I swallow hard, unsure if it’s my power that scares me more—or the part of me that’s willing to use it.
“We can’t hide from what’s coming,” I reply, though my voice cracks. “I’ll use whatever I have to. We’ll use whatever we must. The Grove can’t fall, and neither will we.”
There’s a silence that stretches between us, and I can feel the shift, the acceptance settling in. My sisters don’t challenge me, though their eyes reflect the gravity of my decision.
Lira speaks first, her voice soft but resolute. “Then we will fight alongside you, Amara.”
Mirael nods, her expression solemn. “Together.”
Saren hesitates for a moment, then steps forward, her hands wrapping around mine. “No matter what this power does to you, we won’t leave your side.”
I blink back the tears that threaten to spill. They don’t understand the full extent of what they’re promising, but they don’t have to. I have enough doubt for all of us.
As we stand there, the pulse of the rune grows stronger, thrumming with a strange, dangerous energy that now feels both familiar and foreign to me. It courses through my veins, a reminder that I have power. That I am more than just a scared girl trying to survive.
I’m ready to become something more. To fight for them—for The Grove—and to face whatever comes.
For better or for worse, I know now that this is who I am.
And I’m ready.
I close my eyes and when I open them again, I’m back in the peaceful clearing. The familiar scent of earth and flowers greets me, but a startled rabbit bolts through the underbrush, spooked by my sudden appearance. Ashen meows, padding toward me, his smoky form brushing against my leg, but Arax is the one who stands frozen, his mouth agape as if he’s seen a ghost.
“Am I mad, or did you just appear from nowhere?” he asks, his voice low, disbelief lacing each word.
“You’re possibly mad,” I say, groaning as I drag myself to my feet, muscles aching from the journey. “But yes, I did appear from nowhere.”
Arax shakes his head. “This place is strange.”
“I could say the same for your home,” I reply, walking toward him. He sits back down on the large rock he’d been resting on, looking worn from not only the last few days but a lifetime of service.
“Home,” he mutters, a small chuckle escaping him, though it’s tinged with exhaustion. “In all my years, I don’t think I’ve ever called it that. But I have served regardless, fiercely and loyally. I’ve served my king. I’ve served my prince.”
“And your queen?” I ask, finding a spot beside him. I hold his gaze, forcing him to meet my eyes. “Arax, you’ve seen more than most. Did you know what happened to Queen Veloria?”
He exhales slowly, his broad shoulders dropping as if under the weight of centuries. “I was deceived, as we all were. We believed what we were told—that the good queen died giving birth to Prince Daedalus. The truth about Princess Zyphoro… was hidden from me. It was as if she disappeared, not just from sight but from memory.”
“Glamored by Lanneth,” I whisper, a chill creeping up my spine. “How can such a thing even be possible? What kind of power would that take?”
“Lanneth is more powerful than any of us ever realized,” he says, his voice heavy with the admission.
“But that power is tethered to Daedalus,” I murmur, and just the sound of his name tightens something inside me, something that threatens to break.
“I know we Mordorin walk with the void,” Arax says softly. “But I never imagined the lengths Lanneth would go to, to keep us strong. And I swear to you, Amara, I didn’t know what they had planned for you. I would never have let you step foot on that ship if I did. I am Mordorin, but I am not a monster that murders innocent girls.”
“I’ve learned there’s a monster in all of us,” I say, as the evening wind tangles in my hair. “But sometimes, monsters can be used for good. The best way to fight one is with another.”
From within his sleeve, I notice a flash of red as Arax twists that ribbon around his finger, a movement so small, but it draws my attention like a flame in the dark. I remember the ribbon from the ship. He held it tight then too, when he was moments away from death.
“Who was she?” I ask at last, the question that’s lingered on my mind since then. “A wife?”
Arax shakes his head, the hint of a sad smile playing on his lips. “A daughter. A warrior. A Blade. She fought by my side in that valley,” he says, gesturing to the stretch of land we flew over earlier, beyond the borders of The Grove.
“But I thought…”
“That Reapers aren’t allowed families?” he finishes for me, and I nod. “She wasn’t of my blood, but she was just as precious. I found her in Valorne, left to rot in a gutter—battered, bruised, defiled by Fae who thought they could take whatever they wanted. She was from a low caste, treated as less than dirt.”
“Like humans,” I say quietly, the vileness of the words settling between us.
