Page 54 of Crownless Heirs

Manannán stepped forward, his towering frame casting a shadow over Sorcha. He extended his arms, presenting a bundle of cloth.

“This cloak grants invisibility,” he said, his voice a deep steady current that vibrated in her chest. “In case you find yourself in need. Carry it with you. Never leave it behind. Speak its name, and its magic will awaken. Feth Fiada.”

As he placed it in her hands, a knowing smirk touched his lips. “When you cross the sea, I will be there. You’ll know.”

Sorcha’s fingers trembled against the fabric. It felt impossibly light. Where her hands cupped the cloth, her fingers vanished entirely, swallowed by a shifting chameleon swirl of green and deep slate. It moved against her skin, like a living thing.

“She will serve you well if you care for her properly,” Manannán added, stepping back into the shadows. “She will shroud you in shadow and mist.”

Sorcha managed a tight nod, her voice dropping to a breathless whisper. “Thank you.”

The sea God sank back into his heavy oak chair, melting into the background.

Morrigan stepped forward next, her gaze locking onto Sorcha with predatory focus. “I shall keep watch over you. You will not see me as I stand now. Look for a crow, a raven, a wolf, or even a passing stranger. And when the time calls for war, I shall fight.”

A thick knot formed in Sorcha’s throat. A wave of heat pricked behind her eyes, and she clenched her jaw, pinning her lips together to keep from sobbing. She simply nodded. Morrigan’s gaze softened just enough to signal her understanding.

Finally, the Dagda rose. The floorboards groaned beneath his immense weight as he handed Sorcha a crisp roll of parchment bound with blood-red thread.

“I will do all I can to aid you on the journey ahead, Sorcha,” the Dagda said, his broad shoulders sagging. “But you must understand—we left the mortal world for a reason. We could not fight every battle alone, stretched between both realms. We were exhausted, losing our kin to war after war for the realm of humans.”

He leaned in closely as he spoke, “To sway the Tuatha, you must prove yourself. Prepare the mortals. Fight. Earn our steel. And I promise you will not do this alone. Until then, there are still those among us willing to help. Go to Goibniu in the city of Gorias. He has offered his forge, while my city, Murias, will aid as well.”

Sorcha accepted the parchment, her heart hammering against her chest. The scroll felt heavier than it should. Eight names. Eight fragile lives scattered across a hostile world, waiting to be hunted down by Vaelric and Bres. She squeezed her eyes shut for a brief second, forcing down the panic clawing at her throat. She would prove to these gods that humanity was worth saving. She would make them see the beauty in their flawed, mortal lives.

The sun bled low and orange across the purple haze of sky as they finally left the grand hall behind. The words of the Dagda echoed in rhythm with her footsteps: Prepare the mortals. Fight. Earn our steel.

They had barely cleared the palace gates when a familiar patch of ink-black fog coiled out from the brush. Before Sorcha could blink, the mist lunged.

“Oh!” Sorcha gasped, her boots skidding on the dirt as she tumbled backward onto the grass.

A whirlwind of freezing, damp shadow erupted over her. Noctis lapped at her face, her misty form leaving beads of dew across Sorcha’s cheeks. A breathless laugh broke through Sorcha’s lingering dread.

She wrapped her arms tightly around the swirling fog. Her hands sank through the chilly exterior, burying themselves into the dense, silky black coat underneath.

Kyron rubbed his temples, letting out a long, bone-weary sigh. Beside him, Maelan crossed his arms and offered an exaggerated, sweeping bow.

“I see your pet has finally graced us with her presence,” Maelan smirked, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Good to see you, Noctis.”

Noctis offered a pleased, bounding leap, her tail kicking up wisps of dark smoke. She trotted over to Kyron, stopping dead in her tracks. Her mist flickered and flared like static electricity, her posture rigid as she waited.

Kyron offered a half-hearted, limp wave of his hand. “Hey, girl.”

Noctis let out a sharp, disdainful huff. With an offended flick of her tail, she spun on her heel, turning her back to him completely as she slinked back to Sorcha’s side.

Sorcha chuckled, burying her fingers in Noctis’ thick fur. “We’re headed to Gorias. Will you be joining us?”

Noctis didn’t hesitate. She pranced to the front of the group, her shadowy frame stretching forward as she trotted down the dirt path. She paused, glancing back over her shoulder, clearly waiting for them to catch up.

The wind grew increasingly hostile as they climbed, biting at Sorcha’s cheeks and turning the sweat on her neck to ice. Ahead, Gorias bled into the rugged mountain peaks, its towering silhouette a jagged crown barely visible through the swirling mountain fog. Small campfires flickered from distant ridges like dying lanterns, their amber glow quickly swallowed by the thickening dusk. The path wound upward, narrowing into a steep, rocky coil that seemed to tighten around them with every step.

Maelan exhaled, his breath pluming in ragged white wisps. “Are we headed to the heavens? Because if so, I have a lengthy list of things to repent for.”

Kyron let out a short, dry laugh, his lungs rattling between gasps of thin air. “I’d start reciting them now, then. I’ve never set foot here, so we could very well be marching straight into our own graves.”

Maelan cut his eyes over, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. “That’s adorable, Kyron. Thank you for those profound words of wisdom.”

Sorcha tuned out their bickering, her focus narrowing entirely on the vertical trail. Noctis continued her erratic dance, bounding ahead into the fog, flickering completely out of existence, and then condensing randomly on a higher ledge. Sorcha yanked the Feth Fiada tighter around her shoulders. Her legs burned like hot coals in her thighs, but she forced one boot forward, then the other.