Chapter Eighty-Two
KAEL
I hold her in my arms until every tear has been shed, because I know I’ve hurt her. But I’d do it again if it meant getting this time with her without her seeing me as her destroyer.
I know I’m a selfish bastard—I fucking know it—but I don’t regret it. I won’t repent for giving us time to feel this.
The trembling has stopped, and the last tear has fallen, but still, she lies in my arms beside Nehvara’s fire.
I’ve stroked her hair, traced idle circles on her back, and assured her again and again that I will never destroy her.
She will never fall at my hand. I might be fucking insane, but I will battle every star in the sky of this forsaken land to save her if I have to.
The stillness is disturbed by the gentle clang of Nehvara’s necklaces as she moves towards us at the fire again. She picks up the kettle hanging over the fire and refills our mugs. “I did say you’d need it,” she teases softly, though there’s no bite in her words.
I let out a breath that’s not quite a laugh, not quite anything at all, but Elyssara doesn’t move.
I know she needs time with this, but we need answers. I need answers. “So tell me—who should I believe? The sighing winds of Skaedor’s Crest, or the prophecy that’s been choking us since day one?” My question is genuine, but there’s no mistaking the bitterness in it.
Elyssara finally lifts her head, reaching for her mug, my question having piqued her interest. Her eyes are swollen and red, and her braid has unraveled, strands falling wild around her face—untamed and beautiful, like the storm she’s always been.
I have gone over this again and again with Therion. How can the prophecy say one thing, and the winds of truth say another?
“Both—the winds and prophecy say the same thing, Sky,” Nehvara answers smoothly. She stills, lifting her mug to her mouth and taking a long pull. “The problem is, you have not seen the full prophecy.”
Elyssara’s breath hitches, her back stiffening instantly.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I grit out, and my hand goes to the blade at my hip instinctively.
Nehvara closes her eyes regretfully, “No. Whatever you have seen is incomplete, Sky,” she shakes her head, reaching into the leather satchel resting on the floor behind her.
“Here,” she pulls out a piece of parchment with small, neat handwriting and passes it over the fire.
Elyssara leans in, and we read it:
In the twenty-fifth summer beneath Lireal’s Eye,
The Lightborne shall rise where the Stars deny.
Bound to the Sky, yet free from the flame,
She carries the light—and an unspoken name.
Five keys await to unbind her light,
Where shadow and star must share the night.
Beneath the temple where fears take form,
The blade ignites and the veil is torn.
On starlit peaks where the heavens sigh,
The compass rests ‘neath the watcher’s eye.
In shadowed depths where roots entwine,
The crown reveals the path divine.
Her skin shall glow with threads of light,
Each relic found will burn more bright.
Piece by piece, the Lightborne wakes,
To bend the dark, the veil it breaks.
Where ruins burn and the Flame-heart sleeps,
The dragon stirs in the soul it keeps.
And in the skies where wild winds sing,
Beast and bond form a timeless ring.
The Lightborne and Sky must tread as one,
Their union unlocks what must be undone.
Vengeance shall blaze to balance the scales,
And justice shall rise where all else fails.
When relics awaken and powers combine,
The chains will fall, and the Stars shall align.
Her destiny looms, unknown and untamed,
To balance the world or shatter the frame.
And then, I realize: there’s more that we’ve never seen before.
But light unbound can blind the land,
A ruin born from an open hand.
The heavens will break, the Stars shall weep,
A blow must strike, or darkness keep.
The Lightborne shall rise, and truth shall ignite,
Unless the Sky destroys her light.
One truth must break, one vow must sever,
Or silence and shadow shall reign forever.
“It’s me,” Elyssara whispers, “I will be the ruin of Aevryn.”
“I will never let that happen, Duskae,” I soothe. “You’re too good, El. You carry too much light to be what they fear—you would never harm this world.”
“But I will,” she breathes. “The Stars have foretold it.”
“No—”
“There will come a time where you must decide between your own will, your heart, and fate,” Nehvara interjects. “You must continue walking the path of prophecy, dears. For on the other side of it, who knows what will be?”
“Don’t you?” I snap.
The old woman laughs, “All I know is that the Flame-heart has been stirring, awaiting your arrival here, and the Flame-heart stirs for no one.”
Elyssara leans in, wiping her eyes as if to clear them, “The prophecy says it’s sleeping—so, how do we awaken it?” Her voice is raspy from screaming, and I wince hearing it.
“You must find the Flame-heart a worthy vessel to take form within,” Nehvara says.
A worthy vessel for a fucking dragon?
Before we can speak, Nehvara continues, “The Flame-heart is not just any dragon, Starbound. The Flame-heart is the soul of Tarrakai—the most powerful dragon in history. His form is gone, but his soul lives on in the Heart of Ashara—a jewel.” She holds her hands over her heart in reverence.
“For Tarrakai to awaken in dragon form, he will need a worthy vessel—someone brave, who holds love for the Dravari line, loyal,” she explains.
“You will take the Heart of Ashara and we will not stop you, but you will not awaken Tarrakai until it’s time. ”
The words settle like stone in my stomach. Stars, let the vessel not be her.
“How will I know when to awaken him? How do I even do that?” Elyssara pleads.
“You will know,” Nehvara says with conviction, but I’m lost in her cryptic mysticism.
“And what happens to the vessel when it’s time to awaken Tarrakai?” I ask.
But Nehvara stands swiftly, draining the remnants of her mug and gestures for us to stand, “That is all for today. Tomorrow, I’ll take you to the Flame-heart.”
“One more thing,” Elyssara pleads. “How do we help you? How do we reunite you with the Vaythari? I made a promise to them,” Elyssara asks, desperately clinging to the good she can do in the world.
“Awaken the Flame-heart and all will be restored in time. Not today, and not tomorrow, but soon,” Nehvara says, and the fire dims to nothing, leaving us in darkness.