And they all knew it.
Oro sighed. “I didn’t find anything you would consider useful.” He leaned against the side of the table. “I watched through thousands of years, and I never heard anyone talk about creating a portal.”
Grim studied the golden relic. “It’s called the Threads of Time...one would assume you’d be able to actuallygoto the past.”
Oro shrugged a shoulder. “Onedidassume. But no matter what I tried, nothing worked. I just sat there. Seeing, but not interacting.”
“Because you can’t portal.” He said it matter-of-factly.
Oro blinked, long and slow. Of course. He hadn’t thought about traveling to the past as a sort of portaling. He glanced from Grim...to the threads. “Do you think you could help me use it?”
Grim gave him a withering look. “Iwill use it. Since you’re so worried about yourfriends.”
The last person Oro wanted to be able to go into the past and potentially change it was Grim. His friends weren’t in front of him now. And the Nightshade could handle himself.
“We need to speak to Horus. And he’s certainly more likely to give me answers than you,” Oro argued.
Grim considered that. “Fine.” Oro was surprised he conceded so easily. “Portaling is draining under normal circumstances. Traveling through thousands of years? It could kill you.” Oro wasn’t deterred, especially as he remembered the state Isla had been in. She was covered in injuries, and weak. She needed them...and they were at the end of their rope. If anyone knew how to build a portal, it was Horus. He and the other founders had done it before. Grim continued, “How do we know you’re strong enough to make it back? How do we know you won’t just get stuck thousands of years in the past like a fool?”
“We don’t,” Oro said. This entire conversation, the threads had been calling him forward. As his hand reached toward it, the voices became louder. More insistent. He remembered what he had done, and the horror on his friends’ faces. No, he wouldn’t lose himself. Not this time. He would be strong, just as he had promised Isla she was. There was a jolt through his veins as he grasped the threads again. “But she’s worth finding out.”
He thrummed his thumb against the threads, and immediately, the connection was made, as if the threads were eager. Hungry. His vision began to blur. The castle around him turned to sand, crumbling around him. The strands pierced his skin and slid into his veins. His blood burned.
Grim’s power hit the threads, and Oro jolted, the flaming becoming a wildfire of pain. A portal began to form around him, a circular door crackling with lightning-like energy. Then it multiplied, again and again, until there were thousands of layers behind him, connected like an endless tunnel. He frowned. “If I—”
He didn’t finish his sentence before he was thrust backward. His shoes slid against the floor, and he was falling through those portals, dragged through room after room, thousands of years, until finally, his body lurched to a stop.
The force of the travel hit him at once. He stumbled forward, landing on his knees. His hands flexed against the familiar floor. Gold. The same as his throne room. Only this one was gleaming. Untarnished.
“Who are you?”
Oro’s body tensed. He knew that voice. He had heard it often these last few days. Heart racing, he slowly got to his feet, and turned.
There he was. Horus Rey. The original king of Lightlark. One of the three founders of the island.
Horus’ eyes went straight for Oro’s palm, and Oro looked too. The threads were visible through his skin, as if they had replaced his veins. They shone gold.
Then his ancestor’s gaze shifted to him. He studied him meaningfully. “Huh,” he said. “I’m guessing you’re my grandson.”
Horus...didn’t seem surprised at all. As if he had seen far stranger things in his lifetime.
“Several times over,” Oro said, his voice a croak.
A variety of different emotions flickered across Horus’ face. Oro was sure he had a thousand questions, but he landed on, “Why are you here?”
“I need to know how to create a portal to the otherworld.”
Horus stilled. Oro did not miss the flash of fear that went through his ancestor’s expression. “To Skyshade?”
Skyshade. He hadn’t known the name of the otherworld until now. Good. The visit to Horus had already been useful.
But then his ancestor shook his head. “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.” He made to turn around, but a tower of flames stopped him. Horus paused. Anger seemed to coil through his body, but he did not move to strike back. Slowly, he faced Oro again.
“History has repeated itself,” Oro said. “You, Lark, and Cronan. Now, it’s me, Isla, and Grim. We are on the precipice of ruin because of the other founders.”
Horus’ jaw worked. He couldn’t meet Oro’s eyes as he spoke. It was almost like he didn’t want to know what was going on in the future.
But Oro had not traveled all this way for his own ancestor to refuse to help him. “Your legacy will be for nothing if we can’t build a portal. Trust me on that.”
