Chapter 44 Nerina
Nerina
Skeldrhall, Ymirskald
I needed a plan. A way forward. Confronting the Tidekeepers—and my mother—would require more than fury. It would take strategy. Precision. Control. Two things I never learned.
I am powerful. I can feel it beneath my skin now, humming like a storm waiting to break. But it meant nothing if I didn’t know how to wield it. I wasn’t afraid of losing control. I was afraid of keeping it—and still hurting someone.
If I made a wrong move, it wouldn’t just be me that burned.
Enough. I am done drifting between questions and sorrow. Done waiting for others to decide what I was—or what I could be. Power without discipline was a weapon left to rust.
It is time to sharpen mine.
Magic isn't just power. It is rhythm. Language. Pulse and blade and silence. Precision. And until now, I’d never been taught to wield it with anything other than desperation.
That had to change. I couldn’t afford to let it rule me. I had to learn to rule it.
So I called on Eira.
Eira wielded a different kind of magic—healing. Not wild and destructive like mine, but magic all the same. Her power was a steady current, a balm where mine was a storm.
If there was anyone who could help me tame the tempest inside me—without fear, without judgment—it was her.
She arrived at Skeldrhall not long after sunrise, bright and cheerful as ever, the morning light catching on the silver-threaded ribbons braided into her golden hair. Snow clung to her fur-lined cloak, and her boots left wet prints across the stone as she entered.
“Did you miss me,” she teased, “Finally decided I’m more fun than brooding pirate boys and ancient cursed artifacts?”
I laughed—really laughed—for the first time in what felt like forever. But when it faded, the weight returned, heavy as an anchor.
So I told her everything.
Everything since my birth. The Crescent. The Elders. The Tidekeepers. My mother. The truth Alaric revealed.
And through it all, she listened. Never once interrupting. Never once scoffing at the impossible pieces. Her expression shifted like the tide—curiosity at first, then concern, then quiet, simmering fury when I told her what had been taken from me.
“I need to learn,” I said finally. My voice shook. “Not just to feel it. Not just to survive it. To wield it. My magic isn’t like anyone else’s, and I don’t know where else to turn. I don’t know who else to trust.”
She didn’t hesitate. “Then we start now.”
She reached across the space between us and took my hands, her palms warm despite the chill. “You are not too much, Nerina. Not too broken. Not too strange. Your magic doesn’t frighten me..”
My throat tightened. I wasn’t used to being seen without fear. Without expectation.
She gave my fingers a gentle squeeze. “We’ll figure it out. Together. One breath, one thread of power at a time.”
I nodded, blinking hard, though doubt still clawed beneath my ribs. What if she was wrong? What if there was nothing inside me but chaos—something unteachable, unfixable?
“Show me what it feels like when it begins.”
I closed my eyes and inhaled slowly. Beneath the hush of wind and the quiet creak of Skeldrhall’s timbers, I reached for the current on instinct—and missed. There was nothing but silence—empty, hollow, mocking.
Then—
A pulse.
It was there, steady and insistent, like a second heart beating against mine. Warmth stirred in the pit of my stomach, spiraling outward, slipping into my ribs as if they were cracks it had been waiting to escape through.
Terror and awe crashed through me together. This was no accident, no flare of desperation—it was me, calling it. Choosing it. Not my emotions. Me.
The light resisted for a moment, tugging against my intent like a tide testing a shoreline.
The magic didn’t come as a blaze or a crash. It rose slowly, inexorably, like the tide.
Light shimmered beneath my skin—subtle at first, then brighter. I gasped, then realized it wasn’t only me—Eira stilled beside me. But it wasn’t fear when she spoke.
It was wonder. “Stay with it,” she said gently. “Let it rise.”
I wanted to laugh, cry, scream. For years, the only way I’d survived it was by pushing it down, burying it deep so no one could see. Now it wanted out, and every instinct screamed at me to cage it again before it broke me apart.
But I forced myself to obey. I let go.
“Good,” she murmured. “Now shape it.”
I lifted my palm, hands trembling. The magic flared wild, wind surging around us. Snow swirled through cracks in the timbered hall, drawn into a spiral. My hair lifted, each strand reaching toward the light. My heart pounded too fast, fear clawing its way back in.
I struggled—struggled not to crush it down, not to cage it—but to trust it. To trust myself. It vanished.
Eira smiled, gentle and knowing. “Magic responds to intent. So—try to summon an orb.” Her grin flashed, quick and bright. “Yours might look different. Just… think of warmth. Of light.”
I exhaled slowly and closed my eyes again. This time I didn’t think of storms or desperation. I thought of creation. Of safety. Of the comfort I felt wrapped in sunlight. Of the steady burn of stars.
The shimmer gathered in my palm like mist drawn into form. It coalesced slowly, brightening into a soft orb that pulsed like a heartbeat.
Eira’s smile spread wide. “Good.”
The orb wavered as doubt crept in, and my throat tightened. I almost crushed it back down—afraid of losing control—but Eira’s voice cut in, steady.
“Breathe. Center yourself. You’ve got this.”
I drew a deep breath, steadying my pulse, and the light steadied with me.
Eira tilted her head, her tone softening. “Magic isn’t something you perform, Nerina. It’s alive. It listens.”
I looked down at the soft glow hovering over my hand, my chest aching with something dangerously close to hope.
“It gets stronger,” I said quietly, watching the shimmer shift and fade, “when I’m near the Crescent.”
Her brow furrowed, thoughtful. “That makes sense. It’s a part of you—your birthright. But that kind of power can be… volatile.”
She crossed her arms and gave me a mock-stern look. “So. We’re keeping that piece far away until you’ve got the basics down. No sense summoning hurricanes before I’ve even gotten you past the rip current.”
A startled laugh burst from me—tension breaking, just a little.
“Alright,” she said, grinning. Then she clapped once, all brightness and mischief. “Let’s get you somewhere you won’t blow the roof off when you do tap into it.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I murmured, and let the light fade from my palm.
The days blurred together after that—not into monotony, but into rhythm, though a rhythm that scraped me raw.
Eira pushed me, her golden hair bright against Skeldrhall’s shadows, her voice firm one moment and soothing the next. When I faltered, she laughed—not cruelly, but with a warmth that reminded me not to take myself too seriously. When I shattered, she sat with me in silence until the tremors passed.
“In, out. Don’t grip it so tight,” she reminded me, over and over, as if coaxing a stubborn current. “You’re not holding it hostage—you’re asking it to move with you.”
Once, in a burst of frustration, I cracked a stone pillar down the middle. The sound split Skeldrhall like thunder, shards scattering across the floor. I dropped to my knees, heart pounding, certain I’d proven every fear right—that I was dangerous, unteachable, doomed.
But Eira sat beside me on the cold stone, her hand finding mine. “If destruction was all you were capable of, you wouldn’t be sitting here crying about it,” she said simply.
Every time I succeeded, doubt still whispered: What if I can’t hold it? What if I break again? What if I hurt someone?
But with each breath, each stumble, each fragile triumph, I began to feel it—not just the weight of the magic, but its rhythm. Its pulse.
The storm was still there. Wild. Hungry. Dangerous.
My palms glowed steady with a light that felt stronger, warmer, than it had before. Not a flicker. Not a stuttering flame. A true, solid pulse—like holding a star.
Eira’s face lit up, joy flashing in her eyes. “That’s it! Gods, Nerina—you’re doing it!”
But the moment I let myself want it too much—the moment pride and fear tangled together—the orb fractured. The glow burst outward in a flare that shook the timbers and sent snow spiraling down from the rafters.
Eira caught me by the shoulders before I stumbled, her laugh soft but firm. “Easy. Easy—don’t pull it back so hard. Just let it settle.”
My heart hammered. Guilt and panic pressed against my ribs. “I almost lost it—”
“But you didn’t,” she cut in, squeezing tighter, grounding me. Her voice was steady, unflinching. “You called it. You shaped it. You held it. Losing balance doesn’t erase the fact that you stood at all.”
I swallowed hard, the weight of her words pressing deep.
Eira flopped back onto the furs we’d dragged into the training hall, her golden braids sticking to her temples.
“Gods above,” she groaned, though her smile stayed bright. “You’re exhausting.”
I sank down beside her, chest still heaving, and let my head tip back against the cold timber. For a moment, we just sat in the quiet, listening to the low moan of wind through the beams.
But the silence pressed too hard, and before I could stop myself, the words broke free.
“Eira… the healing place you mentioned before. Will you take me there?”
Her smile faltered. “Nerina—”
“I need to see it,” I said quickly, leaning forward, my pulse thudding in my ears. “To know it’s real.”
If I didn’t see it with my own eyes, I would always wonder. Always doubt.
Eira hesitated, chewing her lip, her gaze flicking away. “It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just… Veyrion won’t like it. He keeps it secret, for safety. If he even knew I told you about it, he’d kill me.”