And when they did, their belief in the Five waned.
And so did the power that the Five claimed, their hold on the Thirteenth realm beginning to waver, until a crack formed in the cage they had created.
A hairline fracture, just enough for the Five to fear the One’s ultimate return.
‘We need to make Humanity worship us again,’ the Five said. ‘We need to make them believe in us, fear us, so they will never forget about what power we hold over them.’
So the Five gave a kernel of magic to Humanity. They chose the ones most pliable. The ones they were most capable of controlling, so that their hearts and their minds would never turn away from the Five.
And they called them the Sacred.
Each one was given a pillar of magic to wield, and a vow to keep.
It came as a book of laws, a thousand strong. A single day of Absolution, to show the Five’s grace. And should the Sacred obey …
Then someday they could join the Five in the Ehver and live in glory for the rest of their days.
‘A prayer for a bit of power,’ the Five promised the Sacred. ‘So long as your heart remains pure and true.’
And the Sacred, loyal to their bones, obeyed.
Each time they wielded, their strength waned – a failsafe, created by the Five, to ensure that Humanity still knew who was in charge.
Each time they wielded, the Sacred proved to Humanity just how powerful the Five were. Each time someone saw and believed, the Five kept their strength.
And the Thirteenth Realm remained a cage.
It existed like that for eons.
The Sacred had more Sacred, and they obeyed the book of laws, and all was good and well.
Until one day, when a Sacred child heard a whisper on the wind.
Her name was Wrenwyn, and she awoke by night, swearing she heard someone cry out for help.
For revenge.
For freedom.
Night after night, the One whispered on the wind, and Wrenwyn listened.
‘I hear the call,’ Wrenwyn told that whisper. She turned her eyes north and made a promise: ‘I’m coming.’
43
She awoke to the sound of her cell door opening.
Ezer sat up, blinking wearily, the Shadow Tome inches from her fingertips. She’d fallen asleep before she could read any further.
Kinlear stood in the doorway, a torch in his hands.
Her breath hitched, and her eyes welled with tears, because he looked nothing at all like the Kinlear she’d pressed her lips to, just hours before.
‘Ezer,’ he said, almost reverently. ‘My heart.’
‘I amnotyour heart,’ she hissed. ‘What have youdone,Kinlear?’
He was no longer weak and waning. He stood tall and strong in his dark cloak, and though it was still his face, his freckles, his curly dark hair … he was already changing before her.
