He went still, dark eyes flashing. “What did you see?”
“Thane,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt as she stepped closer. “He showed me a painting. A blade surrounded by oíche blossoms.”
His brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face.
“The blossoms,” she continued softly. “They only bloom under the full moon. My frie—” She stopped herself. “Avis. She cultivated an entire orchard of them in Verdara. Even inthe forest beyond. The Elmweavers use them in potions and poultices. For restoration. For strengthening whatever’s weak or damaged.”
Her voice wavered, a tremor she couldn’t suppress. Avis had given her those blossoms before, along with lion’s mane—a mixture meant to restore, to focus the mind, to heal what was broken. Elara choked back the swell of emotion. Avis had known. She must have known about the memories Elara had lost and had tried to help her. Quietly, subtly. Without drawing attention, without putting herself at risk.
“What is it?” The Hunter's voice was soft as he watched the tears stream down her face.
“Nothing. It doesn’t matter,” she muttered, swiping them away with the back of her hand. “What matters is what Thane said.” Her throat bobbed. “He said ‘The Wound of Light is the door, and that I was the key.’ The dagger in the painting... it’s Osin’s.”
“I know the one.”
Elara’s brow creased. “The way Thane said it... it felt like he was telling me it’s the only way to reach him.”
It could have been what he was saying,she justified in her mind. But something twisted in her chest, the lie sitting there like a stone. When had she started caring about lying to him? When had his trust begun to matter to her?
“What are you suggesting?” His tone was cautious, eyes watching her carefully.
Elara ran her tongue over her lips. “We keep working on the spells, but I think we should start looking into the blade. Do you know anything about it?”
He shook his head. “I’ve never heard of any ‘Wound of Light,’ but Osin’s blade—now that I know is powerful. I always assumed he was harnessing the power of the sun through crystals, using it to build up ether in the blade.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Wait—is that why you have all those crystals hanging in the windows?”
His lips curved into a smirk. “An experiment. I’ve been working with stones that haven’t gone through the Convergence, trying to use them as conduits for ether. The sun charges them, and with the right spell, they work. But only once, and, as you remember, they can be unpredictable.”
Elara’s face flushed. “So you knew all along that’s how I managed it?”
He tilted his head slightly, his expression flat. “Was that ever in doubt?”
She let out a small laugh, despite herself.
“I'll look into the blade.”
Elara went still. “I need something else from you.”
His lips curled into that small, infuriatingly slow smile, the one that tugged at just one corner, the one she was starting to recognize right before it appeared. “Of course you do.”
She didn’t let herself hesitate. “I want you to teach me how to rift.”
The smile faded, his expression shifting into something more serious. He didn’t argue, didn’t scoff, or make some quip. He just looked at her for a long moment, and she could almost see the realization setting in—how real everything was becoming, how the stakes had quietly risen, how it was more than just talk and experiments now.
“I need to be able to travel on my own.”
Finally, he nodded.
“What do you know about void fractures and how they affect temporal stability?”
Elara raised a brow, trying not to roll her eyes. “I’m guessing you’re about to enlighten me.”
He grinned. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”
Elaraand the Hunter practiced rifting in her room as the hours slipped away, night fading into the soft gray of dawn. They worked in near silence, the earlier tension dissolving into a shared, wordless focus.
Each attempt demanded more than she had yet mastered. Rifting wasn’t brute force—it was balance. Will and instinct. The Void was always there, stretched thin between worlds, waiting. You had to feel for the fractures—the places where the veil weakened—and then, gently but decisively, part it. It came down to control. Knowing exactly when to push—and when to pull back.
