between dimensions, to use the Void as a doorway. And she had been their key.
The keystone.
The word was scribbled, circled multiple times in what must have been Thane’s handwriting.
But no explanation, no context. Just that one word.
Her hands shook as she stared at it. A flood of emotions rushed through her, her throat tightening.
She glanced up at the Hunter. “This is why he tried to kill me.”
His brow furrowed as he studied her. “I think so, yes. Hard to say for certain. The notes are vague, but from what I’ve pieced together.
..” He shifted his stance, arms crossing over his chest. “You tested a theory. You entered the Void, and when you returned, you lost your memories. Perhaps all of them. Thane might have believed sending you back was the only way to recover what you’d lost. But that part of his research is gone. ”
Elara blinked, trying to process the rush of information. “Gone?”
“Osin.” The Hunter’s voice was hard, clipped, as he flipped to the back of the journal, revealing torn pages, entire sections ripped clean from the spine. “He either destroyed the rest or hid it away. I’ve been trying to complete the equations, but I keep hitting dead ends.”
He sank into the chair at his desk, rubbing a rough hand over his face. His shoulders sagged, weighed down by more than just exhaustion. He’d always seemed so unbreakable to Elara, but now… sitting there, he looked bled dry.
“I wasn't... I didn't think it right to tell you.”
“How long have you known?”
His lips thinned. “Not long.”
Her gaze lingered a second too long, and as if sensing it, he glanced up, catching her eye before pulling something from his pocket.
A small piece of parchment. The edges were frayed, the paper itself weathered and fragile, as if it had been folded and unfolded a hundred times.
Like he carried it with him everywhere. For years.
“I found this,” he said, his voice softer than she’d ever heard it. “The night Thane tried to kill you. It was in his room.”
He held it out to her, and for a moment, Elara hesitated. Almost afraid to read the truth it held. Her fingers brushed the worn edges as she gently unfolded it, heart hammering in her chest.
What the Void consumes, only death can retrieve.
“I didn’t know. I didn’t know what the two of you were caught up in.
All I had was this note. I’d seen him, sneaking around, watching you at court.
” He paused, shaking his head, bitterness flashing in his eyes.
“It read like the ravings of a madman. And Thane… my brother. He was always different. I thought he’d lost his mind, dragged you into it with him.
I thought I was saving you both.” A harsh, hollow laugh escaped him. “But instead, I damned us all.”
She could barely breathe through the lump in her throat, but she forced the words out. “So, what do we do now?”
Her question seemed to bring a bit of life back into his eyes.
“Back when you lived in Arinthel, there was only one seal on you. You and Thane... you were trying to figure out how to remove it. Along with the rest of your experiments. But you couldn’t do it.
You didn’t have Transcendental Bonds. I think if we break the Binding Sigil now, it could trigger something—maybe help you recover your memories. ”
Elara nodded, her mind spinning with the possibilities. But then she hesitated, brow furrowing. “You said you needed my help… to save Thane.”
He nodded again, but she could feel the weight of what he wasn’t saying yet.
“What happened to him?”
The Hunter leaned forward, bracing his hands on his knees, eyes locked on hers.
“After he tried to kill you…” He shook his head, as if the thought itself was too absurd to entertain.
“When Osin found out what he had done—and why… he used the research you both had uncovered. Opened the channels, the currents, and trapped Thane inside.”