Their combined approval flooded through the connection, warm as summer, inevitable as winter.
Tonight,Kaelen promised.When you dream, we'll be waiting. And your real education begins.
I pulled back from the Gate as the Sanctorum doors opened, Natalia entering with her usual coterie of guards. But the connection remained, humming beneath my skin like a second heartbeat.
The Order of Khaos thought I'd help them destroy everything.
The Keepers thought I'd help them maintain their prison.
But I was choosing a third option. My own option.
Survival, whatever the cost.
And if that meant learning to fight from the very beings I was supposed to contain, then so be it.
THIRTEEN
Aria
The exhaustion pulled at me like chains made of lead, dragging me down into sleep despite my attempts to resist. My body ached from the morning's violence, muscles trembling with the aftermath of adrenaline and power I shouldn't possess. The narrow bed in my quarters felt like a trap, but consciousness slipped away before I could fight it.
The dream-space wasn't the Threshold.
It was something else entirely. Softer. Warmer. A forest clearing where moonlight filtered through ancient branches, casting everything in silver and shadow. The air smelled of pine sap and rain-soaked earth, of growing things and patient time. Nothing like the Citadel's cold stone and ritual incense.
Thane sat on a fallen log at the clearing's center, massive form hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees. He looked more solid here than he ever had in the Threshold, more real. The chains still wrapped his wrists and throat, but they seemed lighter somehow, less like restraints and more like reminders.
"You killed today. On your own. Without our power flowing through you."
His voice rumbled through the dream-space like distant thunder, deep enough to feel in my bones. Not an accusation. Not judgment. Just acknowledgment of fact.
"First blood always changes a person." He lifted his head, those brown eyes holding centuries of witnessed transformations. "The weight of it settles into your bones, becomes part of your architecture. You can't unfeel it, can't unknown it. It's yours now, forever."
I moved closer, bare feet silent on moss that felt impossibly real for a dream. "You sound like you're speaking from experience."
A ghost of a smile crossed his face, there and gone like morning mist. "I've killed. Many times. Before the chains, I was guardian of the wild places, protector of those who couldn't protect themselves. Sometimes protection requires violence. Sometimes guardian means warrior."
He patted the log beside him, and I sat, the bark rough beneath my palms. This close, the fine lines around his eyes were visible, and his brown hair caught moonlight like copper threads. He smelled of forests and honey, of home I'd never known.
"I failed them." The words fell between us like stones into still water. Simple. Devastating. "The ones I was meant to protect. When the betrayal came, when your ancestors moved against us, I could have warned my brothers. Could have fought. Could have done something, anything, other than what I did."
"What did you do?"
"Nothing." The word carried the weight of millennia. "I stood neutral, believing it would protect more people. Believing that if I didn't choose sides, the innocents would be spared the worst of it. I was wrong. Neutrality in the face of injustice is just another form of complicity."
His hand moved to rest near mine on the log, not touching but close enough that I felt the warmth radiating from his skin. Such a careful gesture, as if he'd forgotten how to offer comfort without frightening.
"As you fear you'll fail yours," he continued, voice gentle as falling snow. "The villagers who trust you. The Keepers who are complicit but not evil. Even us, in your way. You're trying to protect everyone, and it's tearing you apart."
The truth of it hit harder than any blow he could have landed. I was trying to balance impossible equations, to find solutions where everyone survived, everyone was saved. But some choices demanded casualties. Some futures required destroying the past.
"How do you bear it?" My voice came out smaller than intended. "The weight of failure?"
"Poorly." Another ghost smile, self-deprecating and sad. "For centuries, I bore it poorly. Let it consume me, define me, become the chains that held me tighter than any magic could. But recently..."
He turned to look at me fully, and something in his expression made my breath catch.
"Recently, I've been reminded that redemption isn't about erasing the past. It's about choosing differently in the present. Every moment is a chance to be better than you were. Every choice is an opportunity to break the patterns that bound you."
