I don’t really know what to say. In the Outerlands, no one talks like this. If you’re struggling, you shut up and survive. There’s no space for anything else. So I just shift closer and place a hand on his shoulder.
He gives a small nod, like that’s enough, but in true Finn fashion, the moment doesn't last long
“Anyway. Enough about my emotional rollercoaster.” He bumps my elbow, all grin again. “Tell me more about the Nightrose. Keeping you up at night again? Did you figure out how he murdered his ex-girlfriend yet?”
I roll my eyes and shove him back, not hard, just enough to get the point across. “Not talking about it.”
He laughs. “So that’s a yes.”
We hangaround the courtyard waiting for Ezzy and Rowan. All I want is to make it through this sermon without Finn prying for more gossip about me and Talen—because the more he digs, the more I have to lie. And I’ve lied enough already.
So when he circles back with more questions, eyes bright with curiosity, I cut him off and ask about his carvings instead.
He takes the bait instantly, grinning as he launches into the apprenticeship program he’s hoping for. Apparently, what he does even has a name, Lacing, weaving Threads into objects.
Finn keeps talking as the courtyard swells louder, cadets pour in from every direction, each year falling into neat clusters organised by Realm, splitting the circular space into four. Atthe centre, a raised platform waits, high enough to be seen by everyone.
Finn cuts off mid-word, as he lifts a hand in a wave. I follow the motion—and spot Ezzy and Rowan heading our way. Through the press of black uniforms, they’re impossible to miss. That identical bright blond hair catches the morning sun like a pair of beacons.
Rowan’s practically glued to Ezzy’s side, one hand hovering near her elbow like she might collapse any second. Ezzy’s jaw is tight, lips pressed, and she tries to shake him off with a little flick of her shoulder that says she’s about two seconds from throttling him. When they finally reach us, I cut in before Rowan smothers her to death.
“So, what’s the deal with these sermons?” I ask the three of them. “Happens every month?”
“Every moon cycle. Like clockwork.” Ezzy huffs, arms crossed tight, like she’s still holding herself back from snapping at Rowan right there.
“Yeah,” Finn adds. “Serrane loves giving his little pep talks. Motivation, wisdom, all that. I’m not his biggest fan... guy’s kind of creepy. No one even knows how old he is. Heard a rumour once he swallowed his wife when she was dying, and now she lives inside of him. Totally freaky. But—” he shrugs, “some of the stuff he says is… actually decent. Helpful, even.”
“Swallowed his wife…?” I arch a brow.
Rowan rolls his eyes, shaking his head at me like he’s silently begging me not to encourage Finn.
The courtyard hums—laughter, mutters, the shuffle of boots on stone—until the ground gives a faint shiver. Not enough to stumble, just enough to feel.
Every head turns.
Vaelric Serrane, the Sovereign Minister, steps on to the platform, pristine bone-white robes flowing like smoke around him and the quake stops.
For a moment, he doesn’t move—just lifts his arms, eyes closed, and draws in a long breath among the silence. Around me, a few cadets mirror him, like they’ve rehearsed this a thousand times before. Then, finally, his hands lower, everyone sits and the sermon begins.
The next hour drags like torture.
Serrane talks slow and steady, never raising his voice, but somehow everyone hangs on every word. Half the courtyard looks ready to fall forward on to their hands, but all I hear is the same loop of crap—good and evil, envy and pain.
How we can peel away the dark pieces of ourselves and rise into something brighter, lighter, better.
I don’t buy a single word he’s saying—but there’s something about his voice, like a drumbeat under my skin, that causes my Threads to stir, pulsing faintly, like they’re listening to him, not me. A shiver slips down my spine before I can stop it.
“There is no shame,” he says, arms wide, sleeves like bone-white wings. “In recognising the darkness inside you. The shame is in pretending it’s not there.”
Ezzy doesn’t blink. Finn’s mouth is slightly open. And I swear the guy behind me just mouthed the words along with him.
“But those who choose,” Serrane continues, “to face the shadow and rise above it… those are the ones ready fortranscendence.”
I lean toward Rowan without looking at him, voice low. “What’s he going on about?”
He answers just as quietly, gaze locked ahead. “The Inner Circle. He handpicks them. They train under him directly.”
“So… like advanced classes?”
