“He wants a name.”
“I think he wants me to die,”
“Oh, snowdrop, no—not at all. The moment he touched you, the bond recognized him. He’s imprinted on you, just like the others. He’s yours now, and he’s waiting.”
The raven nudges me again, as if in agreement. “Okay...” I swallow nervously. “I think his name is Nixie.”
Nixie nuzzles close to my heart, making that clicking noise again.
Andrik raises a brow. “Nixie?”
I shrug, “It just came to me, don’t laugh.”
The raven makes a faint rattling trill.
“I’m not laughing,” Andrik says. “It suits him.”
Nixie snuggles into the crook of my neck, where my pulse pounds.
Andrik’s voice lowers. “He’ll come back when it’s time. When he needs to show you a message.”
I don’t say anything. My throat feels too tight, choked with the residue of a memory that doesn’t belong to me.
Nixie’s warmth against my skin lingers long after his wings vanish into the treetops. I watch the sky until he disappears.
“He’ll return when you need him,” he says again, quieter now. “Or when it hurts too much to ignore.”
I press my palm to my chest, like that could hold back whatever’s cracked loose.
“I can’t quit seeing it, Andrik. Who were those people? What did it mean?”
He’s silent for a moment.
“I don’t know,” he says eventually, but his voice doesn’t sound convincing. “I didn’t see the visions, Lumi, you did. You said they mentioned names... do you remember what they were?”
The wind rustles a branch overhead, snow shakes loose in soft flurries, and for a second, it sounds like someone whispering just out of reach.
I try to reach for the names, but they slip through my fingers like water. The harder I squeeze, the faster they fade, leaving nothing but a cold, empty ache in my chest.
“I-I can’t remember,” I admit.
His hand closes around mine—warm despite his usual iciness. He lowers his voice again, that husky tenderness threading back in. “You asked what it meant. I don’t know the answer yet, but I know this?—”
His other hand lifts slowly, gently brushing my hair behind my ears. “Whatever that vision was... whoever those people were... they matter. Enough to wake a memory in a Skelvyn. And we’ll figure it out together, I promise.”
My breath stutters. He leans in just slightly, forehead brushing mine.
“And if the forest is starting to show you pieces?” His voice dips into a whisper. “Maybe it means the Gods think it's time to remember.”
38
ONE MORE NIGHT
Anonymous-
22 hours—22 hours of traveling through sleet and silence, chasing half-whispered rumors across three state lines, trying to find the last ingredients for the elixir.
It’s been a full day since I’ve seen my little dove—that’s the hardest part. Not the cold, or the endless driving. Not even the way my hands still sting from the jawbone. The stag didn’t want to give it up—not even after it was dead.
