“What? What is it?—”
Elara shot upright,heart slamming against her ribs.
A dim, muted glow bathed the Pit, the scattered orbs casting just enough light to deepen the shadows. That faint, dull glow signaled the end of the day, just before the night shift began.
She blinked, disoriented.
Curse it.She’d slept through the entire day.
Muscles stiff and aching, she stretched, wincing at the throb in her neck. Across the cell, Reynnar lay sprawled on the floor just beyond the bars. His broad shoulders rose and fell in steady breaths, his face softened by sleep, yet there was a coiled tension in his posture, as if he could wake at the slightest sound. Her heart clenched at the sight—he had stayed close, kept watch.
She pulled the blanket tighter, but it did nothing to stop the shiver crawling over her skin. That dream—gods, whatwasit? It wasn’t just a dream. It had weight, substance, as if she could still taste the air. It felt like a warning.
Elara pressed her palms to her eyes, the pressure steadying her. She’d dreamed of the Hunter before… but this was different. It felt as though he’d been there. Not just in her mind, but truly present, as if a piece of his soul had reached across whatever lay between them.
She shook her head, stifling a laugh. Impossible. Dreams didn’t work like that. She was exhausted from casting—gods, she still hadn’t wrapped her head around that.
And yet… he’d carried her to the cot. Warmed her cell. That was the strangest part. Why would he do that? It made no sense.
Of course her mind had seized on it and twisted it into something more. That was all it was—a dream, nothing more than an overtired brain misfiring.
And yet...
Elara shoved the blanket aside and slipped from the bed, cool air prickling her skin. She moved to the edge of the cell where the passing orbs cast just enough light. Kneeling, she dragged a finger through the dirt, sketching the stones from her dream—slow, careful, the shapes still fresh in her mind. Then, beside them, she drew the stones from the Faerie tunnel. The ones Saria had warned her never to speak of.
Her pulse quickened as she stared down. Nearly identical. The dream-stones were fractured, cracked, one split clean in half—but they were the same.
“Tá Aelfhenge tarraingthe agat12.”
Elara blinked and looked up to find Reynnar watching her, one brow lazily raised. He dragged a hand over his face, his gaze drifting between her and the marks on the ground.
“Do you know what this is?”
He hummed, low and thoughtful, then crouched by the bars and tapped a finger against the drawing. “Aelfhenge,” he repeated.
Elara pinched the bridge of her nose, her thoughts racing, sifting through the endless vault of knowledge she’d buried herself in over the years. The archives, the dusty tomes, the brittle pages she’d pored over—Aelfhenge. The word drifted through her mind, brushing against something familiar, something just out of reach.
One book stood out in her mind more clearly than the others—a worn, leather-bound volume titled Whispers of the Veil. Within its pages, she recalled a particular passage about the Stone of Liria, a legendary Fae artifact believed to be infused with the essence of celestial bodies. The text described how, under the light of a full moon, the stone would emit a soft glow, its power reaching its zenith when the alignment of celestial bodies was precise. During these rare moments, the Fae couldchannel divine energies through the very bones of the earth, harnessing a force both ancient and formidable.
Could they be related somehow?
But theAelfhengedidn’t necessarily have anything to do with the Fae. She didn’t know enough yet. She needed to find out more.
Elara glanced back up at Reynnar, biting back a sigh of frustration. For what felt like the hundredth time, she wished they spoke the same language.
“Aelfhenge,” she repeated, and Reynnar nodded.
“Elara.” She tapped her chest, and his grin spread wide, like he knew exactly what she was doing.
“Reynnar.” He pointed to himself, then gestured at her. “Yoo-man”
Human.
She couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, human.”
“And you're a Faerie,” she said, pointing at him, her tone almost teasing. But the moment the word left her mouth, his expression darkened, the easy smile vanishing.
“Ní hea,13” his voice was low, almost a growl. “Sidhe.13”
