The joking drops away.
We are Lords again.
Guardians of Nightfall.
And there is no doubt now that our world is cracking—that all worlds will suffer if it breaks.
“The SoulTakers tested the Eastern quarries last week,” I report. Threads of stone beneath my feet strain as I speak. “Small bands only. Probing. Idris is quiet, but the breaches are not. They widen.”
“The Ember Vein is still recovering from the last assault,” Thorne says, mouth a grim line. “We reinforced every ward we could, but Agros, Grier’s replacement, reports strange weaknesses in the southern tunnels. As if something is unraveling them from the inside.”
“The Tidal sanctums are seeing more disruptions,” Kael adds. “Torn nets. Nets that were woven for dreams, not fish. Anything linked to the Dreamwrights’ work is a target.”
“And the crown remains in danger,” I state before they can ask.
Silence settles like dust.
The Prime’s crown sits in a secure, warded chamber deeper in The Barrow now, wrapped in roots and rune-scribed iron. I can feel it from here—a heavy, watchful presence.
Waiting.
Unmoved.
Unimpressed.
“We have each found our mates, formed zareth bonds, and still, it won’t choose,” Alaric growls.
“Indeed, the four of us vie for its attentions, only to be spurned by that damned stubborn metal,” Thorne grunts.
Jules exhales slowly.
“None of that,” she says. “I’m not sure if Alaric’s plan was ever going to work. I’m not sure if zareth bonds were the path to gaining the crown.”
“What do you mean?” I ask her.
“See, I’ve been researching in The Eyrie’s library—Phoebe and Delia, too—and we’ve yet to come across any proof in the old books. We’ve also tried reading oracle cards, and well, nothing. No answers.”
She offers a sad smile, and I frown.
“It’s like the crown is turned inward. Or sleeping,” Alaric adds.
“Or sulking,” Phoebe offers. “Maybe it’s pissed off there wasn’t a passing ceremony from one Prime to the next. Like it’s saying tough luck or something like that.”
Delia chews on a crust of bread, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “What if that’s the point?” she says. “Maybe the crown isn’t meant to pick one person again. Maybe that’s what broke the last one.”
We all look at her.
“What are you suggesting, Lady Delia?” I ask.
She shrugs, glancing at Thorne. “That hitching all of Nightfall’s power to one guy and hoping he never has a bad day is kind of a crap system. No offense to the Prime. Or any of you.”
“Some offense taken,” Alaric mutters.
“Love you,” Jules says, elbowing him lightly. “Also, she’s right.”
“Maybe the crown doesn’t know what to do you four and your bonded mates,” Phoebe says slowly. “Maybe it’s stuck waiting for one of you to shove it in the right direction.”
I file that away.
