55
Kora
The first day had been a waste. The books Kora had chosen were so decrepit their information was illegible.
She sighed as she snapped another book shut the following morning, leaning back to stare up at the stunning ceiling.
She kept gravitating to Thanos’ grey veil and soul stars—what she wouldn’t give to tell the painter how accurate they’d been.
She peered at a dark spot that followed, the stars fading into nothing in the furthest corner, away from the sweeping windows.
A distracting bowl of berried porridge floated towards her, with a spoon shortly following it. She laughed as Raiden sat opposite her with a lopsided smile, practically inhaling his coffee.
“As an archive, you’d think there’d be librarians or scholars here that could point me in the right direction.” Kora pointed at Raiden with her spoon. His smile instantly faded.
“There were . . . the Mist it . . . it was so dark. Skybell had been cut off from Mistros, and many had perished. The first few years the Mist was so thick you couldn’t see farther than a few feet ahead.
It eventually settled, levelling out across the island.
But those who lived here, either died off, or tried to make the journey to Mistros City .
. . and it didn’t make it.” Raiden’s stare fractured and Kora dipped her head.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, guilt scratching her insides. “I spent years grateful for the Mist. Wishing for your destruction. Believing your island was soulless, dark, and full of death.”
“What do you think of us now?”
“I think you’re beautiful,” the words slipped from her mouth and her cheeks heated. “The island, I mean.”
“I’m inclined to agree.” Raiden lifted his mug. “About the island, of course.”
Tension hung thick in the area to the point Kora struggled to swallow her porridge.
Aryn was out on one of his many perimeter checks.
Despite Raiden advocating for Galen’s safety, the archer still believed threats were imminent, and he was casing the northern coastline for signs of Barron’s ships.
Aerion had grumbled something about not waking up before midday, and was yet to grace them with his slowly darkening mood.
Apparently, there weren’t many scriptures on skildaj bonds. Kora wasn’t sure how she felt about it all. Aryn’s presence strengthened her along with the iridweed boost, allowing her to wield without her nose gushing blood, but Aerion was determined to find a way to break the bond—safely.
“There’s one person who could help,” Raiden sighed rubbing his face. He raised his hand, his eyes crinkling with concentration. With a flick of his fingers, three books flew down from a mid-level shelf, landing with a sudden thud by Kora’s elbow.
“Is that your way of saying you?”
He shrugged. “I spent a lot of time in here during my personal exile from the family.”
“Exile? Your father sent you here?” Rage blinded Kora momentarily, the red haze surging with ferocity and she sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, counting the seconds until it passed.
“As punishment for Iris. I lost my title, my army, and my home. No one visited. The librarians, guards, and residents here became my friends. Now, they’re all gone.” Raiden stood. “Those books are all I can remember from my time here. They might help.”
“I thought you didn’t like reading.” Kora attempted a smile.
Raiden didn’t return it. “Exile, even to a castle like this, can change a person.” He left abruptly, his shoulders tense enough to snap metal between them.
Part of Kora lurched, wanting to race after him.
To assure him he now had one friend in this castle of haunted memories.
She nibbled her lip. It must pain him to be here, to walk these halls and remember those he’d lost. But they were here for a reason, and she gently picked up the tome at the top of the pile, opening the cream leather buckle.
Haizea’s rift has tested positively for inter-magical connection.
Studies show when combining a mage with the properties of iridweed, they can reach the metaphysical entrance of her realm.
The possibilities of this must be protected.
Darkon’s army has claimed Aldara, and Calypso’s rift has been lost. Four rifts remain, and Darkon must never reach one.
Kora sat back. She’d been right. Whatever plane she’d been in with Agatha was like Thanos’ when Blake’s magic had suspended her in-between life and death.
The in-between. The void. A rift in reality.
Whatever these rifts truly were, they had to be connected to Barron’s prophecy.
Did he intend to invade Galen once again to obtain the last remaining rift?
Was the Aurora Gap part of his plan of a human-free world?
Runes have been proven effective in stabilising the inter-magical connection. We have marked the mountain peaks under the ice caps for protection, to ensure one’s essence is never lost within the rift. It is theorised to cross the rift into the gods’ realm, payment must be sacrificed.
Payment? Gods had no use for money. Did they mean the offerings left behind by the worshippers?
Kora’s skin prickled at the word sacrificed.
Once again crossing over with Barron’s prophecy.
Had he read something similar, believing if he murdered innocents, he could use them to gain access to the gods somehow?
But he no longer believed in them. He was adamant on becoming a god himself.
Kora rubbed her temples, flicking through the pages.
It continued endlessly about their tests of the Aurora Gap, experiments, and recordings of the consumption of iridweed.
This must be how Raiden knew to use it for her power.
It was clearly written here—including the risk of not waking up. Not so convenient now.
Nowhere mentioned what—or where—the other rifts were.
Calypso’s had been in Aldara, but Kora couldn’t even begin to think of where it could have been.
Nowhere had felt especially magical in her ten years there.
She groaned, pushing the tome back. None of this was helpful for the dark magic bubbling in her mind.
Low sunlight filtered through the towering window to her left and she blinked, not realising how much time had passed, her porridge long since hardened into sludge.
She stretched, her spine cracking and ventured from the library, deciding some fresh air was needed.
She just needed to clear her head. Just for a minute.
Winding through the squared hallways, her fingers absentmindedly brushed over the moonstone and silver walls before tickling her own arms. The leech bites had improved from the isuga cream, but their tiny rows of teeth marks still glistened on her skin.
She passed the kitchens, inhaling the scent of tonight’s dinner.
Sea bass, with spiced vegetables and creamed potatoes.
The food in Galen was so divine it was enough to make her want to stay forever.
Forever . . . indeed.
There were hardly any staff here, and Kora appreciated the quietness of the castle.
Only the occasional servant passed her path.
Compared to Windspire, it was cool, but not chilly.
She shrugged her cloak around her fitted black dress—one of Skylar’s items that’d been left here, which she had to pin up by the waist—as she made her way to the main gate.
Kora smiled as the guards nodded at her, dressed in different clothing to the mercenaries at Windspire, not once shocked at her scar, or her presence.
Almost like they didn’t recognise her. Had Kordelia ever visited Skybell?
Following her essence—her water beast had returned, albeit quietly.
It no longer roared, but purred in the depths of her core—Kora strolled down the slope, basking in the low sun bleeding through the trailing Mist as she speared towards the shore.
Ocean waves lapped, the tide coming in slowly as the Mist tangled with each small wave.
Kora kicked off her boots, her toes burying into the sand before splashing into the sea.
She inhaled deeply, wrapping her cloak around her, tipping her head back.
It wasn’t so bad here. The shores weren’t dead, it wasn’t a barren island, filled with bodies of victims. She’d once pictured Galen as barbaric, with blood-eagled corpses staked at every port, shore and coast.
But it was far from that. Kora rolled her shoulders, the tension flowing out of her as she connected with her element.
Her power was small, subdued, but it was there.
And she had Raiden to thank for that. Her mind wandered, churning out the possibilities of her future.
Could she . . . stay here? Skybell was far more peaceful, far more divine.
It was easy to feel protected by the Mist, to think the outside world no longer existed.
But it did. And it was suffering.
Kora blinked, noticing she could see further into the ocean, the distant waves cresting and falling.
She glanced to the right, able to see further up the coastline than she had yesterday.
Figures knelt in the sand, heads bent to the ground, and she padded through the water towards them, the castle to her right.
Raiden’s hands splayed out into the sand, with Aerion opposite, following his motions, his knees tucked under his wide chest as he murmured in Devanian.
Tears dripped from Raiden’s cheeks as his head rose, a gust of wind channelled from his chest. He brought his hands together in a mighty clap, and thunder boomed, lightning striking the sea to their left.
Kora jolted as Raiden repeated the motion four times, continuously chanting in the ancient tongue.
Aerion caught her in his vision but he continued chanting, never once breaking his rhythm as he, too, clapped his hands, a deflective wind battering the sand around them. Kora paused outside of their barrier.
Raiden blinked, only just realising Kora was there.
“Hi,” he whispered, his eyes wide.
Kora knelt beside him. “What are we doing?”
The saddest of smiles stretched his full lips. “Honouring Iris. It’s the anniversary of her death today.”
Aerion winced, his doe eyes lined with silver. He inhaled sharply as a slender figure ran towards them, longbow peeking over his shoulder. Aryn panted as he dropped opposite Kora, placing a hand on Aerion’s knee.
“I’m sorry I’m late.”
“There’s always time for Iris.” Aerion’s watery smile broke Kora’s heart.
Kora glanced to Raiden. She’d probably witnessed this ritual before, she would’ve known it was Iris’ anniversary today. Her fingers curled in the sand at her ignorance, at her amnesia creating yet another barrier to knowledge. “Show me what to do.”
Raiden explained the motion of his movements, how the specific roll of his arms ending in a clap channelled his element, resulting in the lightning.
Aerion’s was similar, but much more fluid.
Aryn copied the same, his tan shirt hanging loose on his frame as his arms rippled.
Kora marvelled at how easily Raiden wielded without a rune, iridweed, or velesma in sight.
She followed suit, but instead her arms shot forward, her fingers flexed, and a jet of ocean water rose, meeting Raiden’s lightning perfectly.
“Impressive,” Raiden raised a brow.
They repeated it in sets of four until the sun was low on the horizon.
Each rotation followed with lightning, the ocean, wind, and a flash of light from Aryn, from all four points of a compass.
They were the four winds, for Iris. Sweat trickled from Kora’s brow and neck from the exertion, and she wiped it away as they stood.
“You didn’t need to do that. You’ve pushed yourself too far.” A concerned scan swept across her.
“Iris would’ve appreciated it,” Aerion answered, taking Aryn’s hand.
“Come, let’s head to the bar.” With an aloof wave, Aerion tugged Aryn with him.
Kora opened her mouth, wanting to stop him, to spend some time with Aryn and discuss the bond, and why he lied.
But Aryn quickly looked away, shaking his head.
He needed to be with Aerion. It was clear.
“I wanted to help,” Kora swayed slightly, turning back to Raiden. “I hope Iris knows you still mourn her. That you still respect her memory.”
Raiden’s jaw tightened as he glanced away. “You know, in the past, you never once did that with me. Always left me to manage my grief. It’s partly why I wanted to come here. I couldn’t face being around the others during the anniversary. I’m surprised Aerion joined me.”
Kora’s mouth soured. “Well, I’m not her. And Skylar and Aerion should realise there was nothing you could’ve done. Iris shouldn’t have been at that prison. Was your mother not around to watch her?”
Raiden shook his head. “She passed when Iris was born. We like to think part of her lived within Iris, which just made her death so much harder.”
The empty throne and lone crown. The Windward family picture clicked together.
Her own grief reflected at her, and she realised that her and Raiden were more alike.
Two souls wandering the never-ending pits of grief, suffering from the emotional onslaught of their own actions, of reaping those who should never have been plucked from this world.