The memory of Ryzen offering to teach me that night during the Harvest Festival. The lanterns had burned low, music softened by distance, as he showed me how to expand my range. Not by forcing it. Bysharingit.
He’d woven his power with mine, threading his mind alongside my own—steady, controlled—until our combined reach stretched farther than mine ever could alone. I remembered the moment it happened, the quiet click ofsomething aligning, and suddenly my awareness flowed outward on that shared current.
Xylo first—vast and patient, a living blanket of welcoming warmth. Then Odelm, warm and resonant, his presence humming like a melody carried on breath and memory. The connection had held only briefly, just long enough to prove it was possible.
Ryzen had let go gently after, careful not to overwhelm me. But the imprint remained. Proof that with the right bridge—trust, control, intention—I could reach my Favored across impossible distances with his help.
It had worked.
It could work again.
Farther. Stronger. Enough to hold my constellation together no matter how scattered we became.
I pushed myself up from the gazebo’s bench, ignoring the way my belly protested the sudden movement—a flutter of objection that I acknowledged with a gentle press of my palm before straightening fully.
Tori reached for me, concern flickering through her expression. “Selena—”
“I need to find Ryzen.”
She didn’t ask why. Didn’t try to stop me. Just nodded once, her bright green eyes holding understanding that went deeper than words.
She knew what it meant to feel powerless. And she knew what I was willing to do to change it.
Oeta’s fuchsia aura pulsed once—acknowledgment, perhaps. Or maybe approval. The Nyaviel valued mental strength above all else, saw it as the truest measure of a being’s worth. Seeking to improve mine aligned with everything her people believed.
I walked toward the villa, each step carrying me away from the peaceful pretense of the backyard and toward something harder. Something necessary.
Ryzen’s quarters were housed within my consort wing—the farthest rooms from the others by design, tucked deep into the eastern stretch of the villa. They had their own private entrance that opened directly into my royal backyard, a deliberate buffer of space and silence between him and the rest of the household.
The distance wasn’t rejection. It was consideration. The quiet helped steady him, gave his powerful mind room to breathe without brushing too close to the others. Here, within the villa’s protection but removed from its constant pulse, he could exist without overwhelming—or being overwhelmed.
He’d explained it once, in his clipped way. The constant noise of other minds grated against him—emotions, thoughts, fears all bleeding through inadequate shields. Solitude was survival.
But he’d opened his door to me anyway. Let me in when my presence should have been another burden.
I wasn’t sure what that meant. Wasn’t ready to examine it too closely.
A single, expansive studio dressed in Aldawi colors: black stone floors veined with silver, panels of deep royal purple catching the light, everything arranged with deliberate restraint.
He sat near the center of the room.
His spirit daggers hovered around him, emerald-gemmed hilts glinting as they traced slow, meditative arcs through the air. Seven blades, each moving with purpose that only he seemed to understand. Not random. Never chaotic. They followed an internal rhythm, will-made weapons forged from intent rather than metal, as much a part of him as his emerald eyes or the sharp, unyielding lines of his face.
I slowed, letting the space—and him—settle around me, already bracing for the kind of conversation Ryzen never made easy.
I knocked on the doorframe, and his daggers stilled. His gaze found mine, and for a moment I saw it—the rawness beneath his control, the grief he never let anyone witness. The desperate hope that maybe, maybe, I was bringing news about his brother.
Then his walls slammed down, and he was simply Ryzen again. Cold. Precise. Impenetrable.
“Selena.” His voice carried no inflection. No welcome, but no rejection either. “You should be resting.”
“I should be ready.” I stepped into the room without waiting for invitation. “That’s what I came to discuss.”
His daggers resumed their orbit, but slower now. Watchful. Assessing.
“V’dim and Z’fir deploy in fifty-three hours,” I continued. “Soon it will be our turn—the CEG, our return, and everything that comes after.”
“I’m aware of the timeline.”
