Chapter Twenty-Five
ELYSSARA
I feel sick. traveling by a Gateway of Threads is akin to being far too deep in my cups at the tavern, and my stomach lurches with every phantom twist and turn. I’m certain Mavyrn would disapprove of my conduct, as I’ve cursed the infernal thing more times than I can count.
The Gateway spits me out without warning, tossing me unceremoniously onto the ground with a force that rattles my teeth.
Not overly graceful, Elyssara.
Ronyn’s goofy, lopsided grin greets me as I scramble to my feet.
It’s the same grin that stole my heart all those summers ago in that Virellin alley, the one that promises everything will somehow be okay.
Seren almost knocks me over with a fierce embrace, her wild blonde hair obscuring my vision as she clings to me for dear life.
Therion and Kael, however, are ready for anything.
Weapons drawn, they’ve already turned their backs to us, their movements deliberate and silent.
Therion edges forward, his body taut as a bowstring, his Aetherstride magic rolling off him in waves.
Small, precise hand signals pass between him and Kael, a secret language honed over years of fighting side by side.
They’re completely at ease in this moment, two predators moving as one.
I tuck Seren behind me and bring my fingers to my lips, signaling her to stay silent.
As I fall into step behind Therion and Kael, I unsheathe my daggers, the well-worn hilts steadying my hands.
Every step feels heavier than it should.
It’s not the first time I’ve walked into the unknown, but this is different.
This is the prophecy’s first test. My test. The air hums with an unspoken weight, and the sharp edge of inevitability presses against my skin.
Therion halts, signaling for us to stay put, and directs Ronyn to a higher point.
Ronyn climbs to the nearby rocky outcrop, taking a vantage point with his bow, his movements swift and practiced.
Therion seems to trust him with this, and I appreciate the strategy and the small sign that perhaps Therion isn’t always a giant asshole.
Seren and I crouch behind a jagged boulder, the cold stone pressing against my back as I glance at her. Her spine is straight, brows furrowed in determination, but her trembling hands are unmistakable.
For the first time since tumbling out of the Gateway, I take in our surroundings.
Lyssar Temple rises from the rugged cliffs of Mount Lyssar like an ancient guardian, its spires piercing the sky.
The temple appears to be carved directly from the mountain, its walls textured with intricate etchings that shimmer faintly in the dim light.
Symbols of long-forgotten lore intertwine with constellations, their meanings a mystery I’m not yet privy to.
The air here feels alive, charged with an energy that prickles against my skin.
Stone steps, worn smooth by time, wind upward toward a massive archway framed by twisted columns.
Statues of mythical beasts flank the entrance, their eyes sharp and otherworldly, as though they see through to the marrow of my soul.
I can’t decide if this place feels divine or terrifying.
A tug in my chest pulls my gaze toward the temple.
It’s faint at first, a gentle nudge, but it grows stronger with each passing moment.
It’s not just the temple calling to me—it’s something inside it.
The blade, I realize, my breath catching in my throat.
The blade is here, and it knows me. It calls to me.
The pull is magnetic, undeniable, as though an invisible thread has tethered us together.
Beneath the temple where fears take form,
The blade ignites and the veil is torn.
The prophecy rattles through my mind—a reminder that this is my blade. My prophecy. My destiny.
Kael and Therion return, their weapons still drawn.
Kael’s presence steadies me somehow, though his sharp ocean eyes give nothing away.
I often feel as though there is a connection growing between us—something inexplicable, magnetic—but on the other side of our moments of connection, there is a wall.
A guard that he pulls up and wraps around himself, as if shielding himself from. .. me.
“The perimeter is clear,” Therion says, his voice low.
“But inside... there’s something. The enchantment isn’t on this level, but I can feel it below.
The air shifts, like a ripple through the threads.
” Aetherstride magic in action is a marvel—sensing that which cannot be seen is both eerie and mesmerizing.
“I feel it, too,” Seren says quietly, her gaze fixed on the temple’s looming archway.
She can feel it, too?
I nod warily, gripping my daggers. The hum in the air presses against my skin, heavier now, and I glance toward Kael. His smirk is already forming, and the infuriating curve of his lips is a familiar taunt.
“What approach are we going for?” I ask. “Stealth? Confrontation?”
“Stealth isn’t exactly your strong suit, Lightborne,” Kael teases, the smirk deepening.
“My stealth was fine, thank you. It was the magicked lock,” I remind him.
“Yes, well, stabbing it certainly disrupted the stealth, didn’t it, El?” Ronyn chimes in from above, his grin audible even from his perch.
I roll my eyes, refusing to take the bait.
“The plan,” Kael says, cutting through the banter, “is to approach with stealth. Once we’re inside, anything could happen.
Therion believes the enchantment is below the temple, which aligns with the prophecy.
No magic unless absolutely necessary. The last thing we need is to alert the entire realm to our presence here. ”
His gaze sweeps over us, lingering on me for a fraction longer than necessary. “Stay close. Watch each other’s backs. And remember: if it moves and it isn’t us, stab it.”
I swallow hard, the weight of the prophecy pressing against my chest as I glance toward the temple. The tug grows stronger, pulling me forward, and I can’t help but wonder what awaits us inside. Whatever it is, it feels personal, like the temple knows who I am—and what I’m here for.
“Ready?” Kael asks, his voice steady but charged.
I nod, stepping forward as the others fall into place behind me. The temple looms ahead, its spires piercing the heavens, and I can’t shake the feeling that whatever lies within will change everything.
We climb the winding stairs and push through the oak door.
Lyssar Temple is vast and cavernous, its ceilings stretching high above, adorned with murals that depict battles, rituals, and cosmic phenomena.
The colors are impossibly vivid, as though painted only yesterday, yet there is an unmistakable sense of age.
Columns line the walls, their bases carved with depictions of mortals and gods united, their tops disappearing into shadow.
The central chamber is dominated by a circular pool of water, its surface so still it resembles glass.
The water glows faintly with an otherworldly light, as though reflecting Stars that do not exist in the sky above.
Around the pool, an array of stone pedestals hold relics encased in crystal, their forms just barely discernible through the shimmer.
The acoustics of the temple amplify every sound—a whisper becomes a murmur, and a footsteps echo like a drumbeat.
It’s as though the temple listens, every noise a conversation with the divine.
At its heart, Lyssar Temple feels alive, a place that has seen the rise and fall of empires, the forging of oaths, and the unraveling of fates.
The air carries a faint scent of stone, metal, and something indefinable—perhaps magic itself. There is a weight here, as though the temple bears the collective history of all who have come before. It is not merely a structure; it is a testament, a memory, and a warning, all at once.
The pull in my chest grows stronger with each step, like a tether tightening, guiding me deeper into the temple’s embrace.
Seren moves beside me, her steps light but purposeful.
Her wide eyes scan the intricate etchings carved into the walls, her hand brushing against them as if to steady herself.
The golden light filtering through the crystalline fragments embedded in the walls makes her hair glow like a halo, but her expression is far from angelic—it’s intense, focused, as though the temple is speaking directly to her.
“It sings,” Seren whispers, her voice barely audible over the steady hum of magic in the air.
I glance at her, frowning. “What sings?”
She doesn’t answer immediately, her fingers tracing the patterns of constellations and symbols. When she speaks again, her voice is distant, as if she’s caught in a trance. “The walls. The etchings. They’re telling a story.”
“Have you read about them?” I ask.
Seren shakes her head, seemingly unable to speak.
Therion pauses ahead of us, his broad shoulders blocking part of my view as he turns back, his brow furrowed. “What do you mean, a story?”
Seren looks up at him, her eyes wide and shimmering with something between wonder and fear.
“It’s a memory. A song. They were cursed by Eltheira, the Goddess of Balance and Harmony.
These people—the ones on the walls—are forgotten.
Lost. They sealed their blade here, hidden and enchanted, to be reclaimed only by their bloodline—or someone worthy who can restore balance and remember them. Find them.”
I keep my eyes locked on her, unable to reconcile the fragile girl from the slums with the woman before me.
Kael’s gaze sharpens, his voice low and commanding. “How do you know that?”
“I just... do,” Seren replies, her voice trembling slightly. “I can feel it. It’s like a whisper in my mind, like I’ve always known. You can’t feel it? Hear it?”
Ronyn leans against a nearby pillar, his bow slung casually over his shoulder, though his eyes are anything but casual. “You’re saying the walls are talking to you?”
“They’re not talking,” Seren says quickly, almost defensive. “It’s more like... they’re singing. And I understand the melody.”
“Who? Who are the people? The lost ones?” I question, confused.
“I don’t know. But they feel familiar,” Seren offers, working it all out in real time.
Her words send a shiver down my spine, and I grip my daggers tighter. The air feels heavier now, charged with an energy I can’t explain, and the pull in my chest becomes almost unbearable.
“We need to move,” Kael says, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “If Seren can feel the etchings, they might lead us to what we’re looking for. Seren, does it say anything about how to access the chamber below the temple?”
Seren nods, stepping forward with a confidence that feels out of place in this eerie, sacred space.
She leads us deeper into the temple, her hand brushing the walls as though guiding herself by touch alone.
The patterns on the stone seem to shift as we move, the constellations twisting and weaving into new forms. It’s mesmerizing and unsettling all at once.
Then, she stops abruptly, her gaze fixed on a section of the wall where the etchings form a spiral, their golden lines glowing faintly. “Here,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “There’s a passage they would like us to enter.”
Ronyn steps forward, inspecting the wall with a critical eye. “I don’t see—”
Before he can finish, Seren presses her palm against the center of the spiral. The stone shudders, the sound reverberating through the temple like a low growl, and then the wall begins to shift. The stones pull apart, revealing a narrow staircase that descends into darkness.
“Of course,” Ronyn mutters, rolling his eyes. “Because nothing bad ever happens in dark, hidden staircases.”
Kael shoots him a sharp look, and Ronyn falls silent, though his grin doesn’t fade.
We descend slowly, the air growing colder with each step.
The pull in my chest is almost painful now, a constant tug that makes it hard to focus on anything else.
The staircase opens into a vast chamber, its walls lined with more etchings that seem to shimmer and pulse in the dim light.
In the center of the room stands a pedestal, and on it rests a blade. My blade.
It’s beautiful, its hilt encrusted with gemstones that catch the faint light and cast fractured rainbows across the chamber. The blade itself seems to hum with power, its edge sharp enough to split the air, and runes are carved into the blade. And it’s calling to me.
But as I step forward, the air splits apart with a roar. Shadows erupt from the walls, and the illusions begin.