“They,” she continued, voice heavy, “decided your power was too dangerous to remain whole.”
My hand rose, trembling, to the crescent-shaped mark etched into my skin.
A birthmark.
A lie.
Tears blurred my vision. My chest ached like my heart had shattered into pieces. I had thought the Tidekeepers were cruel. I never imagined they were thieves. But Meris—my mother—had stood beside them and sung me to sleep while they did it. Allthose years—her lullabies, her warnings, her careful hand—Not protection.
Control. Fear. Greed.
I turned to the Elders, voice raw, shaking. “What am I?” I asked. And then, softer—like it might hurt less. “Who am I?”
The silence that followed was heavier than any before. Not a pause. A weight.
They glanced at one another, and for one terrible heartbeat I hoped—prayed—that they had more.
They didn’t.
“We do not know,” said the second elder.
The words broke me. Not because they were cruel. Because they were honest.
I swallowed hard against the knot in my throat. My eyes burned. My voice trembled, but I forced the words out anyway.
“Thank you,” I whispered. “For what you’ve given me.”
None of them knew what I was. Then who could?
A hush fell over the chamber.
My gaze lifted to the life tree towering behind them—eternal, unmoved, its silver leaves shimmering.
Then—a rustle.
A single leaf tore free, pale as moonlight veined in silver. It spiraled down slowly—not drifting on air, but pulled by unseen threads.
It landed at my feet. The Elders stirred.
“The tree responds only to great shifts,” The last elder whispered, eyes wide. “To the tremble of threads not yet woven.”
I stared at the fragile thing, my chest twisting painfully. Small.
Weightless. Vast. A sign.
A burden.
Another truth I didn’t understand.
Tears slid hot down my cheeks before I could stop them. Answers. That’s what I’d come for.
But all I had now were more questions—heavier, cutting deeper than before.
My mark burned, my breath shallow, my thoughts splintering. Then—warmth.
Veyrion’s hand brushed mine.
I startled—but didn’t pull away. His touch was steady. Grounding. The kind you offered someone about to collapse.His expression gave nothing away—calm, unreadable—but his presence wrapped around me like the lull before a storm.
