He sighed, running a rough hand down his face. “Five, maybe seven tops.”
She nodded, but her mind was already racing. “What does Osin think we’re doing in Bravell?”
The Hunter’s mouth twitched, something dark flashing in his eyes. “Chasing down aCailleach.”
Elara’s heart stuttered. “What?”
The name sent a rush of cold through her. She’d grown up on stories of theCailleach—a primordial force capable of summoning the winter, covering the world in snow with a mere sweep of her plait across the churning waters ofTyrnolwen. TheCailleachwasn’t just a spirit; she was something older, a giantess who could mold the very land beneath her. She shaped hills, carved valleys, and created lakes with a power that defied understanding. Unlike the river spirits, who were wild and untamable, theCailleachwore the guise of an old woman—her strength often dismissed, but it was the kind of ancient power that only time could forge. She embodied the overlooked might of the elder, a divine matriarch who shaped the world with wisdom as old as the earth.
“And you threatened to use me asbait?”
The Hunter shrugged. “Cailleach’sare drawn to the scent of a challenge, like sharks to blood. And you”—he turned, his eyes locking with hers— “you’re a walking provocation.”
Her eyes narrowed in irritation, but before she could retort, Tristan cut in, his tone dry as ever. “Coming from Ivan, that’s practically a love letter.”
Elara rolled her eyes, turning back to her notes, annoyed even though the Hunter hadn’t actually used her as bait. Was she supposed to come back from this looking thoroughly traumatized? How was she supposed to pull that off?
Her thoughts stalled as her gaze caught on something she hadn’t noticed before in her notes. A sketch, half-hidden beneath the parchment, of two figures outlined in radiant light, their forms connected by a thin, glowing thread. Her eyes scanned the scrawled writing beside it, piecing together the theory.
Connections between people can exist beyond physical space, beyond even time.
Elara read on, intrigued. The Void, according to the notes, was a channel through which souls could travel, communicate, and remember. Memory wasn’t tied to the body—it could transcend it. If someone crossed into the Void, they could bring others with them, pulling them through dimensions, or send memories through the channels, bridging the gap between time and space.
“Have you seen this?” She passed the theory to the Hunter, and he read over it, then nodded. “I think you were both trying to recover memories from before.”
“Before?”
“Your life before you came here.”
“I didn’t have a life before I came here. Aine created me when I was eleven. I remember it—it’s one of the clearest memories I have.”
He leaned forward, flipping the parchment over to its backside. “You didn’t think so back when you were in the capital.”
Her hands trembled as she traced her fingers across the words, the letters blurring slightly beneath her touch. Words inTírrísh—ones she didn’t recognize—scribbled in the margins, alongside a name.Raijin. Written over and over, at least a dozen times.
“I think you were trying to reach him.”
A chill shot through Elara, ice settling in her veins. Dread. Sadness. An overwhelming sense of helplessness crashed over her as she looked up from the name, her eyes searching the Hunter’s face for something—anything—more.
“That’s just what I’ve pieced together,” he added. The earlier playfulness in his gaze was gone.
Elara sat back, the realization hitting her like a tidal wave. “Holy gods.”
Tristan leaned forward, but the Hunter froze, eyes locked on her, waiting.
“This theory, if it holds any truth, it could explain...” She hesitated, sucking in a breath, wondering if she should even share what was swirling in her mind. But what was the point of holding it back now? “Every time I’ve had a brush with death, I’ve gotten a memory back. I thought it wasdeath itself, giving me pieces of my past, but maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s Thane, sending them to me.”
The Hunter blanched, his expression going still, as though her words had knocked the breath from him. “Which means he’s still alive in there.”
It was something she hadn’t admitted to him before—her doubts about whether his brother could have survived in the Void all these years. But now, her heart pounded with the truth that had been staring her in the face all along. “And he’s trying to reach me.”
Chapter 43
The days blurred together in a haze of research, the soft shuffle of turning pages and the occasional scratch of quills filling the air.
Elara’s thoughts no longer lingered on anything but the endless possibilities ahead—the intricacies of the Void slowly unfolding as they combed through the ancient texts. The Hunter’s library had become her refuge, a place where time seemed irrelevant, measured only by the progress they made.
It began with recalculating the variance in the subcurrents’ behavior. The subtle changes in ether—initially dismissed as noise—proved critical. They spent hours buried in the numbers, examining how each fluctuation influenced their link to the primary current. And gradually, a pattern emerged.
