Chapter 28 #4
Lyra stares at the journal. “So . . . he really did all that?”
Valen doesn’t answer right away. He turns the page, studying the faded ink, his fingers tracing the careful script as if weighing something unspoken.
A long pause.
Then, finally, he exhales, voice measured, almost challenging. “That’s what the Fire Clan says.”
Lyra shifts slightly where she sits, still pale, weak, but alive. Garrick stays close, his hand near hers—ready, just in case.
I look to Thane. His face is blank—but not calm.
What is Valen suggesting? I sift through his words, the ones he’s said before: “History is written by the victors.”
Could it all be a lie?
The thought catches in my chest like a hook. I want to dismiss it—but I can’t.
This wasn’t just a war. It was a story. One the Fire Clan needed everyone to believe. A story crafted to justify what they did. A story polished until no one even thought to ask:
Why did the Shadow Clan have to be erased?
Valen snaps the journal shut. The sound cracks the silence. His expression is set, his voice firm.
“We need to take what we can—maps, books, records. This journal.” His gaze sweeps over the shelves, his fingers tightening around the worn leather cover.
“As much as possible.” He doesn’t wait for agreement.
He moves, scanning the rows, already pulling books free, stacking them on the nearest surface.
Jarek steps forward, running a hand over the cracked spines. “How do we know what’s important?”
Valen doesn’t look up. “We don’t. That’s why we take everything we can carry.”
Lyra is still pale, her movements slow. But she reaches for a book anyway. Garrick stays close, ready if she needs him.
Across the room, Rian unrolls a map, frowning at the faded ink. “Old territory lines—but nothing I recognize.”
Thane is still. His gaze locked on the journal in Valen’s hands. Tension coils through him—but he says nothing.
Then, without a word, he turns away, stepping toward one of the aisles. He glances over his shoulder—a quick flick of his eyes. An unspoken follow me. So I do.
We step down a narrow column of books, the air thick with dust and something heavier, something unspoken. His steps are measured, controlled. Too controlled. But I see it—the tightness in his spine, the way his fingers curl slightly at his sides, the way his breath isn’t quite steady.
I wait until we’re out of earshot. Then I reach out, brushing his shoulder—light, tentative.
He stills and turns but his eyes are distant, unfocused. The glow from the cavern reflects in his eyes, catching on the gold flecks that burn like embers in the dark.
I keep my voice soft. “What is it?”
The air is dense with dust and history, pressing in like the weight of something long buried. The firelight from the floating orbs casts shifting shadows against the stone, their glow making the carved symbols on the walls seem alive—shifting, breathing, remembering.
The bond tightens—steady, insistent. It isn’t just pulling us toward something anymore. It’s as if it’s reacting to something that’s already here.
The firelight carves shadows into the sharp edges of his cheekbones, the cut of his jaw. I place my hand lightly on his arm, feeling the coiled strength beneath my fingertips. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pull away. But he doesn’t meet my gaze, either.
I step closer. “Thane.” My voice is quiet, but certain. Finally, he looks down at me. And I feel it again—the weight pressing down on him, the war inside him.
He draws in a breath, slow and controlled. But when he speaks, his voice is lower than usual, rough at the edges. “This place . . . ” He exhales, his fingers twitching at his sides. “It confirms what I’ve always wondered. And what I’ve begun to fear.”
I swallow. “The Fire Clan’s history.”
He nods, his gaze landing past me—to the books, the walls, the proof that shouldn’t exist. “The Fire Clan manages the archives in the capital. They have since the Shadow Wars five hundred years ago.” His voice is even, but there’s something hollow beneath it.
“The records told the story.” He pauses.
“According to them, places like this shouldn’t exist.”
There’s something resigned in his tone, something that makes my stomach drop. “And now?” I press gently.
He exhales through clenched teeth, then loosens his fists. When he looks at me again, there’s something raw in his expression. “Now, I don’t know what’s real.”
The bond pulses—slow, deep, like the echo of something awakening beneath our feet. The urgency of it.
Thane shifts, his voice dropping lower. “If what’s in these books contradicts what we were taught—” He stops, shaking his head slightly. “Then what else have we been blind to?”
I barely whisper the next words. “Then what else have they rewritten? And what is the truth?”
The silence between us is thick, heavy with the answers we don’t have yet.
Thane exhales, steady. But the decision is already there—etched across his shoulders. “I have to tell them.”
I already know what he means. His past. His lineage. The truth we agreed to keep to ourselves only yesterday.
“Are you sure?”
“I trust Garrick. Jarek. Rian.” His voice is steady, certain. “I’ve known them since we were children. We trained together, fought together. They’re more than my second-in-commands.” His throat bobs, emotion shadowing his face. “They’re my brothers.”
I swallow, nodding. “I trust Lyra.”
His gaze lifts to me—quiet, direct. “Then we tell them.”
My brows knit together. “But why now?”
“Because they are part of it now. Here, in this chamber. Whatever we might discover in these texts. They deserve to know all of the pieces at play. They deserve to know the truth of what’s in my blood.
I’ve spent years hiding this part of myself—even from them.
But if this chamber is what I think it is .
. . hiding it now would be a choice. A lie. ”
I glance back toward the others.
They’re still gathered around the books, speaking in low tones, sifting through the records.
Garrick gestures to a map, brow furrowed.
Rian flips through another book, lips pressed into a thin line.
Lyra is still pale but focused, her usual sharp edges dulled but not gone.
Garrick stays close, his eyes flicking to her every few moments like he’s still making sure she’s here, breathing.
Valen is quiet, turning to another page of Sylas’ journal.
There’s too much here, too much to process, too much left unspoken.
And we don’t have time to waste.
Thane’s hand tightens around mine before he moves. Like he needs to feel something real before he steps forward to do what he can’t take back. His palm is warm, strong, but beneath it, I can feel the tension in his grip—the weight pressing down on him.
This isn’t just a conversation. It’s a reckoning.
Yesterday, he told only Valen and me. For the first time in his life, he let someone outside his family know who he truly is.
And now he’s about to do it again. To Garrick, Jarek, Rian—his brothers in everything but blood.
To Lyra, who I trust more than anyone. To the people who have stood beside him, fought beside him, bled beside him.
To the people who, after today, may never see him the same way again.
He knows the weight of this. We step toward the others.
Thane doesn’t let go of my hand. Not when we stop at the edge of the group. Not when he lifts his chin and speaks the words that will change everything.
“I need to tell you something.”
The conversation around us dies instantly. Books are lowered. Maps forgotten. One by one, they turn to face him.
Jarek. Garrick. Rian. His brothers, in every way that matters. Lyra, standing beside Garrick, still pale, but alert. Valen, his fingers resting against the edge of Sylas Veyne’s journal.
Thane’s grip around mine tightens, just slightly. He looks at Valen. A brief moment. A silent exchange. A flicker of understanding. A choice already made.
Valen gives a single nod.
I don’t watch Thane as he speaks. I watch them.
The glow wavers. Shadows slip across their faces, shifting with the movement of the air, making them look almost unreal—carved from shadow and flame, caught between past and present.
Lyra is the most expressive. Her brows knit together, her lips parting slightly as if to interrupt, but she doesn’t.
She listens. I can see her fighting between shock and understanding, between disbelief and loyalty.
Her fingers curl into the fabric of her tunic, gripping tight, like she’s trying to anchor herself in something real.
Rian is silent. Steady. Taking it all in. His jaw is tense, his arms crossed, but he doesn’t speak. Doesn’t react immediately. He’s a soldier. A strategist. He waits until he has all the information before he moves.
Jarek is grim. His usual confidence muted. He drags a hand over his jaw. I can tell he’s already thinking ahead. Not just about what this means, but about the weight of it, the danger.
Garrick, who always has a joke. Always has something easy to say, something sharp to deflect the moment.
He says nothing. His face is unreadable, his usual smirk long gone.
He stares at Thane, eyes flicking briefly to me, then back again, like he’s waiting for the punchline to some joke that isn’t coming.
The firelight flickers, the glow shifting, making their expressions seem to change with every second.
What he’s said—they can’t unhear. And I don’t know yet if that will make them stand closer or step away.
No one speaks. The moment holds.
Then, finally—Lyra is the first to speak. She exhales sharply, running a hand through her copper hair, her blue eyes wide with something between shock and fierce protectiveness.
“You’re telling me that you’ve been walking around with the biggest secret in the world like it’s just another godsdamned burden on your back?” Her voice cuts. Not angry. Just stunned.