Chapter 37 Kaia
Kaia
The world snaps back into focus like a rubber band to the face.
Cold. Wind. Snow biting through clothes that are nowhere near warm enough for wherever the hell we are now.
My lungs seize. The altitude is wrong — too high, too thin, the air scraping my throat like broken glass.
And in front of me—
Him.
The hooded figure. The one who makes reality bend away like it’s afraid to touch him.
“Hello girl,” he says. “Our meeting is long overdue.”
My shadows explode outward before I can think.
Bob surges in front of me, edges razor-sharp, positioning himself like a shield made of pure fury. Mouse leaps from my shoulder to my feet, growing larger, darker, his growl vibrating through my bones. Patricia’s notebook blazes to life. Walter pulses overhead like a warning flare.
And the bonds—
Gods, the bonds.
Six voices screaming through my chest all at once.
Finn’s chaos crackling like static. Torric’s heat blazing at my back.
Aspen’s frost spreading across the ground beneath my feet.
Malrik’s shadows sharpening around him like blades.
Darian’s light — pure, golden, new — burning so bright it hurts to look at.
And Kieran.
Kieran is a wall of ancient stillness behind me, his presence pressing against the bond like a hand bracing for impact.
None of them speak.
None of them have to.
The hooded figure — Alekir, it has to be Alekir — tilts his head. Studying us. Studying me.
I can’t see his face beneath that hood. Can’t make out anything except the faint gleam of pale fingers clasped in front of him, too still, too deliberate.
But I feel him.
It’s like standing at the edge of a cliff and feeling the drop before you see it. Like the moment before lightning strikes, when the air goes heavy and wrong.
My senses are screaming.
“Six bloodlines.” His voice carries across the plateau like it’s being spoken directly into my skull. Calm. Almost amused. “Seven bonds. One Valkyrie.”
He spreads his hands.
“At last.”
The robed figures around the Gate shift. Adjusting. Watching. Their magic pulses in rhythm with the structure behind them — that massive, ancient thing built from black stone that drinks the light.
The Gate.
It’s already glowing. Sickly green veins of power threading through the stone, pulsing like a heartbeat. Like something alive and waiting.
“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.” Alekir’s voice is soft. Patient. The kind of patience that comes from centuries of planning. “How many pieces had to fall into place. How many sacrifices had to be made.”
Torric’s heat flares behind me. I feel his rage through the bond — hot and sharp and barely leashed.
“Touch her and I’ll burn you where you stand,” he growls.
Alekir doesn’t even look at him.
“The Berserker speaks.” There’s something almost fond in his tone. Almost pitying. “Such fire. Such loyalty. Such predictability.”
The wind dies.
Just like that — one second it’s tearing at us, the next it’s gone. The air goes still and heavy, pressing against my ears like we’ve sunk underwater.
Alekir’s doing. Has to be.
“Better,” he says. “Now we can have a proper conversation.”
A flash of light behind him.
Alenya materializes out of thin air, stumbling slightly, her perfect composure cracked around the edges. Callum’s unconscious body drops beside her, hitting the snow with a dull thump.
“They teleported exactly as instructed,” she says, breathless. Trying to recover her poise. “I ensured it personally.”
Alekir doesn’t acknowledge her.
“My lord.” Alenya steps forward, urgent now. “The Luthar boy — his magic has changed. The corruption is—”
“Enough.”
One word. Quiet. Absolute.
Alenya’s mouth snaps shut.
“You have served your purpose.” Alekir still hasn’t looked at her. His attention is fixed on me — I can feel it like a physical weight, even though I can’t see his eyes. “Leave.”
“But his light magic—”
He lifts a hand.
She flickers — there one moment, gone the next. Not dead. Just… removed. Dismissed like an inconvenience Alekir couldn’t be bothered to tolerate.Just — gone. Blinked out of existence like she was never there.
Callum remains, crumpled in the snow like discarded garbage. My shadows reach toward him instinctively — Linda drifting close, Carl hovering uncertainly — but there’s nothing they can do. Nothing any of us can do.
He was bait. This whole time, he was bait.
And Kieran’s compassion led us straight into the trap.
I feel Kieran’s guilt crash through the bond — heavy enough to choke on. He doesn’t move, doesn’t react outwardly, but inside he’s drowning.
Not your fault, I want to tell him. You couldn’t have known.
But I can’t speak. Can’t move. Can’t do anything except stand here and face the monster who orchestrated all of this.
Movement at the edge of my vision.
One of the robed figures steps forward, pushing back his hood.
Thorne.
My stomach drops.
He looks… wrong. Not proud, not victorious. His face is drawn, shadows under his eyes, something broken in his expression.
He doesn’t look at Darian.
Can’t look at Darian I realize.
I feel Darian’s reaction through the bond — a spike of fear and fury and something that might be betrayal. His light magic flares brighter, defensive, instinctive.
Thorne flinches.
Alekir doesn’t acknowledge him. Doesn’t need to. The message is clear enough — Thorne is here because Alekir wants him here. And Darian’s reaction tells me everything I need to know about what that means.
Thorne’s jaw tightens. He still won’t meet Darian’s eyes.
“The corruption was elegant work,” Alekir continues. He’s walking now — slow, deliberate steps that bring him closer to our group. The snow parts around his feet. The sickly green light seems to bend toward him. “Centuries of planning. Generations of preparation. And at the center of it all…”
He stops.
Directly in front of me.
“You.”
Bob bristles. Mouse’s growl deepens. My shadows press closer, defensive, protective — but they feel small suddenly. Insignificant against whatever this creature is.
“You don’t even understand what you are,” Alekir says. Soft. Almost gentle. “What you represent. What you can do.”
“I know enough.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. “I know you destroyed the Valkyries. I know you’ve been trying to break Absentia for centuries. I know—”
“You know nothing.”
The word hits like a slap.
“You are a child playing with forces older than your bloodline. Older than this realm. Older than the concept of realms themselves.” He tilts his head, and I catch the faintest gleam of something beneath that hood — eyes that burn without light.
“You think this is about destruction? About conquest?”
He laughs.
It’s the worst sound I’ve ever heard. Cold and hollow and ancient.
“This is about correction. About restoring what should never have been sealed. About freeing what your ancestors trapped out of fear and ignorance.”
My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my teeth.
“The God of Chaos,” I whisper.
“The Guardian of the Threshold.” Alekir’s voice turns reverent. “The Keeper of the Path. The one who was meant to guide souls between worlds — until the Valkyries decided they knew better. Until they sealed him away and claimed his purpose as their own.”
I feel the others shifting behind me. Processing. Trying to understand.
But I can’t look away from him. Can’t break whatever hold his attention has on me.
“You think I care about preserving this realm?” He sounds almost amused. “Absentia was never supposed to exist. The Valkyries built a bridge between life and death and called themselves gods for walking it.”
His voice goes cold. Ancient. Bitter.
“I’m going to burn that bridge. Free the God they imprisoned. Let Chaos do what Chaos does — consume everything your ancestors stole from the natural order.”
“By killing everyone I love,” I snap. “By corrupting the bonds. By breaking—”
“By using the tools available to me.” His voice goes sharp. “The corruption was necessary. The bonds had to be… guided. Shaped. Made ready for alignment.”
He gestures at the six men behind me.
“Six bloodlines. Light. Shadow. Chaos. Elemental. Berserker. Shifter.” His pale hand moves through the air like he’s conducting an orchestra. “All connected to you. All bound by magic older than memory. All perfectly positioned to open the Gate.”
The Gate pulses behind him. Brighter now. Hungrier.
“You think you chose them,” Alekir says softly. “You think the bonds were accidents of fate and feeling. You think your love is real.”
“It is real.”
“It is engineered.” He takes another step closer. “Every connection. Every kiss. Every moment of passion and protection and desperate clinging need — all of it built on a foundation I laid centuries ago.”
I feel the others react through the bonds — denial, fury, hurt.
“You’re lying,” Finn says. His voice is sharp, but I hear the tremor underneath.
Alekir finally looks away from me.
“Am I?” He turns to face them — my men, my bonds, my family. “Ask the Dragon how it felt when the bonds first stirred. Ask the Shadow Prince why his magic recognized her before his mind did. Ask the Chaos Boy why he’s been drawn to her since before they ever met.”
Silence.
Heavy. Horrible.
“The corruption didn’t create the bonds,” Alekir continues. “It shaped them. Ensured they would form in the correct order. Ensured the alignment would be… compatible.”
He turns back to me.
“You are the Key, little Valkyrie. You have always been the Key. And now…”
He gestures at the Gate.
“It is time to fulfill your purpose.”
I should be terrified.
I am terrified.
But underneath the fear, something else is stirring. Something that feels like defiance. Like fury. Like the same stubborn refusal to break that’s gotten me through everything else.
“No.”
The word comes out clear. Steady.
Alekir pauses.
“No?” He sounds almost curious. Almost entertained.
“You don’t get to tell me what my purpose is.” My shadows surge around me, making themselves known. “You don’t get to claim my bonds. You don’t get to decide what’s real.”
I feel the others behind me. Feel their support flowing through the connections — imperfect, complicated, chosen.
“I don’t care what you engineered,” I say. “I don’t care what you planned. These bonds are mine. These people are mine. And whatever happens next—”
I meet the darkness beneath his hood.
“—we decide together.”
Alekir is silent for a long moment.
Then he laughs again.
“Oh, I do so enjoy the defiant ones.” He sounds genuinely pleased. “They always align so much more… completely.”
He turns away from me. Faces the Gate.
“Bring them into position,” he says to Thorne. “It’s time.”
Thorne hesitates.
Looks at Darian for the first time.
Something passes between them — guilt, regret, a desperate plea for forgiveness that Darian doesn’t acknowledge.
Then Thorne nods.
And Alekir begins to speak in a language I don’t understand, his pale hands rising toward the glowing stone.
But I notice something.
Through all of it — the threats, the revelations, the posturing and manipulation — he never once looked at the men behind me as a threat.
He looked at them as tools.
He looked at me as the only one who mattered.
Six bloodlines. Seven bonds. One Valkyrie.
He’s not afraid of them.
He’s only watching me.