And, in typical Ronyn fashion, he walks backwards towards the Gateway, arms stretched wide with that roguish grin he dons so well, and casts a wink at Jax before free falling through the woven threads of pure magic.
Reckless and flustered, Jax smooths down her already-smooth onyx hair, steadies her composure, and leaps through the split in the night air, following my best friend.
Therion reaches for Seren’s hand, pulling her through the portal with a gentle kiss to her forehead. They walk through together. Unified.
Rubi takes a swig of her flask, a drag of whatever she’s smoking tonight, and stumbles through the Gateway to Virellin.
Kael grips my chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting my head back to look at him. “Daughter of the Unknown,” he whispers, and his lips brush mine, pressing gently, before he breaks the kiss, turns and launches through the Threads.
Correk drops into a low bow. Not mocking or insincere. No, this is genuine.Regal. “Time to save the world, Princess,” he says, and steps into the unknown.
I nod to Daelen and Merrik, steeling myself as I prepare to travel by godsdamned Gateway again, the nausea already rising in preparation.
I approach the crackling Threads, feeling the hum of their power, the weight of the moment.
“This is only the beginning,” Mavyrn whispers, but I barely register the words before she shoves me squarely in the back, and I fall into the yawning maw of the Gateway.
The Threads sing, the compass burns against my side, the Starforged Blade hums in resonance, and I fall through the crack in the night sky.
Toward rebellion.
Toward destiny.
Toward the vengeance I’m finally ready to exact.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
ELYSSARA
My boots hitthe cobbles of the Barrier District. I land in a crouch as Mavyrn’s split in the air seals behind me. Thalmyr’s Lightborne Barrier rises before me in a wall of glistening, golden light. An impenetrable shield—oppressive, tyrannical. A reminder of how it all started—with my parents’ refusal to hand me over to a life behind the gilded cage. But I can’t dwell on it.
The others await me in the cover of an abandoned alley, its walls painted in the thick, black soot that coats most of Virellin. But I’ve prowled these streets since I was a child—made friends with its darkness, allies with its deception. I know them better than I know myself. And here, in the darkness, there is no fear. Only opportunity.
It’s the stench that hits me first—the reek of unwashed bodies, shit and the undeniable haze of voidroot.
“Hoods up, no eye contact,” I command, and the unit does as I say. “Wait thirty heartbeats, then follow. Groups bigger than three are forbidden.”
I stay close to the walls, senses keen and perceptive, as though the memory of this place were burrowed deep in my marrow and it demands my full attention.
My boots slip along the slick grime smeared across the stones, and my ears fill with the din of coins, whores and clinking tankards.
Ah, home. Gods, I missed this shithole.
I don’t look back. I have to trust the others can take care of themselves. Looking back only ever gets you attention from guards, or a knife to the ribs around here. So I keep my eyes downcast, my gait even and unbothered, though I’m tense as all hells.
Nobles stumble through the filthy streets, only glancing in my direction to see if I’m offering flesh or voidroot, but when they don’t see an eyeful of skin, they move on quickly.
I duck into an alcove, pulling my cloak tight around my body. I wait, allowing the others time to catch up.
Ronyn slinks around the corner to join me, tucking into the shopfront with stealth I haven’t seen him wield since before he was caught and taken to The Tannery.The fucking Tannery.
“The bastards have changed the supply routes and patrols,” he complains in a hush, looking genuinely perturbed that he won’t be able to raid supply caches while we’re here. “I suppose life goes on when you pass through the Final Gate,” he says wistfully.
“Of course life goes on, you fucking idiot. Plus, you’re alive—the Final Gate didn’t want you. Now, check on the others,” I barb, but there’s no bite in it. Only exasperation.
Ronyn peeks his head around the corner of the alcove, counting the cloaked bodies he recognizes as ours walking through the streets of the district. “We’re one short,” he breathes.
Kael, Therion, Seren, Correk, Mavyrn and Jax file into the alcove, the squelch of mud thick underfoot.
