CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Thalia climbed the winding path to Smith's Anvil, her breath clouding in the pre-dawn chill. Each step sent ripples of weakness through legs still recovering from days spent horizontal, but determination drove her upward despite the protests of her body.
The eastern sky had begun to pale, a thin line of silver sketching the horizon where night reluctantly surrendered to day. She needed to see this—the sun breaking over the edge of the world, casting light across what remained of the lands she had sworn to protect.
The Crystalline Plateau stretched beneath her, its ancient ice-carved surface reflecting the growing light in subtle prismatic shifts.
Frostforge's highest point had always been sacred to smiths; generations had ascended this same path to watch the day's first light glint off their creations, to test their blades against the cleanest, coldest air.
Thalia's fingers traced the rough stone at the path's edge, feeling the subtle currents that whispered of centuries of footsteps, of prayers muttered by craftsmen long dead, of hopes both realized and abandoned.
The Smith's Anvil itself—a flat outcropping of blue-black stone that jutted from the plateau's edge like the prow of some massive, earthbound ship—waited just ahead.
The wind picked up as she approached, tugging at her hair with insistent fingers, as though eager to welcome her to this hallowed place.
She had been here before, in her first year at Frostforge, when Instructor Wolfe had led the initiates up at midwinter to witness the sun's briefest appearance.
Then, the climb had left her winded but exhilarated.
Now, it left her trembling with an exhaustion that reached deeper than muscle, into the very marrow of her bones.
Still, she pressed on. If her suspicions were correct, if what awaited her was what her visions had shown, she would not have many more opportunities to witness such beauty.
The thought should have terrified her—the acceptance of her own ending—but instead, it brought a strange clarity.
Each sensation became sharper, more precious.
The bite of the wind against her cheeks.
The crunch of frost beneath her boots. The gradual lightening of the sky from charcoal to pearl.
When she reached the Anvil, Thalia settled herself on its edge, legs dangling over the precipice that fell away to the valley a thousand feet below.
From this vantage, the whole world seemed to spread itself before her like an offering.
To the west, the Golem Fields—where generations of Frostforge students had tested their ice-metal constructs—lay covered in a blanket of untouched snow, gleaming silver-blue in the gathering light.
The mountain ranges beyond formed jagged teeth against the sky, their peaks already catching the sun's first rays in a crown of gold and pink that had not yet reached the valleys.
But it was the east that drew her gaze most strongly, the direction from which both light and darkness now approached.
The fjord cut a path through the land like an accusatory finger pointing toward the distant sea.
Once, those waters had been deep blue in the morning light, alive with whitecaps and the occasional breach of great northern whales.
Now, they were black. Not the black of ordinary darkness, but something deeper, something that seemed to consume light rather than merely lacking it.
The unnatural tide had crept further inland since she'd last stood here, devouring miles of coastline, transforming forests and villages into nothing more than memories.
The sun breached the horizon, a sliver of molten gold that quickly grew into a blinding crescent.
Light spilled across the landscape, revealing the stark beauty of a world half-claimed by shadow.
The contrast struck Thalia with unexpected force—here, life and light and color; there, absence absolute.
The beauty of it caught in her throat like a physical thing.
"I'm sorry," she whispered to no one, to everyone. To the land itself, perhaps, or to those who had walked it before her. "I wish I had been stronger sooner."
But regret was a luxury she could no longer afford.
Tamsin's lessons had been brutally clear on that point.
Root-singing required presence—complete immersion in the moment, in the currents that flowed through earth and self alike.
Yesterday, as she'd struggled to sense the patterns in a handful of soil, the old man had rapped her knuckles with surprising strength.
"The earth doesn't recognize tomorrow or yesterday," he'd scolded. "It knows only now. If you're lost in what might have been, you'll never hear the song of what is."
Thalia smiled at the memory, at the fierce intelligence that burned behind Tamsin's clouded eyes.
He reminded her of her mother in some ways—that same unflinching practicality, that same insistence on seeing what was rather than what one wished to see.
She would miss them both when the time came.
Miss the chance to learn more from Tamsin, to heal the distances that had grown between herself and her mother during their years of separation.
But she would miss Mari most of all. Thalia had fought to bring her family back together, to bring her mother and sister to the safety of Frostforge’s keep; now they would lose her all over again.
The thought twisted in her chest like a blade between ribs.
She had promised to protect Mari, had sacrificed her own future to spare her sister from the Selection.
And now, she would break that promise in the most final way possible.
The sun climbed higher, its light spreading across the fjord, revealing the precise boundary where normal waters gave way to the black tide.
The line was unnaturally straight, as though drawn with a ruler—the edge of the barrier she had inadvertently created when she'd activated the Founders' Price chamber.
It wouldn't hold forever. Already, she could see the darkness pushing against it, testing for weaknesses like a predator circling wounded prey.
Behind her, boots crunched on frost-covered stone. She didn't need to turn to know who approached; something in her blood recognized the subtle electric charge that always accompanied Roran's presence. The faint hum in the air that spoke of storm magic was held in careful check.
"I thought I might find you here," he said, his voice carrying easily on the still morning air. "Your sister said you left at false dawn."
Thalia turned then, drinking in the sight of him silhouetted against the lightening sky.
The wind had tousled his wild black curls, and his dark eyes reflected gold from the rising sun.
Even now, after all they'd been through together, the sight of him stirred something in her chest—a warmth that defied the bitter cold of the plateau.
"I wanted to see the sunrise," she said simply. "While I had the chance."
Understanding dawned in his eyes, followed quickly by a flash of pain he didn't bother to hide.
He closed the distance between them, settling onto the stone beside her, close enough that their shoulders touched.
The warmth of him reached through the layers of their clothing, a reminder of life and its persistent heat.
"It's beautiful," he said after a moment, his gaze following hers out to the horizon where light and darkness waged their eternal battle. "Even now."
They sat in companionable silence for a time, watching as the sun continued its ascent, as shadows retreated across the landscape, revealing details that had been obscured in darkness.
A hawk circled lazily above the Golem Fields, riding thermals with effortless grace.
In the valley, smoke rose from the chimneys of the few homesteads that remained, people rising to face another day on the edge of oblivion.
"Where does this go?" Roran asked finally, his voice soft but direct. "All of it—the training with Tamsin, the root-singing. What's the goal?"
Thalia drew a deep breath, organizing her thoughts. She had known this conversation was coming, had rehearsed it in her mind, but now that the moment had arrived, the words seemed inadequate.
"It's about fusion," she said. "Mastery of the disciplines separately, then bringing them together as one.
What I saw in my visions—what the Founders did—they created a seal by combining the three forms of magic.
Not side by side, but truly merged into something new, something greater than the sum of its parts. "
Roran nodded, his brow furrowing as he absorbed her words. "Like the hybrid magics Jorik's people use. The frost-lightning that Lyra showed us. Or the blades you forged with Naj and the others."
"Yes, but on a much larger scale." Thalia's fingers traced patterns in the frost that covered the stone, unconsciously mimicking the currents she could sense flowing beneath. "The original seal is failing. That's what the visions were trying to tell me."
"And you believe that solution is creating a new seal?" Roran's voice remained level, but she could hear the tension beneath it, the fear he was trying to mask with calm.
"Yes. A stronger one. Using what we've learned in the centuries since the first was made." She turned to face him fully, needing him to understand. "The magic is still there, in the Founders' Price chamber. The mechanism they built. But it needs to be activated again."
Roran's expression shifted, a shadow passing over his features. "That would mean going back there. To the chamber beneath the Howling Forge."
"Yes." Thalia suppressed a shiver at the thought. In that chamber, she had nearly lost her life twice. It had been a regular feature in her nightmares since her third year as a student at the academy. "That's where it would have to happen."