She stiffens, her fingers tightening around the stone railing.
I step beside her, staring out at the same distant storm. “The Nightwraiths overwhelmed them,” I say, my voice quieter now, but no less steady. “The Valkyries didn’t just fall—they became something else. Something worse. And the berserkers… they were warriors, but they weren’t prepared for the scale of it. No one was.”
Kaia’s breathing is slow, controlled. But I can see it, the tension in her shoulders, the way her nails dig into her palms.
I should stop.
But I don’t.
“They vanished fighting what your people became,” I continue. “And when the last of them was gone, the realms finally understood, true extinction isn’t just about loss. It’s about consequences.”
She turns to me then, her expression unreadable. “And now what?”
I meet her gaze. “Now we make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
She studies me for a long moment, but I can’t tell what she’s looking for.
Finally, she nods once and steps back.
Her shadows follow her.
She’s closing off.
And I let her.
Because this conversation, this truth, is already more than I meant to give her.
So when she turns and walks away, I don’t stop her.
I only watch her go.
Because I don’t deserve to follow.
Chapter 17
Kaia
Morning comes too quickly, sunlight slicing through unfamiliar windows. My shadows stir restlessly at my feet, their movements sharper than usual. Bob takes up a defensive position while I dress, his inky form rippling with tension. Patricia hovers nearby, cataloging every corner of my new quarters with suspicious efficiency.
The sanctuary feels different in daylight—less oppressive, but no less alien. I don’t remember anything before waking in the healing chamber, so every corridor we pass feels like treading between worlds. Ancient magic hums against my skin, making my shadows twist and coil with recognition even as I struggle to understand why. Steve and Carl dart between my ankles in erratic patterns, their excitement betraying my own carefully masked curiosity.
The low buzz of conversation reaches me before I see the dining hall. Heavy oak doors stand open, releasing the scent of fresh bread and something spiced and unfamiliar. My stomach clenches with hunger, but when I step into the doorway, silence falls like the blade of an executioner.
Dozens of unfamiliar faces turn toward me. Battle-hardened warriors with scars like roadmaps across their skin, weapons propped against chairs like casual extensions of themselves. Some wear practical leathers studded with metal; others bear formal robes with sigils I don’t recognize. Morning light streams through stained glass, fracturing across the room in jewel-toned patterns. But it’s their expressions that make my throat tighten, a mixture of awe and something that looks unsettlingly like expectation.
My shadows coil tighter against my ankles. Mouse presses against my calf, his warmth a silent reassurance.
“Little star.” Kieran appears beside me, his movement so fluid it seems he’s stepped directly from the air itself. That strange ache flares beneath my ribs at his proximity, the same inexplicable pull I’ve felt since waking in this place. His offered arm hangs between us, an invitation wrapped in ancient power. “Let me introduce you to everyone.”
“I’ve got her,” Finn interrupts, materializing on my other side with his trademark grin plastered across his face. But his eyes carry an unmistakable edge as they meet Kieran’s. “Unless you think formal introductions should come before caffeine?”
The room’s tension shifts, electric and dangerous. My shadows freeze, waiting. Older warriors exchange glances while others grip their weapons tighter, reading the power dynamics with practiced ease. Bob shifts into what I recognize as battle-ready formation, while Patricia’s frantic notation speeds up. Even Mouse’s tail stiffens against my leg.
“She should sit with us,” a voice calls from somewhere in the back, formal and weighted with authority. “The balance clearlyrequires—”
“Balance can wait until after breakfast,” Finn interrupts, his cheerful tone slicing through the tension like a blade wrapped in silk. His fingers find mine, warm and steady. “Come on, Trouble. We saved you a seat.”
The silence feels heavier with each step across the stone floor. Every eye follows our movement—some curious, others calculating, a few openly hostile. The dining hall smells of woodsmoke and metal polish and that underlying current of ancient magic that seems woven into the very stones. Bob tracks every face we pass, while Patricia’s shadowy form darts between warriors as if taking inventory of potential threats.
