“We’ll start with that much,” Vi said aloud, speaking to the crystals as though they were a sentient partner. For all Vi knew, they were. They held Yargen’s essence after all; she couldn’t rule out that they also held some of the goddess’s consciousness. “Yargen, help me do this,” she whispered. “I need him at my side.”
Vi lifted her hands from the stone, drawing the magic in shimmering threads up with them. She twisted her left hand, palm to ceiling, and continued feeding magic from her right. Once enough power had collected in her upturned palm, Vi condensed it into a new crystal.
This would be the seed from which Taavin’s new body would grow. She continued to string more magic from the Caverns into the stone, stopping when she’d reached the amount the Sword of Jadar had held.
Glancing to the heavens, Vi uttered one final silent plea to Yargen—Let this work—before continuing.
The crystals in the room flared and dimmed. Magic was drained from the stones along the outer ring of the room. It filled the crystals on the floor. They shone once more, the glyph they made barely visible in the beams of light reaching upward.
Siphoning this power, Vi felt something quiver between each draw off the Caverns.
Raspian could feel the weakening of power that confined him, she was sure. He could feelher. Just as keenly as she could feel him pressing, scraping, reaching, seeking a way out of his prison.
The phantom torment of red lightning cracking through her seared under her skin. She could feel the shadows of scars across her bones from where it had ravaged her body. Vi set her lips into a thin line and fought to keep her focus on her task.
“You’ll be free enough to have your little finger escape,” she said grimly to the dark god, not knowing if he could hear. “No more. No less.”
The outermost stones on the floor began to dim against the brightness of the glowing stone in Vi’s hand. It was a blue brighter than the sky, purer than the ancient ice of glaciers. It was bright enough to illuminate almost the whole of the Caverns and yet, looking into it didn’t hurt. It felt… comfortable. Like staring into the eyes of an old friend.
With a flick of her wrist, Vi flattened her right hand and severed the connection with the Caverns. She could feel the remaining magic settling back into place, spread thinner, like water over a dry riverbed.
Sweat ran in rivulets down her neck and temples. Even in the chill of winter, holding the crystal, holding her focus, was extremely strenuous.
Vi placed the shining stone down gently before her. She ran her hands over it, murmuring, “Kot sorre. Kot sidee.”
Push and pull.
The magic was a tangible thing beneath her fingers. Vi manipulated it like a sculptor. She saw the crystal extend upward and downward. The stones smoothed and curved, taking on new shapes. Vertebrae appeared. Ribs stretched up from them. There were femurs that led to kneecaps, and ultimately toes. Collarbones sat beneath a strong jaw.
A skeleton of crystal was before her. The basis of her vessel. But it was nothing more than crystals in a new shape.
She wanted to lean back, sit on her heels, and catch her breath. But Vi couldn’t allow herself to. Everything was fresh and new, waiting for the next layer of magic to be spun around it.
“Halleth ruta sot. Halleth ruta toff.” Halleth worked to create new flesh on an existing body. Why could it also not create new flesh for a new body?
A voice whispered in the back of her mind. The words were so faint that Vi couldn’t decipher if it was instinct, or Yargen herself encouraging Vi in the right direction. “Mysst ruta sot.”
Mysst, to craft.
Ruta sot, inner flesh.
The words shouldn’t have worked together. But here, in the Caverns, drawing on the raw power of Yargen, combined with Vi’s unshakable determination, they did. It was as if she had the goddess’s blessing to bend the words of the gods to her will.
For the first time, Vi truly made the words her own.
She was reminded of the moment she was rebuilt between worlds. The light intensified to the point that Vi could see nothing else. And from that light, substance took shape. The sensation of her veins unfurling like ribbons from a fresh heart was keen in her mind. Vi felt skin stretching across the form before her like a blanket, warm and safe.
When the light faded, she was left with the body of a man.
Reaching forward, she cupped the cheek of this lifeless body. It was still a vessel. There was no thought, no essence within. But Vi could see her plan taking shape. She could almost feel him there, and wondered if the warmth underneath her palm was the lingering magic in the air… or a fresh body seeking out life.
Vi gripped the watch with her left hand, white knuckled. With her right, she still caressed the man’s face. Her eyes focused there.
Draw him out.
Lifting her hand off the watch as though it were a crystal, the magic of Yargen within followed her motions. She could see it in countless overlapping glyphs that hovered in the air. If she had to guess, there were ninety-three in total. Each one held the memories and essence of a different Taavin, including this one. They all combined together to compose the man she loved so dearly.
“Narro hath loreth.” Vi said the words to imprint a communication mark on the token—to first anchor Taavin’s consciousness into this new vessel. On instinct, she repeated “Hoolo, hoolo,” over and over.Stabilize, elongate, hold. It was the first word Yargen had given her—the word that had truly brought Taavin to her.
