Page 35 of A Reign of Chromes & Shadows

“I didn’t mean to insult you,” she said quietly. “I just worry. And I’m starting to think maybe you shouldn’t fight Father so much. If you gave him a little, maybe he’d stop being so hard on you. And what better time than when he has an audience and is singing your praises?”

“Oh, sis.” Rain shook his head. “For someone so intelligent, you’re very naïve when it comes to Father. But you’re right about onething...I need to take advantage of this opportunity you’ve so annoyingly thrust upon me.”

She sighed.

“I need to start making friends with our allies,” he continued. “Will you help me?”

“I’ll consider it… if you ask nicely,” she said, plucking a piece of chicken off her fork with her teeth.

“Pretty please, oh wise and beautiful sister,” he begged dramatically.

“Pretty please what?” she replied, swallowing. “And don’t forget to add powerful. I’m a trifecta.”

Rain grinned.

“Pretty please, my wise, beautiful, and oh-so-powerful womb-mate, would you take pity on my poor introverted soul and use your exceptional networking skills to help me build friendships with our allied kingdoms?”

Snow made an exaggerated show of thinking, humming, tapping her chin, before finally, painfully slowly, placing her cutlery down.

“Very well. But don’t ever use that ‘I’m the heir’ crap on me again!” she said, folding her arms and mimicking his voice.

“Don’t give me a reason to,” he shot back with a smirk. “And thank you. Though you owe me for what I’m about to endure with Ivy this weeks end.”

Chapter 13

In the ambient hush of the meditation chamber, Rain settled cross-legged upon the dais. He stretched his arms high above his head, inhaling deeply as his torso lengthened, then leaned from side to side to loosen the tightness in his muscles. Once again, apprehension coiled around him like a vice. His mind swam with a thousand thoughts and worries, making meditation feel more like a chore than a sanctuary. And yet, beneath the dread, a flicker of eagerness stirred—the hope that he might experience another vision like the last. That pressure alone made it harder to relax.

He drew in a slow breath, palms pressed together at his chest, then exhaled and rested his hands on his knees. Feeling marginally more prepared, he reached for the folded parchment Isarion had given him and carefully unfolded it. Holding it beneath the candlelight, he scanned the foreign lettering. Nothing leapt out at him. No spark. No pull. Just ornate, ancient scribbles: indecipherable and frustratingly inert.

He turned the page over. As the Elder had said, scholars had left notes from their attempts to translate the script. A few sources agreed that certain symbols repeated. One was believed to mean twins. Another was debated to be royal, king, or Aetherial. All of them, interestingly, pointed toward him. A twin. An Aetherial. Royal blood. Heir to the throne. Perhaps that was why Isarion had been guided to pass it on.

Hopefully this time, the communication would be clear and not another cryptic riddle that left his mind in knots.

He folded the parchment into a small rectangle, placed his Nuummite palm stone atop it in his left hand, and covered it with his right, encasing both between his palms. Resting his hands on his crossed legs, he closed his eyes and matched his breath to the soft chant echoing through the alcoves.

He worked through his muscle groups one by one, consciously releasing tension from shoulders to toes. When his body finally softened, he turned inward. Surprisingly, his mind didn’t fight him this time. No intrusive thoughts clawed for attention. His mind wandered briefly to the days ahead, but nothing lingered long enough to pull him from centre.

Peace settled over him like a warm blanket. Stillness followed.

His mind’s eye didn’t fall into darkness this time. Instead, a haze of lilac-grey unfurled before him. Symbols flickered into view; the same ones etched across the parchment, shifting from one to the next, perhaps word to word. Until they stopped.

On one symbol.

The one scholars believed meant twins.

True to the word, the vision shifted.

Twin babies appeared, they were impossibly small, fresh from the womb, wrapped tightly in wool blankets trimmed with fur. They lay bundled in a wicker basket raised on a wooden frame. Though they seemed asleep, their fragile limbs twitched as they instinctively nuzzled closer to one another.

“Twins. A true blessing from the Gods.”

A deep, strong accent echoed from somewhere behind them. The vision widened to reveal an exhausted woman being bathed and tended to by four others. Rain recognised instantly that the language wasn’t his own—yet he understood every word.

The speaker stood against the wall of the cabin-like room, dressed in furs and leathers with no distinguishing colour, as though she had come straight from a hunt.

“It didn’t feel like a blessing,” the mother whispered, her voice thin with exhaustion. The fur-clad woman let out a soft, knowing laugh.

“You did amazingly, Maggie. That’s five sets in the space of a month. One set from each bloodline it seems.” She sounded almost breathless with awe. “Two more mothers are due any day now. One of Blue blood, the other of Green. Both suspected to be carrying multiples. We haven’t reached the far North or South yet, but I can only assume they’re part of this phenomenon as well.”