Too much. Too much. Another dream.
No. A waking nightmare. A cruel reality.
“You think you’re the only one who’s pissed? We all have vengeance in our veins, witchling.” Magnus released her with a sigh. “I know everything seems lost right now, and I know you want to find them, but one step at a time. We’ve got choices to make, and I’d prefer they weren’t shite ones.”
Something pulled at the back of her mind, her ears ringing. “What did you just say?”
He gave her a funny look as he repeated himself, another voice layering over his.
TheVoice. All of her words—at home, here in Straelon, in the cave…
Pressure, swift and pounding, filled her skull.
“This is the moment they planned for. It’s time. But still, there’s a split—a moth-shaped divide. Tell me, Sorcerit, will your answer be right? Or will you consign us to doom-colored night?”
Lunara found herself flitting through the air again, apart from her body and taking in the scene from above as the Oracle spoke into her mind with hushed intensity, fervent delight in every syllable.
“When all is dark and the ground swims beneath you…”
A vision of the Realm Rivers crashing down below, when she’d discovered she was the Keeper and tried to end herself.
“When the waves crash and the world thunders…”
A vision of Brand springing from the bed, when the dreadbeasts attacked the Horned City. When she’d been powerless to stop that insidious creature from taking her mate.
“When red mist lands and the wrong hands free you…”
A vision of the sienna dust falling to her skin, when she’d awoken in the crumbled tower and Magnus had rescued her.
“When everything is lost and there’s only one way left to find it…’”
A vision of Nyri’s grinning face at every turn. Of Baldrir, whole and hale, jogging behind her onto the practice field. Of Demons celebrating their Occurrence with glorious abandon.
Of Brand wrapped around her, his lips whispering over her skin.
Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone.
Her mate. Her friends. Even her fucking sanity was hanging by a thread.
“You must remember—only poor choices shaped the others, and you are not the same. You will need your fear to find your fate.”
Fear. Fate.
Brand was her fate. His love. His light. The teeming life he offered. Certainty filled her, eradicating any possible doubt as she flew lower, ghosting over her own frozen form.
But her fear…
“Find power in patience, have patience with power. Hold both within you and wield vengeance that blinds. With fangs and mist, balance and majesty, a moth spreads its wings with bonded ferocity.”
Power.Thatwas her greatest fear. Being hunted for it, used for it, oppressed for it. So, she’d run. Buried her head in the sand. Rejected her status as an Elder. And when she’d realized what she really was, she’d been more willing to end it all than to face it.
“Do not fear the rising ruin, do not fear the light it brings. Triumph rests there, in the palm of twilight’s acceptance.”
Her acceptance.
If Brand was her fate, then she would need her power to find him.
The power of a Keeper.
