Chapter 60
Wolfe
“The Last Whisper of Silver”
Bolts of lightning split the heavy darkness above me, crackling through the dense fog that coiled around the peak of Mount Luuienaire.
From within the hollow crown of the mountain, the storm's fury reverberated through the stone, each strike rattling the cavern as if the mountain itself were alive and raging with me.
Below, silver fires flickered like molten rivers. Not lava, something older. A gift from the gods. A blessing and a curse.
I hunched against the jagged rocks of the crater, my skeletal form barely distinguishable from the shadows clinging to the mountainside.
This was the longest I'd ever lingered in Deathwalker form.
I could hardly feel my Fae essence. It dwindled in the dark corners of my soul like the last rays of sun before night.
I was too close to the edge—of the mountain and of myself. One slip, one breath too long in this form, and I would vanish into the abyss, no different than my mother.
This was where she'd stood, where she'd taken her final breath before leaping into the consuming fires. Sixty-five years ago.
And this... this was where I found myself five months after her death, holding the lifeless body of my sister.
Memories of my mother and sister burned brighter than the lightning above my head, searing themselves into me.
My mother never told me what she was going to do. But she told Zyrra. Only Zyrra. Because Mother intended for her to have the rejuvenation potion.
Father had gone through all the hells to find the ingredients for that damn potion. They were so rare it was nearly impossible to find them. But he did.
He came back triumphant, clutching salvation in his hands… and that was when we discovered Zyrra was sick too.
My sister had hidden her sickness with glamours strong enough to deceive even us. After seeing what we went through with Mother, she didn't want us to worry, and she knew Father wouldn't have been able to get the ingredients for two potions.
Zyrra begged Mother to take the potion, to live the extra hundred years it promised. Mother, of course, refused.
In his distress, my father suggested we take a few days to think, hoping he'd come up with a solution to save them both.
But Mother gave the potion to Zyrra the very next night. Then she came here to end her life, wanting to leave this world with what little remained of her Fae essence. She died believing her sacrifice saved her daughter.
But the potion didn't work. It was too late.
The glamours that concealed Zyrra’s sickness masked how far it had spread.
Her sickness ran deeper than any enchantment could reach.
Too much of her essence had already been devoured.
Her body couldn’t bind to the elixir. It slid through her like water through cracked stone, powerless against what she had become.
After that, the sickness devoured what little remained of Zyrra's essence, draining her until she became Hollowborn. A soulless, destructive vessel that drew evil like a beacon. There was no saving her.
In the end, when she began to kill, we weren't left with much choice. We had to stop her.
I brought her body here to be with our mother. Though the blight had devoured their souls, I knew they would have wanted to be together. I'd hoped the afterlife would remember them anyway.
This mountain carried their memory in its stone. Every echo of thunder, every hiss of fire rising from the crater whispered their names to me. I came here because it was the one place that still remembered them with me. The one place where my rage found a voice. And yet, I couldn't escape the pain.
Zyrra's face haunted me daily. Because of what I had to do. Seeing her standing there yesterday in the clearing, alive—not dead—gave me hope I should never have harbored. And when she disappeared, the pain from the past struck me anew.
My mother's death broke my soul. But Zyrra's death ruined me.
The wound she left cleaved a hole through my essence so deep there was no healing.
Even Alaric couldn't stand to look at me.
Or maybe it was me who couldn't stand to face him.
We carried the same grief, but mine was poisoned by something far worse than loss.
Guilt.
And Elariya...
What she told me about Zyrra struck me to my core. I knew there had to be more at work, more than what we saw. But my enemy had come at me with the one thing they knew would break me down to nothing.
Now I sat here in ruins. Elariya had come into my life, forcing me to feel again, to want again. But I was useless to her now.
I pressed my skull-like face into my hands, the bone cold and unforgiving beneath my touch. Lightning split the sky, and for a heartbeat, Elariya's face flashed through my mind.
She had caught glimpses of my Deathwalker form, but never like this. She must have known by now that my power reached beyond this world. And still, though terror had shone in her eyes, she had run toward the monster I had become, not away from it.
And I sent her away. Because monsters didn’t deserve salvation.
But the truth was worse. I saw her run toward me, and I knew I couldn't afford to slip up again.
The fucking battle was testament enough. We'd been lured into a trap, and she'd nearly been taken. Had she not thought to use that strange power—another one I couldn't explain—they would have had her. I'd have been locked in combat with the beast while they carried her away.
The necromancer had been right. Love had blinded me.
Love had crippled me once before, keeping me from seeing Zyrra's sickness. I lost my sister to the shadows, and if I wasn't careful, I would lose Elariya the same way.
That was why I sent them all to the safe house and left Bastian with instructions. I severed every link that could lead back to me, even Elariya's shackle. I needed to be alone, to unfuck my head and drag myself back into control. However long that might take.
I had bound Bastian by blood oath for this very reason, though I never imagined it would come to this.
Elariya needed someone strong enough to keep her safe.
Someone steady enough to protect her when I no longer could.
I'd damned her by bringing her to Galaythia, and my plans to reclaim the ring had failed.
Now I had to fix the mess I'd made. The first step was removing myself.
Maybe that meant losing her forever. Once her memory reset, it would be over.
Then I'd just have to protect her until I got the ring back. She’d be safe then.
But gods... was this truly it? Our goodbye? Was I really going to let her go back to Stormfell and forget me? Forever?
The thought split me open, and I realized it was the one fate I couldn't endure.
And yet it was one I had to face, because the danger had grown out of control.
Dreynthor was the least of my worries now.
Zyrra—if it was her—had sided with my enemies, and there were too many questions I couldn't answer.
I knew the ring was their object of desire.
But why? Why chase it if I was the only one who could wield its power?
Perhaps they thought to steal it as Elariya's father had.
But that still left the greater question—why?
After everything that had happened, I was certain my father's death was linked to the rebellion. But not to fracture the kingdom. That felt too small now. Whatever plot was moving beneath the surface, it had to be something bigger. That must have been why the ring was hiding.
Until I knew, until I had answers, I had no business dragging Elariya deeper into this war. Perhaps she was better off not knowing me at all. My selfish need to keep her close was the very thing that could destroy her.
I pressed my palms into the jagged stone, bowing my head as the storm raged above me. And then the air shifted.
My shadows coiled tighter along the walls, and something whispered through the darkness. I looked up as a flash of silver flickered overhead. At first, I thought it was more lightning. Until a swarm of Nyzith strands descended, searing against the gloom.
In my desolation, they wrapped around me, light threading through the dark. Then they sang, the same prayer-like song I had heard the day the spell to track the ring first failed.
The strands wound around me, weightless but sharp, brushing my skin like whispers. Slowly, they gathered, knitting themselves into a figure. A person. A woman.
Long hair spilled down her back like a river of starlight. Her outline shimmered, a face forming within the silver glow. The strands pulsed, flickering in and out, the shape wavering between smoke and substance. Yet with every heartbeat, the figure grew clearer. Undeniable. Impossible.
I froze. My heart hammered against my ribs louder than the storm, screaming recognition even as my mind refused to believe. The strands bent and twisted, pulsing, the face still blurred, yet there was no mistaking what I saw. Who I saw.
My mother.
As soon as recognition struck, the strands sealed, and her body seemed to become flesh. Bright blue eyes fixed on mine, long black hair streamed like silk in the wind, and a silver gown flowed around her like water.
She stood before me as she had in life, poised and unyielding, though her form wavered at the edges as if the Nyzith still held her together.
My breath snagged. I pushed to my feet, staring at her with wide, disbelieving eyes.
“My beautiful boy.” Her voice was as gentle as a lullaby. “Let not your heart be troubled.”
“Mother. It really is you.”
“Indeed. I've longed to see you.”
My entire body stilled. Even my shadows froze to take in this unbelievable moment.
“How is this possible?”
“Destiny sent me to put things right and keep you from walking in the shadows of death forever.” Her gaze swept over my Deathwalker form, sadness dimming her eyes. Then she reached out and touched me.
The gentle caress washed over my body, and I became myself again—the Fae prince—shedding my Deathwalker form.
“Listen well, Wolfe. We don't have much time. The strands can only hold me for so long.” She studied my face, and her expression softened. “I can see the weight you carry, my son. You've been lost in darkness too long.”
“I feel trapped, Mother.” I couldn't hide the anguish from my voice.
“No. You only feel that way because too much has happened that should never have been. But now it is time for you to be strong. To fight for life. To fight for love.”
“Love.” I whispered the word, but it felt like I had shouted it through my soul.
“Love,” she echoed, firmer now. “You must go back to her, Wolfe. Your mage needs you.”
“I don't want to put her in more danger. I only want to do what's best for her.”
Her smile faded. “Then hear me well. If you do not return to her, she will die.”
A knife twisted in my chest, and the air in my lungs became razor-thin. “Die?”
She nodded slowly. “Yes, my love. And with her death, everything you've ever fought for will fade. Even your soul. Only you can protect her, Wolfe. Only you. Because you love her.”
“I do, but Bastian is—”
“Bastian will do his best, but he is not you, my son.” She drew in a breath that sounded like rushing waves. “The enemy will kill your Bloodsworn and take your Elariya. They'll use her to find the ring by whatever means, then kill her when she is no longer useful to them.”
I thought of my Elariya. Those warm eyes that always looked at me like I was something worth saving. Her heart that beat with so much life when she was happy. Her soul that spoke to mine.
And if she died... all of that would be gone. Just another memory to haunt me, like my mother. Like Zyrra. Like Father.
She'd become another name carved into the endless list of everything I had lost.
I couldn't bear it. Not with her. I wouldn't.
“I can't let her die. I won't let that happen to my mage.” I spoke with newfound determination, setting aside the despair that had brought me here.
No matter what I felt, I had to be what Elariya needed to protect her.
Mother smiled. “Then go and fight and live. Live for me. Live for all of us, and do not allow death to take you.”
Her form began to unravel, strands of silver pulling away into the storm.
“Mother.” I reached out to her.
She reached back, our fingertips barely brushing. “I'm always with you, my beautiful boy. Always. Now go.”
She faded, taking the Nyzith strands with her, but her warmth lingered, a sensation I had never felt before.
I lifted my gaze to the crackling lightning above. The weight that had chained me only moments ago loosened its grip. In its place surged something I hadn't felt in years.
Purpose.
My mother's warmth still lingered within me, steadying the chaos, reminding me I was more than my curse, more than my shadows.
It was time to go and fight. For my mage.
I'd once vowed to burn the kingdom to ashes if I couldn't have her. Now, more than ever, I knew I would.
Not even the gods could save anyone who stood in my way.