“Yes,” Alarik confirmed.
Zairon began to caluate. "Their invasion can not be quickly executed. It will take time, weeks, for Kael’s forces to cross the spine of Achyrons mountains and unite with Virellia’s navy at its southern ports. Two months, by all accounts, before they’ll have the numbers to lay siege our borders.”
Alarik exhaled sharply, a hint of tension slipping from his shoulders. He turned to face Maris fully for the first time.
“That's it then," he murmured catching her gaze, "Two end this."
“Find the relic,” Zairon finished, voice low with understanding. "then cut down the gods, should be easy enough." He mused.
Maris’s fingers curled tighter over the glowing map. The heat of the sigil pressed like a brand into her bones, and her pulse raced. She had only a short window, to harness her power — outrun one war only to begin another.
Alarik noted, “If the gods know what the goddess gave you Maris — if they realize you’re looking for her relic and reach your full power…Then they will do everything in their power to stop you from reaching it. We have to be prepared for anything.”
Maris swallowed, her palm still glowing against the worn wood of the table. “Let them try,” she whispered.
In that moment, resolve rooted itself within her. Her path was no longer uncertain. Her destiny had found its shape — final. She might not have understood the storm inside her, but she was no longer afraid to meet it head-on. Because now she had a direction and a purpose.
Chapter forty-two
The Trial
-Maris-
The chamber was alive with echoes of wind, sea, and something ancient that breathed within its walls. It was a hidden sanctuary of stone carved into the cliff face that supported the castle. A safe area to test Maris’s limits without the risk to others or prying eyes.
Maris stepped barefoot into the center of an unsealed barrier ring of crushed pearl, and ash spiraled beneath her feet. Her breath steamed, not from the cold, but from the magic gathering inside her like a storm waiting to break.
Alarik watched from the edge of the circle, silent and taut. Zairon and Serenya flanked the scholars, arms crossed with blades at their hips, gazes unmoving.
The cavern thrummed with living tension. No one dared voice their fear — but it was etched clearly across every face … all of them watching her. A silent question drumming in their minds:What would happen when she opened herself to the full force of her magic?
The scholars move in unison, to seal her within the circle with whispered incantations. Threads of unseen magic stitching the air around her. Before the barrier sealed fully — Alarik moved. He stepped into the forming barrier quickly offering her no chance to protest. The arcane lines of the ward shimmered against him, but held as he stood at her side.
"Don't look at me like that," He smirked, eyes glinting with mischief. "Someone needs to be here to quell your magic if you crack the world open."
"Funny, " she mused, the corner of her mouth twitching in a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "You think you could."
She indulged his humor, but through the thread binding them the truth was blatant. He hadn't come to interfere or deter her — he was there so she didn't face it alone.
The ground beneath her hummed, sensing the weight of her burden, and what it might awaken.
“We’ll go no further than ten seconds,” one of the scholars warned, his voice echoing off the barrier. “Any longer without the relic and she could fracture.”
“Fracture?” Maris asked, dry-mouthed.
“Mind, body, magic,” another said. “The threads begin to split. You must let go the moment we say.”
Maris nodded once. She glanced down at her palm, the glowing sigil still thrumming like a living brand. Eiren’s gift. Her tether.
"I’m ready," she declared throwing opened the door to her power as Alarik had shown her.
Her eternal unchecked magic surged outward, tendril bursting with light burst from her form. But beneath the surface, visions struck her like forgotten memories, clawing their way to the forefront of her mind. Each one yielding fresh revelations.
A temple in ruin.
A great tree growing within, similar to the one contained in the sigil.
The Veil tearing, the gods watching.
