Across the star-drenched stone where ancient memories float on the wind, I lead Kael to the jagged edge of the plateau.It’s here.There, resting atop a raised slab of stone—like an altar abandonedby time—is the Astral Compass. It makes sense now, why the Vaythari and Velmara made themselves known as we approached; they guard Skaedor’s Crest with their lives, leaving the compass untouched for the rightful heir.For me. And cutting down anyone who isn’t.
We both slow our approach, as if we might spook it if we make any sudden movements.
“It’s here,” Kael whispers, awe lacing his words, as we come up to it, eyes beaming.
The Astral Compass is not merely an object—it is a remnant of something beyond time, beyond mortal understanding. It does not sit passively upon the slab; it feels placed with purpose, as if waiting for the right hands to claim it.
It is large enough to demand reverence—crafted from a metal that is neither gold nor silver, but something older, something celestial, shimmering with an iridescence that shifts with the light. The surface is etched with constellations, some familiar, others long forgotten, their lines carved so finely they seem to glow from within.
At its center, a floating core of shifting metallic liquid pulses with slow, rhythmic light—like the heartbeat of the heavens themselves.
Without further thought, I reach for it, hand outstretched. I wrap my hands gently around the outside of it, and hiss—the pain sears through my palm like molten fire, and I jerk back with a sharp gasp. My breath stutters, the raw sting latching on to my nerves like claws. I pull my hand back and see scorch marks on my palm—the same kind Kael had on his after touching the Starforged Blade. “Fuck,” I grit out, blowing on it to ease the sting.
Kael reaches for my hand, tenderly stroking around the burn. “You can heal this, you know.”
“How the fuck can I do that?” I bite.
“You were born under The Eye of Lireal constellation. You are imbued with the magic of shielding, destruction,” he pauses then, blowing on the burn for me, “and healing, Duskae.”
“Well, I don’t know how to do that, obviously,” sarcasm turning my words into something bitter.
He chuckles, and I’m not sure that I’ve heard anything as sweet. “I’ll teach you. Close your eyes,” he prompts with a gentility that comforts me. “Find that place inside you where your magic resides,” he gives me a moment. “Got it?” I nod, “Now, imagine a small thread of your magic—Lightborne magic—unweaves from the center, and makes its way down your arm.” He traces a faint line down my arm towards the burn, and my skin turns into gooseflesh under his touch. I hear his breathing shift, barely, but it’s there. “Now, you want to slowly, patiently, pull your magic to the surface of your skin. Not like when you push magic outward towards something—or someone,” he says with levity in his tone, “but delicately. As if you want the magic to just kiss your skin.”
It takes great effort and concentration to not let the magic shoot out from my hands, and for the first time since we left the inn in Galreth, I feel warm.
“Good,” he encourages, and I’m embarrassed by how much his approval turns my insides molten. “Now that it’s on the surface, let it ripple across the palm of your hand where the burn is.” I do as he bids and drag my Lightborne magic bit by bit across my palm.
“Open your eyes, Elyssara,” he says, approving.
I glance down to see a faint shimmer of my magic still lingering on my palm, and underneath it, healed, fresh skin.
Awed, I shake my head in disbelief. “It’s— It’s gone!”
A genuine smile of warmth spread across his face, “You healed yourself.”
“Holy fucking Stars!” A laugh bursts out of me, and for a moment, I forget what’s at stake as we stand here.
He watches me, eyes lingering for a moment too long.
I snap myself back to the task at hand, “Okay, so obviously the compass doesn’t want me to touch it. The Velmara letyoupass, maybe the compass wants you—maybe it knows our deal for you to use the compass, anyway.”
“I don’t think so, El. I think it wants your truth first,” his expression now back to cool indifference.
“What do I do? Just... speak to it?”This feels fucking ridiculous.
“I guess we’ll find out. Go on, then. Make your royal decree,” he says with mock regality.
I shoot him a withering stare, but turn back to the compass, exhaling the weight of this moment.
The truth rests in my throat like a stone. The moment I speak it aloud, there is no turning back. But the compass will accept nothing less. So I exhale and let the words carve my fate into the Stars.
“I... would like to offer you a truth in exchange for use of the compass... please,” I tack on. “I have magic of the gods in my blood,” Kael startles, his eyes boring into me, and the compass itself begins to faintly glow, as if I’ve awakened it. “I am to find a way to bring the gods back to the realms after being sent away, somehow, by King Thalmyr,” the glow illuminates further. “I am to change the fate of the realms—restore the gods, reunite the Vaythari, and bring Aevryn back to peace.”
I think that’s what I’m meant to do, anyway.
I hear a gentle click, as if the compass itself is unbound from its own restraints. I don’t make the same mistake twice, so this time, I place the pad of one finger on the side of the compass to test it.
“Fuck! Again!” I hiss, as the compass brands me with its heat yet again. “Can you offer the Starsdamned thing a truth? I think it has enough of mine.”
