“And that’s when Shadow Boy arrived,” Ronyn quickly adds.
“I’m gonna need more than that. Isk? Ron?” Revryn is barely able to keep a leash on his need for answers.
“Shadowweave. Bends shadows to his will. Cloaks people in darkness. Creates terrifying illusions. Yeah, anyway... he helped,” Ronyn offers nonchalantly. “He had a magic device that unlocked the cell, and proceeded to help us escape under the concealment of his shadows, and well... here we are!” Ronyn claps his hands together, as if that’s the end of the conversation.
“I’m obviously very relieved that you’re okay, but who is this Shadowweave, and why did he help you? Why was he at The Barrier?” Revryn’s questions tumble out frantically. “There is only one Shadowweave in all of Virellin, and he is the right-hand man to the King, far behind The Lightborne Barrier. What do we know of this person?” His scepticism is palpable and hangs in the air.
I have known for my entire life that this conversation was inevitable. I have carried this moment with me, heavy and unrelenting, like a stone in my chest. I have known that someday, I would have to stop pretending.
Pretending that I am just Iskara, a street thief with sharp knives and sharper wit.
Pretending that vengeance isn’t the fire that has kept me alive for twenty summers.
Pretending that the blood on my hands hasn’t always been a means to an end.
I glance around the room, at the faces of the only people who have made me feel like more than a mouth to feed. They’ve made me feel like someone—someone who matters. Revryn, with his gruff but unwavering guidance. Seren, the little sister I never had. And Ronyn—Starsdamned Ronyn—who looks at me now with curiosityinstead of judgment, as if he can already sense that whatever I’m about to say will change everything.
My chest tightens, but this time it’s not from fear. It’s the mark. The Lightborne magic clawing its way to the surface, demanding to be acknowledged. The faint warmth beneath my ribs flares, a cruel reminder of what I’ve hidden, of what I am.
But I’m not ready. I’m not ready to see their trust splinter into doubt, their love twisted into fear or anger. I’m not ready to be cast out of this fragile thing we’ve built together—a life that feels like safety, even if it’s an illusion.
Revryn’s voice pulls me back. “Well?” he presses, his eyes narrowing. “What aren’t you telling us, Isk?”
The use of my name—myfalsename—stings. It cuts through the protective walls I’ve spent years building, laying them bare.
I take a deep breath, my fingers tightening into fists at my sides. I want to run. I want to hide. But there’s no escape from this moment, no delaying what’s already begun.
“I think...” My voice falters, barely above a whisper. I swallow hard, forcing myself to meet their eyes. “I think he was looking for me.”
The room falls into a heavy silence.
“Looking for you?” Seren echoes, her brows furrowing.
Revryn straightens, his arms crossing as his expression darkens. “Why in the Stars’ name would a Shadowweave be looking for you?”
Ronyn, trying to dispel the rising tension, quips, “Maybe he heard about her knife tricks. Very impressive.”
“Ronyn,” Seren chastises, voice sharp enough to silence him.
I force a smile, but it crumbles almost immediately. My hands tremble, and I clasp them behind my back to hide the weakness.
“I...” The words stick in my throat, heavy with twenty summers of secrets. “Because I’m not who you think I am.”
I see it then—the shift in their expressions. Revryn’s calculating gaze hardens into something unyielding. Seren’s curiosity flickers into uncertainty. And Ronyn... Ronyn just stares, his grin fading as realization begins to dawn.
“I...” My voice breaks, and I hate it. I hate how small I sound, how vulnerable. But there’s no stopping now. The truth presses against my ribs, a dam about to burst.
“I’m Elyssara,” the words tear from my throat like a confession, sharp and shaking. “Elyssara the Lightborne.”
The silence that follows is deafening. My chest burns, the mark flaring again as if to punctuate my words.
“Elyssara,” Revryn repeats my name, his tone unreadable. “The Eye of Lireal. The one from the prophecy.”
I nod, unable to look at him.
“And you never thought to tell us this?” Seren’s voice trembles—not with anger, but with hurt.
“I couldn’t,” I whisper. “If you’d known... if anyone had known...”
