Chapter Eight
KAEL
“You need to eat, brother,” Therion’s low timbre cuts through my thoughts, dragging me reluctantly back to the present.
The fire burns low, embers drifting into an open, ink-black sky, and the smell of meat over open flame hits my senses. Light still flickers in Council Hollow—the others still making preparations for travel to Nymeris and Caeloria.
I don’t respond, and he prods me with his elbow. “Eat.” Therion’s voice is all command. “One way or another, we’re about to go to war with someone. The least you could do is not wither away to a fucking skeleton who can barely handle the weight of his own blade.”
I grunt my acknowledgment.
For a heartbeat, I don’t speak.
But I know I’m festering in the wounds of my own silence.
So, I let the words that have been choking me tear free, “I can’t handle the weight of anything, Ther.”
The admission tastes like ash. I’m meant to know what to do. To be unbreakable. Immovable.
He takes a long pull of his drink and sucks his teeth, thinking. Always thinking.
He’s the voice of reason. The steady hand. The sharp mind.
“We made a godsdamned mess of it,” he admits, and despite the simplicity of his words, they hit me in the chest.
I huff a bitter laugh. “Inspiring, brother,” I deadpan.
“That’s why you get me to prepare the army before battle, isn’t it? I’m very inspirational,” Therion says dryly.
I try to smile, but I can’t lie. Not even to myself. “I know shit’s bad when you’re being this nice to me. When you start telling jokes.”
Therion drags his hand through his clipped, dusty blond hair. “It’s not good. Even if we can get her back—and that’s unlikely—what then? How will you mend what’s been broken between you?” He twists his mouth into a grimace, like he’s hurting, too.
He takes another long pull, swallowing it like absolution.
His eyes flick to mine, all audacity and cheek this time. “I don’t think you can smooth it over with your cock like you used to,” he quips uncharacteristically.
But I know why he’s doing it.
He needs me to shake the apathy from my bones. To stop hating myself for one fucking heartbeat and see reason.
I give him a half-smirk, but I can’t laugh. Not yet.
“She’ll hate me, Ther,” I murmur. “Even if we can get her back, she’s lost to me.”
I don’t say it for pity. I say it because I know damnation is the cost of what I did.
The emptiness of the tether is a dagger threading between my ribs—inescapable, suffocating.
Therion grunts in frustration, like we’ve done this before. Like he’s said all of this countless times.
“You had to do it, Kael. I know the others don’t understand, but I do. There was no other choice,” he snaps defiantly. “I would’ve done the same if it were my Taali and Rubi. It was the only choice.”
Shadows of the past hang like specters in his eyes. Ghosts of his wife and daughter sent to Morrathys—the ones he couldn’t save.
But he shakes it from his gaze.
“Elyssara is strong. If there’s one woman who can survive Maldrak, it’s her,” he assures, but the words burrow deeper into my wounds—reminders of the fact that I’ve condemned her back to a life of suffering and survival.
“It’s the only way I could…” I trail off, unable to voice the carnage ripping through my mind.
“I know, brother. We can’t control what’s happening to her. We can’t control how she is when she returns. But we can work on a plan to get her back. That’s it,” he comforts in the only way he knows how—with strategy. Zerynthia’s General of War.
I nod, my lips pressing into a thin line, swallowing the bitter truth.
He raises his tankard, “To fighting for the ones we love.”
But I can’t speak. I can’t force the words out. Like I know I shouldn’t pledge love for someone I’ve condemned to this fate.
So, I raise my tankard, and make a silent promise: I save her, or the world will meet my fury.
Fuck, they might meet it anyway.
I suck back the acrid tang of liquor, and settle my gaze back on Therion. “It’s not right that you got to keep your girl, you know. How’d that happen?” I force myself to tease, trying to prove that I can be me. Trying to make light of something so infinitely heavy.
“You should try being less possessive—they like that, you know?” he drawls.
I shove him playfully in the chest.
“Fuck off,” I grouse, and we share a laugh that feels like reprieve.
The crack of the fire is the only sound between us.
But it doesn’t last—
“Kael,” Merrik’s breathing is ragged as he charges toward the fire. “We’ve received a missive. It’s got the wax seal.”
Sentimentality gives way to strategy in a heartbeat, and I sit bolt upright at his announcement.
Because missives rarely make it to us, especially if they come via The Joining. Every guard along Dravara’s side of The Joining receives extra coin for turning over information to Thalmyr. But if this has the wax seal on it, it’s definitely come from Dravara. It’s come from our people.
I stand instantly, shedding my fake jokes and apathy for something else—something sharper.
He shoves the missive at me. The parchment is tattered and frayed, as if the journey here has been anything but smooth.
I run my fingers across the scarlet wax seal, tracing over each line and corner of the inverted triangle. The mark of our rebellion.
“Would ya just fuckin’ open it, Kael, and stop being sentimental over a godsdamned wax seal?” Daelen grouses.
“Preferably today,” Ronyn adds, ambling towards the fire.
I huff a laugh, relishing the levity after the sinking weight of the past days.
Snapping the seal in half, I unfurl the parchment. Penned in a strong hand:
The memories live on.
Beyond our shores.
All is not forgotten.
Elandor knows.
— The Shield of Dawn
“Well?” Merrik questions impatiently.
I pass the missive around, and run my hand down my face, scratching at my overgrown stubble.
“It’s about threvenar,” I explain.
“Yeah, I’m definitely gonna need more than that,” Ronyn quips, and I try not to read into the lightness in his tone. Because I know forgiveness isn’t so easily offered. No, this is a truce for the sake of Elyssara—and I’ll take it.
“The Shield of Dawn is our rebel leader in Dravara, and we’ve tasked him with finding out every intricacy of the memory suppression spell,” Therion answers simply.
“If only Elyssara knew there was an entire rebellion in Dravara when we were there,” Seren whispers, tucking into Ronyn’s shoulder. “She’d have joined them. We all would have.”
I know. Gods, I fucking know.
“We know Thalmyr gets threvenar from The Wastes to suppress selective memories about Dravara’s history—”
“You’re telling me a simple old plant controls our fucking memories?” Ronyn interrupts.
Therion’s mouth presses into a thin line, and he nods. “Plants, yes. But a spell, too. Something that makes it target specific memories.” He runs his fingers through his dense stubble in thought.
“And if we can somehow stop the shipment of threvenar, will the memories come back? Or will it simply pause the suppression of new ones?” I contemplate out loud.
Realization dawns on Seren’s face. “Because if Dravara knows of Thalmyr’s deceit—stolen history, toppling the monarchy, taking our choice away—the people won’t just resist, they’ll rise. They’ll turn on him… and you’ll have an ally. Attack Maldrak from both sides,” she says with startling clarity.
“Okay, I did not pick that up from what they said,” Ronyn scratches his head for dramatic effect.
For the first time in days I smile at the bastard, genuinely pleased to hear his usual shameless irreverence, and not his seething rage.
“Okay so how the fuck do the memories live on? And who in the Stars is Elandor?” Jax snipes in her usual brusque tone, the rasp of her daggers along the whetstone almost drowning her out.
“I’m not sure, but we don’t have the luxury of time to travel across the seas to find out more right now.
We can’t wait for Dravara’s alliance—we have to trust that The Shield is doing what he must to dig deeper.
We have to move on Maldrak now. Every heartbeat we sit here is another minute she’s with him,” I say with conviction.
“There he is,” Merrik smiles at me with what looks like pride. “Our King.”
“Yes, yes. Very fucking lovely,” Jax bites. “What’s the plan now?”
I stifle an agitated groan. Fucking Jax and her constant bitterness. Not that I don’t understand why—she’s lived with the guilt of all of this for a decade.
“We need to figure out who we’re waking and how, Jax,” Therion huffs in annoyance.
“I already know,” Seren states matter-of-factly.
I can’t help but notice the way Therion’s mouth stretches into an almost-smile at Seren’s brilliance and my heart fucking splits in two at the sight.
Because my mind goes to Elyssara. Likely in a dungeon.
If he hasn’t already got her in his bed.
I can’t stand it. I can’t fucking stand the thought of my Starbound being anywhere near him, out of my protection.
My breath comes in sharp, ragged pants, and my knuckles crack under the pressure of my clenched fist. Culling Maldrak from these lands—my lands—will be a fucking honor.
“Woah. Woah. Easy, lad,” Merrik soothes. “No one to kill here. We’re family.” He raises his arms in surrender, and that’s when I realize.
My shadows have drenched us in darkness.
The heat vanishes. The light blinks out.
The air shifts—heavier, colder, as if my rage has weight.
My onyx smoke is everywhere, all-encompassing, suffocating, but I feel right at home.
Because here, in the darkness, is where I’ll live until she’s back in my arms.
I harness my control, training my breath to slow, my heart to calm, my nerves to still. Light splices through my darkness, and I see the group visibly relax.
But that’s why we’re different—I don’t fear the dark, I fucking savor it.
“You were saying, Seren,” I say smoothly with a flourish of my hand.
She clears her throat, composing herself, “We need to wake Morrathys from the Temple of Endings.”
“Keep going. Remember I’m just a regular man and I need you to spell it all the way out for me,” Ronyn banters.
Seren brushes her wild golden curls from her face, suppressing a laugh. “El said Morrathys was entombed there, remember? In the visions with the Obsidian Crown? She made it sound like he was in an in-between state—not dead, not living… sleeping. We need to wake him.”
Therion steps forward, all blunt strategy. “That confirms what Nalya said. We wake him, then.”
Ronyn leans in a little closer and I already know that whatever he’s about to say will be ridiculous.
“Okay, let me get this straight: we are going to a temple where endings literally occur, to wake up the God of fucking Death,” he enunciates every word.
“To what? Enter into some sort of deal to help us on the word of a madwoman?” Ronyn pauses for a moment, then turns toward me, “No offense, Kael.”
“That about sums it up, yeah,” Merrik confirms without fanfare.
Ronyn pauses, then waves off Merrik. “No, no. That’s fine. I was just checking. When do we head off for the adventure? Sounds lovely.”
This levity, this laughter, it only echoes through the cavern of my heart—because she should be here. With her family.
But I shove the hurt down so far it can’t breathe.
“We need to talk to Rowan about what he knows of the temple—location, traps, enchantments. Then we head off immediately,” I confirm.
“It’s almost as if you all want to die or something,” Daelen grumbles. “But if Ronyn’s going, I’ve gotta fuckin’ go, don’t I? He’s trying to take my place, you know.”
“That’s the spirit—good old-fashioned rivalry between brothers,” Ronyn says cheerfully, wrapping his arm around Daelen.
“You two might just have the biggest balls of any lads I know,” Merrik says before adding, “or the smallest brains.”
“I think what you mean to say is that I have a very optimistic disposition, Merrik,” Ronyn corrects.
“Sure. Let’s go with that,” Merrik slaps him on the shoulder.
“Prepare to leave. I’m finding Rowan,” Therion states curtly, bypassing the camaraderie.
I don’t know what awaits, but whatever stands between me and my Starbound, I’ll end it without a second thought.
The tether may be silent, but I’ll follow its echo all the way to the Final Gate.