If I want this—wanther—I have to trust. Completely.
Lyra paces. She hasn’t stopped fidgeting since we arrived. Arms crossed, bouncing on her heels, throwing worried glances between me and the edge of the cliff.
“You know you don’thaveto do this, right?” she says, voice pitched just a little too high.
I grin, unable to stop it. My magics pulse beneath my skin, buzzing like lightning at the edge of a storm.
“No, Lyra. I don’t have to. Igetto!”
For days, sleep has not been a sanctuary. It has been a threshold. A whisper from something ancient and alive—always just beyond reach.
I didn’t dream of fire or battle. I dreamed of a shadow moving through moonlight. A glint of silver—fluid, endless—slipping through the sky like a falling star. Emerald eyes piercing through the darkness, filled with knowledge ancient and vast.
I reached for her, but never quite touched. I heard her voice, felt her slipping through my fingers like mist at dawn.
You are almost ready, Virelya. But not yet. Soon.
That’s what she calls me in dreams.Virelya.Beloved Flame. Little Flame. And somehow, I understood it—even in the dream.
And then I woke—breathless—my heart hammering, skin damp with sweat, fingers curled like they were still reaching for something lost in the darkness. Something that was waiting for me.
But today? Today I understand.
Lyra makes a noise like she’s swallowing a scream. “Oh, so we’re just diving off cliffs now? Like that’s a totally normal thing?”
“Yes,” I say, grinning wider.
“No,” Lyra hisses at the same time, shooting a panicked look at Valen and Thane like they might talk sense into me.
But they know better. This choice was made long before I reached this cliff. Long before I even knew her name. Maybe even when the prophecy was first spoken.
I turn to Valen. He nods—calm, resolute—the wind tugging at the edges of his robe.
“You’ve already chosen her,” he says. “Now let her choose you.”
I meet Thane’s gaze last. His eyes burn as they track my every movement.
For a moment, I wonder if he’ll say something—anything. But he just watches. Waiting. Measuring. Every muscle in his beautiful, battle-honed body pulled taut.
I raise a brow. “Not going to tell me to be careful?”
His jaw ticks, but his voice stays steady. “You don’t do careful.”
I smirk. “That’s true.”
A beat of silence. His gaze flickers—just for a second. Not the war-hardened mask he usually wears. Worried. Raw.
And it slips through before Thane can stop it.
Then, after a sharp exhale, “Just don’t make me regret this.”
The mask slips back into place—perfect, practiced, infuriating.
My smirk widens. “I won’t.”
Another pause.
Then, lower, quieter—almost to himself—“You never hesitate.”
