The Divine Shallows

Chapter 28Crossing of Kin

28

Crossing of Kin

The Seventh Day unfolded in Erimead, the final of the seven kingdoms to host the Ceremony. Situated adjacent to Eriden, Erimead was only separated by a large channel of water that divided the mountainous territories. Despite being neighboring kingdoms, Elowyn had ventured to Erimead only a handful of times during the years.

King Balt and Queen Nyra Blackbane ruled this realm, blessed with twin sons near Elowyn’s age: Prince Lox and Prince Llyr Blackbane. They both possessed hair of silken onyx, but the one defining feature that separated their otherwise mirrored appearance was their eyes. Lox had a pair of sapphire blue eyes while Llyr had one eye of sapphire-blue and the other of emerald-green.

Eyes of which Lyra would not stop droning on and on about.

“Llyr is simply divine . Just imagine how perfect the names Llyr and Lyra would be together? It feels like fate,” Lyra gushed, her hands clasped beneath her chin. “And yet, Lox carries this heavenly-yet-mysterious allure that sets him apart. Don’t you agree? ”

“They’re twins, Lyra,” Elowyn remarked matter-of-factly, meeting her friend’s gaze squarely. “They’re practically identical.”

“Well, aren’t you a bore now that you’ve already found your prince. Let me indulge in my fantasies then,” Lyra shot back.

“By all means, daydream away! I wouldn’t dare to disrupt your desires,” Elowyn grinned. Softening her tone, she added, “Either of the princes of Erimead would be fortunate to have you, Lyra.”

Lyra straightened her posture, arms crossed over her chest. “At least you’ve come to your senses at last.” Then, a spark ignited in her eyes as she continued, “Oh! I’m not usually one for gossip, but have you heard about the chatter brewing among the fey of Erimead? It appears they’re quite divided over which heir will be chosen as the Blackbane candidate by the High Priestess tonight. Only one can be selected, isn’t that dreadful?”

Elowyn found herself puzzled by Lyra’s remark, as she had never given it much consideration, but there was truth in her table talk. Only one of the Blackbane twins could be named as a divine candidate for the upcoming Trial. It was a gut-wrenching circumstance, particularly if the brothers shared the close bond they appeared to have. She wondered if it caused any strain between them.

“Right, only one can…” Elowyn’s voice trailed off, her thoughts lingering on the weight of the situation.

As twins, the Blackbane princes had been compared to each other since birth. However, once one of them was chosen as a divine candidate over the other, an undeniable shift in their status would occur. The first of them to receive the final Mark will cleave the divide between the two; a permanent reminder to the other that the difference between them no longer lied in the color of their eyes.

Lyra continued in a hushed tone. “And there’s speculation that the son chosen as the divine candidate tonight will also be declared the Crown Prince of Erimead. How awful for the other prince! To lose a throne for a reason beyond their control seems unjust. ”

“A fate decided by the Moon Goddess is rarely fair,” Elowyn expressed crossly.

Lyra’s hand flew to her mouth in horror. “Oh, Elowyn. I didn’t mean to bring up anything untoward. Please forgive me. Moons, sometimes I speak without thinking and end up making a fool of myself.”

“Lyra, you have nothing to apologize for,” Elowyn reassured her friend, reaching out to place a comforting hand on her arm. Then, with a playful smirk, she added, “Now, if you’re interested, I can introduce you to Lox and Llyr. Since you mentioned it, I must admit that the names Llyr and Lyra do seem to complement each other quite nicely.”

Lyra responded with a symphony of laughter and a warm embrace. The two of them made their way toward the courtyard, where the two young princes were engaged in conversation with fey from various kingdoms. Lox noticed Elowyn’s approach first and waved to her in greeting.

“Elowyn!” Lox greeted her with open arms and a smile that stretched from ear to ear. “It feels like ages since we last spoke! Seems like the only time I catch sight of you is when you’re soaring through the skies on your father’s massive firedrake. Speaking of which, how’s the fiery beast?”

Elowyn bristled at the comment. “That’s hardly a respectful way to refer to the king of Eriden.”

Lox rolled his eyes in good-naturedly. “Oh, moons. You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Oh, right. You meant Bane… Well, he’s broody and taciturn as always.” Elowyn chuckled at her own quip. Recalling the name of the winged ophis favored by Lox, she asked, “Aeras is doing well?”

“She’s still as fierce as the day I first met her.” He grinned, speaking of Queen Nyra’s animus with admiration.

Peeking over his brother’s shoulder, Llyr joined the conversation. “On the contrary, Liros remains the sweet-tempered and kind-hearted soaring serpent he’s always been.”

“You know what they say about sacred animus ; they’re drawn to those who reflect their essence most similarly. In Liros’s case, it seems he’s drawn to Llyr’s gentle and meek spirit,” Lox joked, giving his brother a playful pat on the back.

Llyr gave his brother an unbothered glance and shrugged. “Well, brother, there’s nothing wrong with being reserved and refined. You should give it a try sometime. Anyway, it’s good to see you again, Elowyn. It feels like it’s been ages since you last visited Erimead. We never did get the chance to race each other around the mountains like we planned when we were feylings, did we?”

“I doubt I would’ve been able to ride Bane back then. If we had gone flying, I probably would’ve plummeted to my death, so I’m grateful we never tried,” Elowyn chuckled, deflecting the question in the hopes that Llyr wouldn’t pry further about her isolation from the other kingdoms. Fortunately, it seemed to work.

Llyr merely chuckled in response and redirected his attention to Lyra. “And who do we have the pleasure of meeting here?”

Before Elowyn could introduce Lyra, her friend spoke up for herself.

Lyra, as charming as ever, spoke in a voice as smooth as honey. “I’m Lyra Fenhart of House Bloodweaver,” she introduced herself, extending a poised hand toward the two princes.

Llyr arched an eyebrow unexpectedly, while Lox greeted her gesture with a wide grin. Taking her hand in his, Lox pressed his lips softly against her skin. “A pleasure to meet you, Lyra Fenhart of House Bloodweaver. By any chance, are you related to Sylas Fenhart?”

Lyra’s lips curved slightly at his charm. “As a matter of fact, he’s my brother.”

“Brilliant! Who knows, perhaps one day you’ll surprise the seven realms and reveal yourself as a legacy as well.”

Elowyn noticed a subtle change in Lyra’s demeanor after the comment, but she maintained her composed and self-assured demeanor. Her eyes sparkled as she said, “You flatter me, Prince Lox. I might just do that. I’m full of surprises, you know.”

Lox chuckled. “I look forward to you revealing your cards when the time comes.” He then motioned toward his brother. “As much as we’d love to continue this conversation, Llyr and I have a few other guests to greet before we head to the Temple for the Crossing of Kin.”

“We’ll catch up with you both there,” Llyr added with a wave before the princes disappeared into the crowd.

The fey in the courtyard began to disperse, with some already making their way to the Temple. The Seventh Day would commence once the moon fully ascended, and Elowyn still hadn’t seen or heard from Elyria since the Sixth Day. She pushed aside the unsettling feelings that bubbled to the surface and focused on something else.

Once the Blackbane twins were out of sight, Elowyn turned to Lyra and casually touched her arm. “Is everything all right? I don’t want to assume, but I sensed that something might be bothering you.”

Lyra appeared anxious for the first time that evening. “Oh, it’s nothing.”

Elowyn’s concern deepened, but she chose not to press further. “All right. Just know that I’m always here for you if you need me.”

Lyra adjusted her gown and cleared her throat nervously. “It’s something I usually avoid discussing, but with everything happening, I know I’ll have to confront it soon.”

“Only if you’re comfortable,” Elowyn said sincerely.

“Right. Here it goes...” Lyra glanced down at her clasped hands. “I adore my brother more than anything. I’ve admired him all my life. Sylas is truly remarkable, but it’s easy to feel overshadowed by him.” She began to shift on her feet. “Our parents were ecstatic when he was chosen as the Bloodweaver candidate for this season. As you know, being selected by the Moon Goddess and accomplishing divine greatness is the highest honor one can achieve.” Lyra straightened her dress skirts. “Sylas captured Caena’s attention, but I fear I never will.” She sighed heavily. “Moons, what am I even saying? The truth is, I know I never will. ”

Lyra met Elowyn’s gaze with seriousness. “Sylas told me he’s felt the Goddess’ presence his entire life... He said he’s sensed her divine power countless times. It’s understandable, given that he’s a legacy. He was blessed with that gift from Isadora at birth.” Lyra glanced back at her feet. “He’ll be the next Fenhart in what seems like generations to become a divine warlock. But me? I’ve never felt the Goddess’ presence. I’ve never been acknowledged by the Iron Queen.”

The mention of Isadora Bloodweaver, the first queen of the Iron Hollows, triggered a memory of the Second Day when Elowyn was escorted through the Iron Kingdom’s wards and barriers. After she had rather impulsively punched Theo in the face for insulting her sister, Theo had mentioned at one point that Isadora had taken notice of her. Elowyn remembered the ivory ink crescent moons on her palms glowing in the dimly lit cave and the profound connection she felt to Neramyr. It had been an extraordinary sensation.

In truth, it felt otherworldly.

“My native magic is barely a trickle compared to Sylas’ torrent. Since the day I could harness magic, I have trained tirelessly, until my eyes grew heavy and my limbs weary. Yet, despite how hard I tried, I fell leagues behind Sylas. Each day served as a stark reminder that our abilities were no longer paces apart, but worlds apart. His selection as a divine candidate during the last Crossing of Kin was hardly unexpected,” Lyra confessed, her shoulders sagging. “I’m not destined to be chosen as a divine candidate, nor will I ever bear the final Mark.”

Lyra shook her head. “How can I believe that the Goddess will choose me in the years to come, Elowyn? Seven years will pass, time and time again, and I will be coveting a fate that was never mine to have. Tonight, at the Temple, Caena will select the seven kin of Neramyr’s monarchs for her Trial. The truth is that those destined for divinity are kings and queens, princes and princesses, and the few chosen children of the moon.” Lyra let out an unsteady breath. “ This I know to the very marrow of my bones, I am not among one of them—I am not one of you.”

Elowyn’s emotions stirred from Lyra’s outspokenness. Despite her own doubts and insecurities, she understood the undeniable reality of her lineage. As the daughter of a king and as a descendant of one of the founders of Neramyr, her candidacy was unquestioned. Elowyn knew, without a doubt, that she would ascend as a divine sorceress and eventually rule Eriden as its next queen.

Only seven divine warlocks and sorceresses were chosen every seventh year. Lyra, despite being the daughter of a noble, was just that and nothing more. The improbability of Sylas being chosen as a divine candidate from among the thousands of warlocks in the Iron Hollows was already staggering. If Lyra’s judgement of herself held true, the likelihood of her becoming a divine sorceress was slim to none.

“I suppose greatness wasn’t written in the stars for me. Unlike you, or Theo, or even Sylas,” Lyra admitted. “No matter how hard I try to push it aside, everything I’ve known is about to change. Sylas will return home after seven years as a divine warlock, and knowing him, he’ll have embarked on some noble quest for the good of Neramyr,” she mused with a soft chuckle. “And tonight, you’ll be named the Fangwright candidate. Soon, you’ll be whisked away to train at the Seven Spires alongside Theo. It seems like everyone I hold dear is destined for so much more,” she sighed, furrowing her brow. “As for me? I have nothing to offer but a pretty face.”

Her next words were sorrowful. “There’s a separation between the divine and the native fey. The intricate marks that decorate your skin set you apart in immeasurable ways, by nature—like calls to like—and I am certainly not like you.” Lyra smiled sadly. “It may not be fitting to ask this of a princess, but there is no such thing as pride in friendship. Promise me this, when greatness claims you—I beg of you not to forget about me.”

Elowyn reached for her friend’s hands. It dawned on her then, the depth of Lyra’s wounds. It all made sense now—the profound sadness stemming from her friend’s aura when they first met. Lyra had mentioned how she dreamed of what life would be like if she had been born a princess of Neramyr, of what she may not have lost.

Elowyn was keenly aware of the stark division between the divine fey, the native fey, and those without magic at all. It was this division that prompted Draeden to take such precautions during her visit to Orwyn—covering her moon-inked palms with gloves, draping her in a cloak, and guiding her through hidden alleyways. As Lyra had expressed, Elowyn’s markings set her apart from the masses, and nearly everyone Elowyn knew was considered one of the privileged.

Being divine meant Elowyn was seen differently, spoken to differently, and treated differently.

Despite the divide that separated them, Elowyn gathered her friend in a tight embrace. “I promise,” she vowed softly.

The Temple’s foyer greeted Elowyn and Lyra with its familiar polished stone. With a sense of urgency, Elowyn guided them towards the Heart of the Temple, their footsteps echoing against the elaborate marble entryway. Each time she passed through the enchanted archway, Elowyn couldn’t help but marvel at its rich history. Etched into the ancient marble trim were the names of Neramyr’s original fey rulers. Beyond the threshold lay the sacred entrance to the Heart of the Temple, veiled by a protective ward that resembled a slice of midnight sky. This illusion was a vista of dusky azure, adorned with countless twinkling stars, an enchanted homage to the most sacred place in Neramyr.

Beside her, Lyra stepped forward, her fingers delicately tracing the carved marble surface until they reached the name of the first Iron Queen, Isadora Bloodweaver. With a reverent whisper, Lyra invoked the name of her kingdom’s founder, then closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Pressing her thumb to her lips, she gently bit down, drawing forth a bead of crimson. With devotion, Lyra offered her blood to Isadora’s name, watching as the drop glowed before disappearing into the stone, accepting her tribute. With a graceful sweep of her dress, Lyra passed through the midnight sky mirage, crossing the threshold into the Heart of the Temple.

Following in her footsteps, Elowyn repeated the sacred ritual, offering her own drop of blood in homage to her kingdom’s founder and the countless fey who had come before. Her offering was accepted by the ancient ward, and Elowyn stepped through the gateway, feeling the gentle caress of a starlit breeze against her skin as the Heart of the Temple unfolded.

Stepping into the sacred expanse, Elowyn found the lofty chamber teeming with hundreds of attendees, the crowd swelling with each passing moment. Yet amidst the throng of fey, her gaze was drawn precisely to the one figure she had searched for since the previous day. Even with Elyria’s back turned, her silhouette was unmistakable to Elowyn. Seeing her older sister, Elowyn couldn’t help but release a sigh, the tension that had gripped her for hours finally easing, though the ache in her heart persisted.

Elyria stood in silence near the Divine Shallows, a statue of composure before the stone sigil of House Fangwright submerged beneath the sacred waters. Clad in a tunic as dark as midnight, a stark contrast to her snow-white hair bound in a tightly woven braid, Elyria radiated a commanding aura. Despite her outward calm, Elowyn could sense that her sister’s true emotions were shielded behind a shroud of rehearsed control. Elyria refused to be preyed upon, neither her aura nor her mind.

Intently, Elowyn gathered the folds of her ruby gown and navigated through the crowd, her path leading her closer to her sister.

As she pushed through the thickening mass of bodies, Elowyn’s frustration mounted, and she soon realized the reason for the congestion. A path was being cleared through the crowd for the High Priestess, who was making her way toward the Divine Shallows. The ritual is beginning already? Elowyn redoubled her efforts, forcing her way through the throng, drawing irritated glances that tempered upon noticing her golden aureum . Though still some distance from her sister, Elowyn watched as the High Priestess, draped in long robes of alabaster, glided toward the shallows with each graceful step.

Elowyn let out a frustrated groan as she maneuvered through the crowd, desperately seeking a path that would lead her to Elyria before the ritual commenced. Even if it meant just a few fleeting moments together, she had to make the attempt. There were still so many things she wanted to say.

With the High Priestess nearing the Divine Shallows, time was running out.

Standing on her tiptoes, Elowyn stretched toward her older sister, her voice rising above the chatter of the crowd as she called out, “Elyria!” and waved her hand frantically. Determined to reach her, Elowyn pushed forward, finally emerging at the front of the crowd, only a few feet behind her sister.

“Elyria,” Elowyn uttered once more, her voice filled with urgency. Though she saw a flicker of recognition in her sister’s aura at the sound, it vanished beneath her shield of composure. Elowyn knew then that Elyria had heard her, but her sister remained unwaveringly turned away.

Now it was too late.

The High Priestess had reached the celestial shallows, raising the hem of her robe as she prepared to step into the waters. With each stride, the silken fabric billowed behind her until she stood at the center of the Divine Shallows, atop the large tile sphere bearing the image of a crescent moon.

Anger surged within Elowyn as she stared at her sister’s back. Why won’t you speak to me? This is our last chance to speak to each other for the next seven years, and you can’t even acknowledge me? Elowyn hurled her thoughts toward her sister through her magic, hoping they would breach Elyria’s defenses. Yet, she knew deep down that her words would never reach their mark, as Elyria’s mind remained sealed behind an impenetrable barrier.

In the presence of the High Priestess, the Heart of the Temple fell into a hushed stillness. With upturned palms, she addressed the gathered crowd, her voice carrying with authority, “Welcome to the Heart of the Temple. Tonight, we are gathered here to witness the Crossing of Kin. On this auspicious day, the Goddess will reveal which one of her children shall tread the Bridge Between Worlds first and embark upon her divine Trial.”

An intense excitement charged the atmosphere within the Temple, anticipation buzzing among the fey. In fact, the Seventh Day stood as one of Neramyr’s most momentous occasions, with each iteration being retold over generations of fey. To witness the emergence of the greatest warlocks and sorceresses within the feylands held great significance. These divine fey would assume roles as guardians and protectors of Neramyr, upholding the order of the New Age. Even long after their passing, those bearing the final Mark would be celebrated through lore and legend.

Once more, the voice of the High Priestess echoed through the chamber. “Rulers of Neramyr, approach your House sigil.”

At her directive, the fourteen monarchs of the seven realms advanced toward the Divine Shallows, halting before their respective symbols. With a tilt of her head, the High Priestess closed her eyes, her irises now veiled with a translucent sheen upon reopening. An ethereal magic suffused the Temple as the sacred markings along her arms began to glow faintly, depicting the eight phases of the moon. The tranquil waters at her feet responded to her divine power, transforming into rhythmic ripples.

Then came the declaration from the High Priestess, “ Let us begin.”

In unison, the fourteen rulers of the seven realms stepped closer to the edges of the Divine Shallows, their upturned palms mirroring each other’s as they encircled the celestial waters. Together, they invoked their divine magic, drawing upon the ancient power bestowed by their Goddess. The moon-inked markings on their bodies began to glow, each pattern unique, from dragon scales to whorls of waves and thunder. As the magical moonlight flowed through their varied markings, a mystical veil enveloped their fourteen silhouettes.

In tandem, the monarchs of Neramyr and the High Priestess directed their divine energy into the waters. Elowyn understood the significance of this moment—such potency of divine magic at once occurred only twice every seven years. Once, on the First Day, to open the gates to Caena’s realm for the returning children of the moon, and now, on the Seventh Day, to usher in the next cohort of divine candidates through the Bridge Between Worlds. The amount of divine energy pulsating within the Temple was extraordinary, yet it paled in comparison to the boundless power of the Moon Goddess possessed.

The High Priestess intoned ancient incantations in the old tongue, the hallowed waters responding to her summons with stirring ripples, as if awakening from a seven-year slumber. Reunited, the sacred shallows embraced the mother tongue of the first fey, a spoken word that became adrift through time—only remembered now through fleeting phrases and short-lived songs. The potent magic woven in the Temple filled the air with a thick, heady presence.

With a thunderous pitch, the High Priestess proclaimed, “The Moon Goddess has answered our plea and has opened the gates to her realm. Now, the seven chosen children of the moon must step forward into the Divine Shallows and face divine judgment before our Goddess!”

In a single, synchronized movement, Elyria and the six other candidates entered the Divine Shallows, each claiming their position upon their House’s sigil with deliberate steps .

The stone-art sigils glowed in response to their presence, except for one glaring exception.

Elowyn continued to wish for her sister to turn around, but Elyria’s gaze remained fixed upon the stone-tile firedrake beneath her feet. Elowyn understood the reason all too well. As the moon-inked markings on the palms of the other candidates began to radiate with brilliance in harmony with the hallowed waters, Elyria’s hands remained bare, her sigil devoid of moonlight.

“Candidates, the Moon Goddess has chosen you to undergo her Trial and face her judgment, and now the moment has arrived for the primis to be revealed!” declared the High Priestess, addressing the gathered crowd. “May the blessings of a thousand moons guide them as they traverse the Bridge Between Worlds!”

The Temple walls shuddered with applause, and eager glances emerged from the candidates and the fey alike as their hungry eyes searched the waters for a gateway to Caena’s realm to appear—an answer to whom the waters would claim as this season’s primis . While the gazes of six divine candidates flitted back and forth, brimming with ambition and desire, one figure stood unmoved amidst the fervor.

This figure was Elyria.

Elyria remained impassive, her appearance almost meditative. It struck Elowyn as strange to see the desperation emanating from the other six candidates, filling the Temple with intensity, while her sister remained indifferent. With a heavy breath, Elyria reached for the necklace adorning her throat, clasping the teardrop stone within her palms, gripping it tightly as if it would sprout wings and take flight.

In that instant, Elowyn startled, Elyria’s voice flooding within her mind. It sounded pained, brimming with sincerity.

“I’ve run out of time in this realm, Elowyn. And for that, I deeply regret. Please, heed these words carefully. One day, the truth of Neramyr will unfurl and you will face the crossroads of fates. When that time comes, I only hope that you possess the strength needed to traverse the paths presented before you. What you will face will feel impossible to overcome, so promise me this... Promise me that you will remember, Elowyn. Remember it for how it was, for how it is, and for how it will be. Remember everything.”

Finally, Elyria looked back, turning only to face Elowyn. Tears shimmered in Elyria’s eyes, revealed to the entire Temple, but only meant for Elowyn to see.

“I remember, Elowyn. I remember everything. But now, I’ve run out of time.”

Breaking their locked gaze with a series of furious blinks, Elyria redirected her attention to the Divine Shallows. The waters stirred at her feet, and she drew a measured breath, her grip tightening on the opal stone that sat on her neck, clutching onto it as if it were a lifeline.

Without looking back, Elyria spoke to Elowyn’s mind one final time.

“I hope to see you again, Elowyn. If the moons are merciful, I will. However, the moon’s spurn has never spared me in this lifetime. So, if this is goodbye, I love you—I love you more than life itself.”

With those parting words lingering in the air, Elyria faced the Divine Shallows once more. The waters before her grew fierce as a shimmering halo appeared at her feet. Her figure illuminated in an ethereal light as she stepped forward into the celestial waters. In an instant, she vanished from the Temple, leaving no trace behind.

Elowyn stumbled forward, her hand reaching out instinctively towards the spot where Elyria had stood, as if she could hold onto her for a moment longer. “Wait, Elyria! What do you mean? What does any of that mean?” A forceful ache tore through Elowyn’s heart as her sister’s presence faded away, each glimmer of her aura dimming until it faded entirely.

Overwhelmed, Elowyn battled against the tears threatening to stream down her cheeks .

With her next exhale, Elowyn came to terms with the reality that her sister was no longer in this realm.