Trik didn’t moveafter the call ended.
The silence that followed wasn’t empty, it was suffocating.It pressed in until it rang in his ears, until even his heartbeat sounded wrong.
Across the room, Cush stood still as stone, jaw locked, eyes fixed on Trik like he expected him to either shatter or ignite, and he honestly didn’t know which would be worse.
Cassie is pregnant.
No matter how many times the thought spun through his mind or passed his lips, the ache of it never dulled.It took root deep, beneath bone and blood, deeper even than magic or crown.Each heartbeat dragged it back to the surface, a pulse of disbelief and wonder knotted with fear.
On the table between them, theBook of the Elvessat pristine and silent.Pretending innocence.
Trik turned toward it, slow and deliberate.
“No,” Cush said instantly, catching the shift in his stance.“Don’t even think about it.”
Trik laid his palm on the cold stone beside the Book.The chill seeped into his skin as the castle’s air thinned and hummed, its ancient wards buzzing like restless creatures scenting a storm.
“They’re out there,” Trik said, his calm so sharp it made Cush’s skin crawl.“The forest isn’t doing this, it’s being influenced.Syndra confirmed it.”
“That doesn’t mean you rush in,” Cush countered.“We wait.We do this right.”
Trik’s fingers curled into the stone.“I’ve waited,” he said, voice low and edged.“I waited while the Book grew teeth.While it allowed dark magic to invade it.While it cut me off from my mate ...”his throat tightened, “...and my child.”
The air shifted again, not with magic, but with presence.The Book trembled.A narrow seam of light cracked along its spine, chased by shadow.
“Trik—” Cush hissed.
“I know,” Trik murmured, eyes never leaving the Book.“I feel it too.”
Something slipped through the room like memory–familiar, ancient, intimate.It touched his awareness without permission.Recognition.
The realization cut deep and sudden, like a blade between ribs.
“You remember me,” Trik said.
The Book pulsed.Slow.Certain.Yes.
The word wasn’t spoken, it bloomed behind his eyes, heavy with old satisfaction.
Cush stepped closer.“That’s the Chamber again?”
Apparently, it was letting the warrior in on the conversation too.
“No,” Trik said.Magic coiled beneath his skin, restless and waiting.“That’s what’s been hiding inside it.The shadow elves have decided to start a conversation and their keeper is allowing it.”
The pressure thickened.
As you mentioned king, you sealed us inside.You left us.
Images slammed through his mind, stone slick with blood, chanting elders, light crashing into darkness until the air itself begged for mercy.He tasted ash.Felt the echo of a choice made too quickly and regretted too long.
His lip curled.“You don’t get to act like the wounded party,” he snarled.“You were sealed because you were tearing the realm apart.”
A pause.Then came that voice again, soft, mocking, almost fond.
Balance requires sacrifice.There certainly was enough of it that night, wasn’t there Triktapic, King of the Elves?
A shiver slid down Cush’s spine.“Trik,” he warned.“Don’t listen.”
