Chapter Eighty
ELYSSARA
The onyx-haired woman turns and strides forward with controlled, graceful movements. Her spear taps the ground with every step, her shoulders pulled back in quiet, unyielding confidence.
We follow without question, flanked by her kin, spears gleaming and ready.
Seren edges closer, gripping my hand. I glance at her.
Glimmering stone flickers faintly beside her, winking with each step like a memory trying to wake.
The woman glances over her shoulder. Her gaze snags on the light, lingers a breath too long, then snaps forward.
Seren stumbles, her hand slapping the wall for balance. And the stone ignites.
Light blooms around her hand in a burst of white and turquoise, the wall responding as if it knows her.
The woman watches silently. Then turns. Says nothing.
We move on.
The caverns wind tighter. Children peer out from behind curved walls. Strangers stare too long. Recognition flickers in their eyes like a secret passed down through generations.
The woman slows again, casting another look toward the glimmering wall just ahead of Seren.
Seren releases my hand and quickens her pace, closing the gap between them. I recognize that look on her face—desperate curiosity, hot and wild.
She clears her throat. “What do you know? Why is it doing that?” She gestures sharply at the glowing stone.
“These walls hold memory,” the woman replies, her tone almost bored. “They whisper to those who carry the blood.”
“The blood?” Seren echoes, voice lifting an octave. “What does that mean?”
“You’re Veilborn.” She flicks her night-black hair over her shoulder with practiced indifference.
“Veilborn?” Seren is nearly shrieking now, her brows furrowing in disbelief.
The woman exhales sharply, annoyed. “Yes.”
“Why do these walls respond to me?” Seren demands. “Why do they know me?” Her voice drops to a whisper. “Why do I feel like I belong here?”
The woman’s gaze sharpens. “Veilborn blood does not forget its homeland.”
Homeland.
She turns to me. “Yes. Her homeland. The girl is born of Cindrali blood.”
Seren steps forward, fire in here eyes. “The girl is me. Tell me of my homeland.”
“I owe you nothing, child,” the woman says coolly. “But she—” she jabs her spear toward me, “is Zhari.”
She slams her spear into the ground twice.
The sound echoes like thunder through the stone. Just like the Vaythari. The rhythm reverberates in my bones.
The Vaythari are their sister tribe. Their kin.
The weight of the belt Syphra gave to me at my hip feels heavier now—like it knows what I’m about to say. My voice cuts through the cavern.
“I am your Zhari,” I say, loud and clear. “Now tell me of the Veilborn.”
The woman’s posture shifts. Her voice deepens.
“Veilborn are rare,” she begins. “A hidden magic born only of the Cindrali. We alone can sense them.”
She turns fully to Seren.
“Keepers of the liminal. Protectors of the ancient. Veilborn walk between worlds—the doors between realms once belonged to them.”
Seren’s breath catches.
“They feel what others ignore,” the woman continues. “Hear the music of the wind. Read the language of the unseen. They touch the soul of the forgotten.”
Ronyn’s voice cuts through the silence. “Therion said she had magic.” He elbows the onyx-haired woman again.
“He bloody knew it. Called it weeks ago. Tvira, this guy is the best Aestherstride in the realms.” He shoots Therion a wink.
Therion’s expression doesn’t flicker. “No offence, Rhy.” He shoots Rhyven an apologetic glance.
“Tvira?” I ask, brow arching.
“Yep.” Ronyn beams. “El, this is Tvira—leader of the Cindrali tribe, lost underground for a few hundred years, legendary warriors, sacred secrets, all that.”
“And how exactly do you know Tvira?” I ask, incredulous.
Ronyn shrugs. “I think I just popped straight through the waterfall or something. Waited hours for the rest of you, so Tvira gave me food. We got to talking. You know how it goes, El.”
I do know. Because this is typical fucking Ronyn.
“Ronyn has no resistance to the unknown,” Tvira’s tone is loaded with meaning. “He welcomes it.” Unlike me. She didn’t need to say it—the implication was heavy enough.
“So, now that Seren’s officially magical and we’ve all had our moment—can we eat? I’m starving,” Ronyn says, rubbing his belly in exaggerated motions.
“You may eat with your friends,” Tvira says, “but I will take those two with me.” She points to Kael and me, eyes narrowing, “I have someone who has waited a long time for you.”