“Different,” I finish for him. “Stronger.”
He looks at me, surprise flashing across his features. “Yes.”
Selen watches us with those calculating teal eyes. “What you're experiencing is the awakening of your latent abilities, Zeriel. Magic that has been in your bloodline since time began, suppressed but never truly gone.”
Zeriel strides off a few steps, his breathing deep. “And… what am I to do with this? We have less than three days. How could it help?”
“That depends,” Selen says, tilting her head, “on what your gift truly is. Every bloodline manifests differently when the seal begins to crack. The first flare of power is never random. It is memory rising through the veins.” Her gaze narrows. “Tell me, Champion… do you even know your bloodline?”
The question hangs in the air. For a man who never flinches, Zeriel does. A fractional recoil, so quick most would miss it. But Idon’t.
“…Storm fae,” he mutters at last. His jaw works, as if forcing the words out. “And lithborn, if the old songs are true. Stone-singers. Resonant fae. Called by different names. Said to manipulate resonance: vibrations in air, matter, shake the bones of fortresses and make steel ring with their anger. It was an alliance formed well before my great grandfather’s name was written… but I’ve no way to prove it. Rumor and ash, that’s all.”
“The sconces,” I murmur suddenly.
He turns on me, frowning. “What?”
“When you fought with Blaise, I tried to tell you afterwards… I saw the sconces trembling. A blade shaking too.”
From his genuine look of confusion, I see he didn’t notice it. Too consumed by his hatred for the Crosnian champion.
But if he genuinely hadn’t detected it before now, does that mean it manifested then, visibly, for the first time? I wonder, could his first conversation with Selen have triggered it? There’s something about her presence, something that feels magnetic that I can’t quite put my finger on… and she’d asked him questions.
Selen’s expression flickers with interest. She leans back, the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips.
“Storm and stone-song,” she murmurs. “Skyfire and resonance. That is no small inheritance. If the tales are right, and if your gift awakens in full… you’ll barely even flinch at iron.” Her eyes sharpen on him again. “But… we will see what shape your gift takes when it stops hiding.”
She spreads her hands with a shrug, though her voice carries weight.
“I’ll offer you this, Zeriel. Reconsider your approach to the Games. Give me the little time that remains, and I can turn this awakening into more than instinct. In three days, I can’t promise mastery. But I can promise you an edge. Perhaps the sharpest you’ve ever carried.”
I’m not sure what exactly she means by “reconsider your approach.” But I see the war in Zeriel’s face. The urge to reject the unknown, to shove his past into oblivion, colliding with theinstinct that’s kept him alive since his family’s fall: the fighter’s eye for any advantage.
“And if I refuse?” he asks, though it lands more like a thought spoken aloud. “If I simply ignore this... gift?”
“Then it will consume you,” Selen says bluntly. “Magic doesn't simply go back to sleep, especially once forcefully awakened through… what I just performed. A duo-ritual. It demands to be used, acknowledged. And particularly yours.”
The silence that follows is thick with the weight of her words. To think that the Sundering Oath, sworn by the old fae courts all those centuries ago, hadn’t destroyed magic at all. It had only pressed it down, muted it. And now, all it takes is fae determined enough to rouse what never truly died. It makes a terrible sort of sense. How can you kill what is woven into the marrow of our being?
A dangerous thought surfaces in my mind. If magic can be awakened, what of the other gift that defined our ancestors—their endless years? The immortality that practically made them gods?
“Beyond magic,” I begin carefully, my voice barely above a whisper, “could we also reclaim?—”
“Immortality?” Selen cuts in, her teal eyes gleaming with something between warning and intrigue. “That is more… complex. Bloodline magic is a latent trait, something genetic that can be reactivated through catalysts, or exposure to old power sources. In other words, it is tied to the flesh. Immortality, on the other hand, is an ontological state, tied to the soul. For now, let’s just say that to recover it would require more... specialized knowledge. The ritual sites where it was stripped from us remain hidden. The instruments used, scattered.” She traces a finger along the edge of her desk. “I've considered it, of course. But we're not there. Not yet.”
The possibility, however distant, sends a shiver through me. Immortality. Not just magic, but endless time. The full recovery of what we used to be.
I could live forever, see centuries unfold, never worry aboutdeath stealing away what I've managed to claim for myself. I picture my eyes never dimming, my body never failing, my mind collecting centuries of knowledge. The awakening of our magic suddenly feels like the first step on a staircase climbing toward something I've never dared imagine—a future without limits. My heart races at the thought, even as I force myself to breathe. But... one step at a time.
My fingers tremble slightly. “We're already risking everything just with this,” I murmur.
“Indeed,” Selen replies.
I take a deep breath, turning my thoughts to a more personal question. Who were my ancestors?Perhaps there’s some sylred-blood in me. Beast whisperers. A feral race of fae, so the stories go, that refused to live in marble halls and instead bound themselves to forests, caves, and predator packs. I might have other gifts too that I’m still unaware of.
Suddenly my heart is pounding. This is so much, so fast. And I don’t know if I am ready for it.
I glance back at Selen, my most urgent concern spilling out. “How will what you just did not be detected?”
