Chapter 56
We spent the rest of the night tangled in each other, not drifting off until the sun had risen.
Rhodes woke first and surprised me with breakfast and coffee in bed.
He said Cleo had successfully channeled a coffee plant, and this morning marked the first harvest of the beans.
Sweet cream couldn’t be found, so he mixed cow’s milk and sugar to sweeten the roast.
He also stopped by the smithy to retrieve my dagger and the newly forged sword.
The longsword mirrored my daggers in every detail, runes etched clean down the center of its dark-steel blade.
Balveer had forged it razor-sharp, ready for war.
The hilt was bound in sage-dyed leather, crowned with a gemstone of soft green to match the daggers.
I untied the label from the pommel, bound there with simple twine and signed with a solitary “–S” from the smithy. With care, I returned the sword to its freshly forged sheath.
Until early afternoon, we stayed curled up in bed, reading Kiye’s journals.
Her fear seeped through the pages as she navigated the changes in her kingdom.
Her parents, the king and queen, had declared she would marry the son of one of their most trusted advisors.
He was one of her closest friends, but that wasn’t why she worried.
Her starlight had become unmanageable, more prominent even when she wore her magically altered silk gloves. Kiye struggled to conceal it, forcing her to spend most of her time locked in her chambers.
She was alone. Forced to be alone.
Her parents feared her starlight was linked to the Curse—a legend as old as their kingdom, originating from when their people reclaimed the throne from conquerors who had held it for generations.
The creation of the Curse had been catastrophic, almost leading to the end of humankind.
It was forged with dark magic—duskshadow, she called it—and meticulously curated by the current prince of the conquerors to bring death and ruin upon Kiye’s people during the war.
His name was stripped from history, known only to royals.
All that endured was his title—a fragile echo of who he once was.
The Broken Crown.
Kiye’s people recovered the throne and restored their kingdom. But whispers of the Curse lingered, threading into cautionary tales for children and the haunting songs of traveling bards.
We were nearly finished with Kiye’s first journal when Lakota and Noemi reminded us it was time to start packing. All airborne units were to depart tonight for the Glade, while the Hollow’s groundborne forces would leave in the morning, meeting us—and the Glade’s troops—at Mageia tomorrow.
After loading up Lakota’s travel pack, I made my way through the grassy hills of the Golden Crest, heading back toward Rhodes’s hut. In the distance, I spotted Shayde and Drithan tucked into a shaded, secluded spot.
Shayde leapt from Drithan’s back after securing his own pack. When he straightened and saw me approaching, he froze. Drithan’s golden eyes locked on mine, blinking slowly. The brown dragon rose high on his heels, his long neck arching protectively over his rider as he placed his head between us.
I lifted my hands in surrender. “I come in peace.”
Drithan eased up, just slightly.
Shayde dusted off his palms, his expression unreadable. “How can I help you, Scar?”
I clicked my tongue, considering the question. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure why I felt compelled to approach him. All I knew was that something in him had changed. The Shayde I once knew was dead and gone—replaced by a Wylder I hadn’t yet learned to understand.
I’ve been afraid to admit to myself that, deep down, I knew he did only what he thought he had to do last season.
The Wylder brothers were completely different, but they seemed to love each other all the same.
Shayde and Rhodes were inseparable as children.
But as they grew, life pulled them in different directions.
But they never stopped loving each other. Not once.
They just… forgot how to show it.
Neither Wylder believes he deserves to be loved. Cherished. Fought for. But each boy learned to guard himself in different ways.
Rhodes hardened. He built walls so thick that nothing could reach him.
Once he learned of his curse, he stopped seeing his life as a gift.
He stopped searching for joy, stopped believing it was something he was allowed to have.
And to Shayde… it must have looked like Rhodes had stopped caring about him altogether.
But I’ve seen Rhodes’s love for his brother with my own eyes.
Last season, during the Arcane Battle Simulation, Rhodes tore into Cory for hurting Shayde.
That was the first time I truly saw what he was capable of—the first time I saw him fight not for survival, but for someone else.
And after the War Campaign, when Shayde couldn’t see him, Rhodes still never left.
I watched him stand outside his brother’s curtains, silent and unwavering. He didn’t say a word. He just stayed.
Shayde guarded himself by masking his exterior. He became the golden boy—the charismatic Wylder everyone adored. The life of the room, the light in the dark.
But that wasn’t the whole truth. That was how he survived day by day.
He buried his pain deep, hiding his true self beneath charm and jokes and that polished smile. And to Rhodes… the version of Shayde who loved him might have felt like the version Shayde kept hidden deep down in his own Rock Bottom.
And that Shayde—the one who hides behind brightness to survive the dark—I can relate to him. So I asked the question everyone deserves to be asked when they’re barely holding it together.
“How are you?”
Surprise flickered across his features, like he was waiting for the other element to drop—for me to admit there was some ulterior motive for being here. But I didn’t flinch. I stood steady, grounded in my question.
“You can tell me,” I said gently. “Pinky promise.”
Shayde let out a shaky breath. “I’m… I’m not doing too great. But I’m making it.”
A wave of déjà vu washed over me as I echoed the words that had once been said to me. “It’s okay to not be okay.”
He ran a hand across his stubbled chin, eyes drifting toward the horizon.
The sun teetered on the edge of setting, casting us in a softening gold that quickly slipped toward shadow.
The wind picked up, threading through the grass in waves.
It carried a chill now—the kind that warned of rain approaching.
“You care for her, don’t you?” I asked softly.
His warm brown eyes found mine. A flush rose on his cheeks, and for a moment, he looked almost… vulnerable. His lips pressed into a firm line, but he didn’t speak.
So I said her name for him. “Fallon?”
“I’m sorry, I—”
I cut him off. “Why?”
Shayde shifted on his feet, sliding his hands into the pockets of his leather pants. The wind tousled his brown hair.
He shrugged. “Because after everything I’ve done—everything I put you through, put everyone through—I don’t deserve the right to care for your sister.”
I huffed. “Why in the elements would you think that, Shayde?”
He turned from me, walking over to a low stone wall where a few Hollow-issued travel packs rested. He picked one up, his voice low, bitter. “It doesn’t matter. She’ll never forgive me for what I’ve done.”
My chest tightened. Breath escaped in a quiet exhale as thunder rumbled across the hills. Arms folded against my ribs, bracing against the chill creeping into the air, I turned to leave. Wind pulled at the ends of my hair as my gaze dropped to my boots, thoughts swirling too heavy to shake.
Then I stopped.
I turned back to Shayde. He was lifting more packs, readying them for the other warriors. But his eyes found me again. Words tangled in my throat, but I forced them out—the truth he never expected. Thunder cracked above us as we held each other’s gaze across the distance.
“I forgive you.” My voice rose, straining against the storm. “This is me saving you when you can’t see that you need it.”
The rain began to fall as I walked away.