THREE
BIGGER THAN JUST A ROOM
“Our roots are our foundation,” as the Earth Clan teaches.
We of the Air Clan, ever soaring, too often forget the importance of being grounded.
Yet with every new artifact we uncover, I am drawn back to one inescapable truth: our past is our root.
We may try to sever it, bury it deeper beneath layers of time and silence, but truth does not wither.
It waits. The Prophecy speaks of a fifth element rising.
I cannot shake the feeling that this is somehow tied to the lands, to the Clans, to what came before us.
I record this suspicion here, and will continue my search.
The future of the realm is, I believe, deeply rooted in our past.”
—VALEN’S JOURNAL
AMARA
As Sera leads Lyra and me through the winding halls of the castle, pointing out key areas along the way, she casts a glance over her shoulder, her tone reassuring.
“Is Malek always that . . . ” I pause, searching for a diplomatic word. “ . . . off-putting?”
“Don’t let Malek get under your skin,” she says. “He’s sharp, but he’s saved our asses more than once. His expertise has been invaluable—both in preparing for potential attacks and in navigating the more . . . interesting political currents around here.”
She offers a wry smile. “Not everybody clicks with him and he can be a bit . . . prickly. But we trust he’s good at what he does.”
As we continue down the corridor, Sera’s words settle in the back of my mind, a quiet reassurance. But before I can fully accept them as truth, Lyra’s at my side again, needling as usual.
“Well, well, well.” She sidles up beside me, grinning.
I keep walking, refusing to take the bait.
She nudges me with her shoulder. “Mara. Oh mighty chosen one. My dear, dear best friend.”
“No—”
“That was a moment, back there. At the Ember Throne steps.”
I exhale sharply, determined to keep my face blank—but Lyra is relentless.
“I just think it’s interesting—”
“Lyra!” I laugh. She never misses a beat.
“That you’re practically glowing,” she continues, eyes dancing, “and it’s not your Elemental magics this time—”
“Ly—”
“Fine, fine, I’ll stop—” She grins. “For now.”
Her observations give me pause. I could play this game too, teasing her about Garrick. But when I look at her more closely, something feels off.
We haven’t spoken about the tunnels. About what happened down there. And now, beneath the banter and sharp smirk, I see it. A flicker of something raw. Like her edges haven’t only softened—she’s barely holding herself together.
Slowing my steps, I watch her more carefully. “Are you okay?”
I wrap an arm around her waist, immediately aware of how unsteady she still is as we walk.
Her gaze drops, a shallow inhale tightening her shoulders. Then she lifts her eyes, meeting mine through her lashes.
“Yes.” And then, quieter, “Grateful to be alive.”
She takes a deep, shaking breath.
“I haven’t had a moment to process it, I think. With everything that’s happened . . . ” Her voice cracks on the last word.
We both glance at Sera, several strides ahead of us. Her pace doesn’t change, but I know she hears everything.
Lyra exhales. Then, softer still, “I’ll be okay. I’m just tired, and a bit rattled. It’s all catching up to me now.”
She shakes it off and smiles, small but real, then reaches for my hand where it rests at her waist.
Lyra doesn’t let go.
Neither do I.
“Come on,” Sera says gently, waving us forward. “Let’s get you ladies settled.”
The stone beneath my boots is smooth, worn by time. The walls rise high above us, each block etched with the sigils of Fire Clan warlords. Some I recognize from the war tapestries, others are worn so faint by time they seem like ghosts trapped in the rock.
We continue moving through a series of winding corridors, each one leading deeper into the heart of the castle.
“This castle has stood for nearly five hundred years,” Sera explains, her voice even, but edged with something close to reverence. “It was built during the first war between the Fire Clan and the Shadow Forces. A symbol of endurance and rule.”
And I feel that—the history of this place is etched into every stone.
“It’s beautiful,” I say softly.
Sera nods, but her gaze lingers on me for a moment longer. “It’s also a cage, if you let it be.”
I say nothing. Because she’s right. I already feel the weight of what this castle represents and what I’ve stepped into.
“Come on,” Sera says, waving us forward. “We have more important things to deal with—like letting you rest after your journey.”
Her gaze flicks to Lyra, her brows drawing together as she takes in the pallor of her skin, the purple shadows beneath her eyes, the way her bright tone compensates for the fatigue weighing on her body.
She registers it, then politely looks away.
She doesn’t ask what happened, but she knows something is off.
Lyra lets out a dramatic sigh, finally dropping my hand. “So no time to admire all the gloomy war tapestries? Tragic.”
“You’ll live,” Sera says with a laugh.
“Barely.”
My eyes widen as I shoot Lyra a sharp look. She’s already joking about nearly dying. Of course she is.
What? she mouths.
I roll my eyes but follow, letting my thoughts shift with the movement.
The air changes as we climb higher, the sounds of the castle fading behind thick walls, the weight of history giving way to something quieter. More personal. We’re leaving behind the halls of rulers and warlords . . . and heading toward the space where one still lives.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
Sera gives me a sidelong glance, almost like she’s been waiting for me to ask. “To your quarters,” she says smoothly. Then, casually, “Thane insisted you stay in the Warlord’s chambers.”
Lyra’s gaze bores into me. I glance at her and—oh. She’s grinning.
My eyes narrow in warning, but she only arches a brow, utterly unrepentant. With my free arm, I poke her in the ribs, the other still supporting her in staying balanced.
Lyra barely flinches, her grin only widening.
Then, she mouths, You’re definitely having sex tonight.
I choke back a laugh, poking her harder.
“Stop it,” I hiss under my breath.
Lyra shrugs, entirely too pleased with herself. But she doesn’t stop—just gives me that mischievous look of hers, the one that says I have waited my entire life for this moment and I will not let you ruin it for me.
I glare at her, but I’m grinning too. I’ll always love her kid-at-heart ways. She makes the heavy feel less heavy, effortlessly.
Sera doesn’t turn around, but I swear I catch the faintest shake of her head, a twitch of her ear like she’s smiling. Instead, she keeps leading us forward. Straight to his chambers.
The higher we climb, the quieter the castle becomes. The sounds of the Keep, conversations of staff and the distant footsteps of guards at their posts, fade away. This part of the castle just feels more intimate.
Sera stops in front of a heavy wooden door carved with the sigil of the Fire Clan, its deep grooves worn smooth from years of use. I stare at the iron handle, the polished dark wood, the sheer weight of it.
And hesitate.
Because this isn’t just a door.
It’s his door.
Stepping inside feels like stepping into something much bigger than just a room.
I take a steadying breath, then push the door open and peek inside.
The chamber is large but not extravagant—designed for function, not indulgence. A massive sitting area occupies one side, anchored by a long wooden table and sturdy chairs with gray cushions on each seat.
To the right is a private bathing chamber. Through the arched entryway, I see the stone tub deep enough to submerge entirely. And against the far wall rests the bed.
It’s massive. Dark sheets. Thick furs piled high. Built for warmth. For comfort. For solitude.
And suddenly I understand.
This room has never been shared; Thane has lived here alone for years.
The furnishings are minimal—clean lines and dark wood. Stone floors are softened by worn rugs. The faint scent of cedar and leather lingers in the air.
And yet there’s warmth here. Not in opulence or softness, but in presence.
It feels like a retreat from the burdens of the world. A space carved out of duty and solitude, of the kind of silence only those who lead need. Built for someone who has always carried the weight of command alone.
And now—impossibly—it’s also mine.
Not because I claimed it, but because Thane chose to include me in this space.
And that means more than I know how to say. I swallow the lump of emotion rising in my throat.
Sera points to the wall by a desk. Above it hangs a textile, about the size of a window, depicting a farm.
“The Warlord had that commissioned for you,” Sera explains. “He sent sketch artists to your farm to capture it. Then had the capital’s finest tapestry weavers recreate it.”
I step closer, squinting slightly. A pang of nostalgia hits when I notice the details: the wind chime on the porch, the rocking chairs arranged angled towards one another instead of facing the fields, the faded blue door.
Tears sting my eyes.
Lyra gasps from the doorway. “Mara! It’s your home!”
I press my fingers to the corners of my eyes, shaking my head.
When did he do this?
“Wait—is that . . . it is!” Lyra exclaims. “Mara! He had a Stonekeep made!”
My gaze drops to the small stone brick set beneath the tapestry. It’s about a foot long and half a foot high.
My mind travels back to my home, to the stone ledge beside the door where my mother etched our names over the years on our family’s Stonekeep. This is a long-standing tradition in the Earth Clan—births, vows, even heartbreaks—all carved into stone.
I step closer and read the markings.
Two dates are etched there, along with the events that happened.
The first is the date Thane and Valen stepped through that portal of purple light after my village was destroyed. The second date is when Thane first felt our bond.
My hand presses against my chest as the bond hums softly in response, as if in quiet approval.