CHAPTER ELEVEN
Words fell from Thalia's lips like water through cupped hands, impossible to contain fully as she tried to explain what she'd witnessed in the darkness beyond consciousness.
The day that had passed since her waking had taken its toll.
The visions that had been so vivid, so real—the ancient smiths singing metal into new forms, the root-singers weaving golden currents through earth and plant, the Founders joining hands in sacrifice—now scattered like mist before dawn's light whenever she reached for them.
Her head throbbed with the effort, each attempted explanation leaving her more drained than the last, as though the knowledge itself was somehow too heavy for her newly awakened mind to carry.
"They used their voices," she said, frustrated by how inadequate the words felt compared to what she had experienced. "The smiths. They didn't just hammer the metal into shape. They sang to it, and it listened."
Kaine leaned forward in his chair beside her bed, his brow furrowed with concentration.
The shadows beneath his eyes spoke of sleepless nights, though whether spent rebuilding Frostforge's walls or watching over her, Thalia couldn't be certain.
Luna stood on the other side, her small form unnaturally still, all her usual fidgeting replaced by intense focus.
"And the ice," Thalia continued, her voice growing fainter with each word. "It wasn't forced into the metal. It was... invited. They found the places where the currents already flowed and guided the ice along those same paths."
"Like your current-sensing," Luna murmured, her dark eyes gleaming with understanding.
Thalia nodded, the simple movement sending a wave of dizziness through her. She closed her eyes against it, willing the room to stop spinning. When she opened them again, Kaine was watching her with barely concealed concern.
"Maybe we should continue this later," he suggested, his tone gentle but firm. "You've only been awake for a day. There's time—"
"Is there?" Thalia cut him off, more sharply than she intended. The effort cost her; she had to pause, draw a shallow breath that somehow never quite filled her lungs. "The Deep Tide is coming. If I don't remember now, when?"
A throat cleared from the foot of her bed, startling all three of them. The head healer stood there, a tall woman with salt-streaked hair pulled back in a severe bun. Her weathered face bore the pinched expression of someone carrying too many burdens with too few resources.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," she said, her Northern accent clipping the edges of her words, "but I need to discuss discharge arrangements."
Kaine straightened in his chair. "Discharge? She just woke up yesterday. After a magical coma."
The healer's mouth tightened. "I'm well aware of her condition, Mr. Ember.
But I have wounded fighters still arriving from coastal outposts, and the scouts report the Deep Tide advancing.
We need every bed." She turned her attention to Thalia, her expression softening slightly.
"I wouldn't suggest this if I thought it would endanger you, child.
But your vital signs are stable, and your mother can monitor you for any changes. "
Luna frowned. "Has Wolfe authorized this?"
"Instructor Wolfe has authorized all non-critical patients to be discharged," the healer confirmed, her tone making it clear the decision wasn't open to debate. "The War Council needs space to prepare for what's coming."
Thalia felt a flutter of panic, not at the thought of leaving the infirmary but at the confirmation that the Deep Tide's advance was accelerating.
She'd seen what awaited them—shadows that unmade reality, tendrils that could tear through stone as though it were parchment.
And somewhere within that darkness, a massive entity that dwarfed all the others, moving with deliberate intent toward Frostforge.
"It's fine," she said, cutting through Kaine's continued protests. "I don't need to be here."
She pushed herself up to a sitting position, ignoring the trembling in her arms. The room tilted alarmingly, colors bleeding into one another at the edges of her vision. She gripped the rough linen of her blanket, anchoring herself against the disorientation.
"Aside from the fog in my head and... this breathlessness," she managed, forcing a smile that felt like a grimace, "I feel fine."
The healer approached, pressing cool fingers to Thalia's wrist, feeling her pulse. "You'll need to take things slowly. No exertion. Rest as much as possible." She glanced at Luna. "And someone should stay with you, in case of... complications."
The hesitation told Thalia more than the healer likely intended. They still didn't understand what had happened to her, what she'd become in that chamber beneath the forge. The knowledge that had flowed into her, changing her from within—it was beyond their healing arts.
"This is ridiculous," Kaine said, rising to his feet. "She needs medical supervision. After what she did, what she endured—"
"Kaine," Thalia interrupted, her voice barely above a whisper but somehow cutting through his objections. "It's alright. The injured need this space more than I do."
Movement across the infirmary caught her eye—her mother, who had been changing bandages on a wounded Northern soldier, had noticed the commotion. Celeste dropped what she was doing and hurried over, her face pinched with worry.
"What's happening?" she demanded, her gaze moving from Thalia to the healer and back again.
"They're discharging her," Kaine said before anyone else could respond, frustration evident in every line of his body.
Celeste's eyes widened. "After what she's been through? No, that's not acceptable. My daughter needs rest, proper care—"
"Mother," Thalia said softly. "Please."
The single word, laden with exhaustion, silenced Celeste more effectively than any argument could have. She looked at her daughter, really looked at her, and something in her expression shifted from protective outrage to resigned understanding.
Thalia swung her legs over the side of the bed, the simple motion draining her as thoroughly as a day's work in the Howling Forge once had. Luna moved to her side without being asked, offering her shoulder for support. Thalia accepted it gratefully, leaning more heavily than she would have liked.
"Careful," Luna murmured, her arm slipping around Thalia's waist as she rose unsteadily to her feet.
The floor seemed to sway beneath her, as though she stood on the deck of a ship rather than the solid stone of Frostforge.
Her legs felt strange—both leaden and insubstantial, like trying to walk through deep water.
The knowledge she'd gained in her visions pressed against her consciousness, simultaneously just out of reach and overwhelming in its enormity.
"Don't worry," Luna said, her gaze moving from Celeste to Kaine. "I'll take her somewhere quiet to rest."
The tension in Kaine's shoulders didn't ease, but he nodded, recognizing the practicality of the situation if not accepting it. Celeste moved closer, her hands fluttering like nervous birds before settling on smoothing Thalia's tangled hair.
"I'll bring tea," her mother said, the simple offer carrying all her worry and love. "And something to eat. You're too thin."
Thalia managed a small smile, genuine this time. "Thank you."
Luna adjusted her grip, supporting more of Thalia's weight as they took a tentative step forward.
"Though it doesn't sound like your recovery period can be that long," she added, her voice low enough that only Thalia could hear her.
"The Deep Tide is coming. And we'll need whatever you learned in those visions. "
Thalia nodded, the movement sending another wave of dizziness through her.
Luna was right. Whatever grace period they had—hours, days—it wouldn't be enough.
Not with what she'd seen approaching. Not with the knowledge of what happened the last time humanity faced this threat, and the price the Founders had paid to hold it back.
A price that would soon come due once more.
***
Darkness had settled over Frostforge, but Thalia barely noticed the passage of time.
She sat huddled before the hearth in the common area, a heavy woolen blanket draped over her shoulders like a cloak, its weight both comforting and somehow necessary—as though without it, she might drift away on currents of memory not entirely her own.
Firelight danced across her face, catching in the hollows beneath her cheekbones, deepened by her ordeal.
Outside, beyond the thick stone walls, night air carried the bitter cold of the Reaches and something else—a heaviness, a waiting stillness that reminded her of the moment before lightning strikes.
Luna approached from the small kitchen alcove, steam rising from the mug clutched between her hands. "Willow bark and honey," she said, passing it to Thalia. "Should help with the headache."
Thalia accepted the tea gratefully, the warmth of the clay mug seeping into her cold fingers. She hadn't mentioned the persistent throbbing behind her eyes, but Luna had noticed anyway. That was Luna—seeing everything while pretending to see nothing.
"Thank you," Thalia said, inhaling the earthy, slightly bitter scent before taking a careful sip. The honey didn't quite mask the medicinal taste, but she welcomed it nonetheless. It reminded her of her mother's shop, of childhood ailments treated with patient hands and ancient knowledge.
Kaine sat across from her, his large frame dwarfing the wooden chair, fingers interlaced as he leaned forward with the intensity that was so characteristically his.
The flickering light cast his face in stark relief, emphasizing the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the furrow between his brows that never fully smoothed these days.
"You were saying," he prompted gently, "about the Founders' seal."