Chapter 27 #2
Aster noticed my pause instantly.
“Alex,” he murmured, low and steady, his hand brushing my elbow. “We don’t have another choice.”
I met his eyes, searching his face for doubt and finding none, only faith.
I nodded once, drawing in a breath. Whatever happened next, I would face it. I had already been the key once, whether I had wanted to be or not.
Better to turn the lock with my eyes open.
I held the torch out to her, and the instant her skin made contact with the wood, the flame erupted.
Light exploded outward, blinding in its intensity, so bright it felt as though it illuminated the entire world at once.
I cried out, raising an arm to shield my eyes as my vision screamed in protest. My retinas burning until the brilliance finally collapsed inward, condensing into a single, fierce flame that flickered violently in the breeze.
“It knows a Weaver’s touch,” she said, awe softening her voice.
My mouth opened, ready to ask a million questions that her words prompted, but now was not the time.
The flame brightened again, and from it, threads of light began to unwind, pale and silvery, drifting upward like spun moonlight. Shapes stirred within the threads, slowly resolving, becoming more distinct until translucent figures stood before us. One’s half-formed and shimmering.
The Way Weaver inhaled sharply, her spine straightening, her posture easing as though time itself had loosened its grip on her.
“The others are here,” she murmured. “Those who wove before me.”
The figures circled her, moving with quiet purpose, before stepping forward and dissolving into her one by one.
She stiffened as they did, her grip tightening on the torch as her eyes rolled back, silver flooding her gaze until no pupils remained.
Light flared beneath her skin, veins glowing, her body seeming less solid, less anchored to the world, and a sudden, sharp fear seized me that she would burn apart right in front of us.
She raised the torch.
The ground shuddered violently beneath our feet.
The breeze vanished, the air turning unnaturally still, and the flame roared brighter still, carving a shape out of nothing.
An archway began to form where empty space had been moments before, its edges shimmering translucent, far too reminiscent of the Rift to bring me any comfort.
The strain hit her all at once.
She cried out, knees buckling, and Aster caught her instantly, bracing her weight against his chest as Stava rushed forward, gripping her arm to keep her upright.
“Go,” the Way Weaver gasped, her voice warping as the torch shook violently in her grasp. “The way will not hold long.”
The portal hummed, the sound crawling up my spine. I closed my eyes for a heartbeat, the rhythm of it thrumming through me, the light burning against my eyelids as goosebumps rippled across my skin.
Too familiar.
Aster’s hand clamped around my arm, yanking me back with a yelp.
“Alex. Whatever happens, don’t let go!”
I nodded, heart pounding so hard it hurt.
Then came the sound of breaking glass.
Light surged, the archway fracturing as it revealed another sky beyond it. Dawn was breaking there too, pale gold bleeding across the horizon, and for a fleeting second, I could see it clearly.
The Capitol.
The archway cracked violently, the ground beneath us splitting. The Way Weaver sagged fully into Aster’s hold, breath shallow, head lolling as the spirits bound to her broke away one by one, vanishing back into the torch.
“Go now,” she whispered. “Before it is too late.”
I didn’t move.
My feet felt rooted to the ground, as though the same force holding the archway open had turned inward, gripping me just as tightly. The Way Weaver sagged in Aster’s arms, her breath shallow, her body trembling under the strain, and a cold knot of guilt twisted violently in my chest.
This was my fault.
If she fell, if she burned out from the effort of holding the way open, it would be because of us. Because of me and the Rift that had never truly let me go. The thought lodged sharp and painful beneath my ribs, stealing the air from my lungs.
“We can’t just leave her,” I whispered, my voice barely a sound. “What if she…?” Her silver eyes found mine then, shockingly clear despite the light pouring through her veins. There was no fear in them, no regret, only a fierce, unwavering resolve that stopped me cold.
This is what I chose, they seemed to say.
Aster tightened his grip on my hand, his voice urgent now.
“Alex. Look at her.”
I did, really did, and something changed within me. This wasn’t a sacrifice born of desperation. This was duty, willingly shouldered, the same kind of choice Theron had made, the same kind Atlas was fighting for even now.
The Way Weaver’s lips curved faintly, just enough to be a smile. She gave the smallest nod.
Go.
My throat burned as I nodded back.
“Thank you,” I breathed, not knowing if she could hear me.
Aster didn’t give me time to reconsider. He let go of the Way Weaver, handing her care to his aunt, who urged him to go. Then he took hold of me and pulled, hard enough that I stumbled forward, the scream of the portal rising around us as the world began to tear itself apart.
The instant we crossed the threshold, the light collapsed inward, snuffed out like a dying flame. Silence swallowed everything.
For one blinding moment, sensation overwhelmed me. Heat. Rushing air. The solid presence of Aster beside me. Then nothing but darkness.
I stumbled, lungs burning, heart racing, and forced myself to turn back.
The path was gone.
The Weaver, Stava, the torch, all of it swallowed by the void.
Then air slammed back into my lungs and gravity took hold.
I fell.
Light seared my eyes as I crashed into the ground, Aster hitting beside me with bone-rattling force.
Sound returned all at once, crashing over me in a wave.
Steel clanged against steel. Screams filled the air.
Fire roared, the acrid stench of scorched metal and smoke filled my mouth, thick and choking.
The smell of coppery blood was sharp, making my stomach twist.
It was chaos.
It was war.
And we had landed straight in the heart of it.