“What’s happening?” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the rumble, but there is no mistaking how out of control I feel.
Therion steps beside me, his expression attuned to the energy and elements as he stares toward the chamber’s entrance. “This storm is not born of the elements. It’s made of The Shadow Wastes.”
The blade hums softly in my hand, its glow flickering like a heartbeat.
Realization of the prophecy slams into me, demanding attention.
The blade ignites and the veil is torn.
I don’t know what it means, but I know for certain the veil is torn. And whatever has been set into motion—there’s no going back now.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
ELYSSARA
We climbthe chamber stairs and move back into the main area of the temple, the air feeling clear and settled, the temple returning to the tranquil and sacred state it is meant to be.
The clear blue sky beams into the temple, the storm—the tear— having passed in little more than a few heartbeats, and reminding us that it is likely still before the sun’s peak.
“Well, I havea lotof questions,” Ronyn states, always the one to break the silence.
Therion approaches Ronyn and throws his right hand up. Ronyn catches it just in time, before Therion pulls him in for an embrace and claps him twice on the back. “Thank you... brother,” he seems a little awkward, but there is something about this gesture that feels significant. A connection and bond between our group that goes beyond a mutually beneficial alliance to get what we want.
“Ahh, it was nothing. Really. Any time,” Ronyn states casually, as if he didn’t just save his life.
“Itwassomething. I understand how you’ve all stayed alive for as long as you have. It is... commendable, what you have been able to get through together.” Therion clears his throat, compliments clearly not natural for him at all.
Ronyn shrugs before adding, “We’re family. That’s what we do for each other.”
“I will not forget this,” Therion says, like a prayer and a promise.
I feel as if I’ve just witnessed something special, and for the first time since we started this insane hunt across the realms, I’m beginning to wonder if we might actually pull this off.
“May I see the blade? It has something on it, and I’d love to research it when we’re near a library.” Seren’s excitement and curiosity shift the energy of the room.
“You were... brilliant in there, Seren. You’re very clever,” Therion gives her a curt nod as he finishes the last word.
“Th—Thank you... Therion. That’s very kind of you,” Seren responds, surprised by the compliment.
“See—he’s not always an asshole,” Kael quips.
“Fuck off, Kael,” Therion snaps, cheeks flushing.
I can’t fight the chuckle that’s been building in my throat, and I let it out freely. Laughing throatily and with abandon for the first time in a very long time.
Kael’s eyes settle on me, his smirk turning softer, and I swear he looks at me with fondness, his gaze lingering for far longer than necessary.
I clear my throat and place the blade on the marble altar to our right. Everyone gathers around and stares at it, awed by its beauty.
The blade is forged from a metal that seems otherworldly—dark and iridescent, shifting between shades of silver, deep blue, and obsidian as it catches the light. Faint, swirling runes are etched into its surface, pulsating with a warm, golden radiance, twin to the Lightborne mark on my chest.
The runes appear almost alive, their intricate patterns forming constellations and celestial swirls that shift subtly when the blade is moved, whispering an ancient song only the chosen can hear. Tiny sparks of light flicker and dance along its edge, giving the impression of Stars being born and fading in an endless cosmic rhythm.
The hilt of the blade is equally captivating, wrapped in dark, supple leather. The pommel is shaped like a crescent moon, its edgesembedded with fragments of glowing crystals that pulse faintly, as if mirroring my heartbeat when I hold it. The crossguard sweeps outward like wings in mid-flight, delicate yet unyielding, etched with more flowing patterns that mirror the blade’s celestial artistry.
This weapon is not merely forged, it is crafted by the cosmos itself—a harmony of raw power and intricate beauty. It feels alive, a tangible connection to something far greater than myself—and pulsating with the promise of both creation and destruction.
We’re all mesmerized, unable to break the ethereal silence the blade has commanded from us.
