Watching.
Keep your Sokâr’s mask in place. Turn the page of the book before you. Slowly, now. Calmly.
Do you hear the Onyx Horn? It bellows through the Daesa Major. It shakes the walls like thunder. He is here, Auryn’reh. He has returned.
If you hurry, you may still meet him. But if you choose not to greet your consort, then you must go to your Attendant. You must eat. It has been days, Auryn’reh. This body already deteriorates within the corrupted magic of the Shields. Without sustenance, no matter how meager, this form will collapse. Already weak. Already fractured.
Go to him, Auryn’reh.
Go to your Resh’Agar.
Call him what you will.
Resh.
Kailorien.
Iridias.
But he is your Silari all the same.
Despite your delusion, even trapped this mind which denies your origins, you cannot escape from the world’s truth. You are Numen, and the Numen cannot exist without her Silari’s breath.
Go to him, Auryn’reh.
Find him.
Even if he remembers nothing, he can still fulfill his purpose. Relinquish this foolish love, and choose to live.
Do not deny it. Stop. Do not push this—Auryn—Stop—
You will die—
So be it.
3
What Time Has Stolen
Auryn blinked to clear her blurry vision, turning her head to look around. She was sitting in the Umbral Archives, a tome titled ‘Runes of the Flowe’ pressed to her chest. She exhaled slowly and relaxed her shoulders. Odd, but she hardly remembered how she’d gotten here.
Some time ago, the Horn of Reckoning bellowed through the Daesa Major, shaking the walls and floors. The deep sound echoed through the crystal halls like ceremonial thunder, leaving none in doubt as to its message.
The Resh’Agar was returning from another conquest. The Archivists had already named it The Rites of Starblind Soil. Something about him conquering a rising rebellion in the East and finding a valuable artifact to add to the Prism Keep.
More deaths. Another brutal, pointless war. Years of spilling blood in some far-off corner of the world that hadn’t yet remembered how to kneel before the Void. Surprisingly short for a Resh’Agar expedition. Only fifteen years with a sudden return that had startled the Council when the Mandate was given.
They spoke of their theories for days, but none know the truth of why he returned so early.
The company had sustained heavy losses. Some kind of illness. No salve, spell, or prayer could touch it. Or perhaps it was a curse, originating somewhere in the Starblind ruins. No record existed of him ever travelingthere before. Perhaps he was unprepared. An unsettling thought—for the Resh’Agar to be unprepared, to fail in subjugation. It was a bad omen, and Auryn could only remain calm because her instinct whisperedhewas safe.
As long as he is safe, I can endure anything. Even if he does not remember me now, I will find a way to take back what was stolen from us.
But…I cannot see him. If his eyes are cold…if those oceans of warmth now mirror the eyes of his brother…
Her nails dug into the book in her arms. She shuddered once, then straightened. Forced her face into neutrality. This part of the Archives was private, but none could see her weakness. Attendants skittered about in the shadows at all hours of the day and night. If one saw her cowering, if they wore the light red robes of their Companion Hosts, they would not hesitate to use it against her.
And Zeera would love to see me fall. To spread another vile rumor to the Council that I am unfit. Unstable.
