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Dana reaches into the folds of her cloak and pulls out a rolled parchment tied with a thin, silver cord. She hands it to Finn, her expression solemn. “This map will guide you. It shows the path to the Hill of Tara, where you must enter, and where you will emerge. Study it carefully, for there will be no turning back once inside.”

Dana’s gaze darkens, though her voice remains steady. “The magic within the mound does not suffer hesitation. Once you enter, you must complete the journey, or it will reject you entirely. If that happens... the consequences will not be kind.”

The weight of what lies ahead settles heavily on my shoulders. Yet, as I glance at Finn, his determination doesn’t falter. His persistent presence, his quiet strength, radiates something abiding.

“What exactly is it inside me that makes this my task? And how do we know what I’m meant to find is truly there?” The words taste unpleasant, as if voicing them gives life to fear.

Dana’s expression is brimming with warmth, the kind often given maternally. “To have you here now is a gift from the gods themselves… because no one like you has been born in over four thousand years,” she states.

“Your soul carries a spark of the divine—a connection to the old magic that has not existed in millennia. The Hill of Tara is not just a destination for you; it is a part of you, Triona. What lies within the mound has rested for all that time, but do not mistake its dormancy for weakness. The power within has never once faltered; no less powerful than the day it was hidden away. It is time for you to claim, shape, and wield it to protect others once more.”

Dana lifts her hand and gently touches the centre of my chest, just above my heart. “I know, for you and so many others, you must see and feel for the truth to ring. The Stone will only awaken for one whose soul mirrors its origin,” she says gingerly. “And when you step before it, it will know you, and you will feel its significance. That is how we prove it. No test, no trick—only truth. If you are who I believe you are, the Stone will answer.”

As I turn her words over in my mind, I turn my gaze to Finn, who is studying the map. He glances at me, then at Dana.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, stepping closer.

He hesitates, then says slowly, “I can… read each of these words.”

Dana looks at Finn with a gleam in her eye. “Of course you can,” she says softly. “It is written in the tongue of the old ones—Gaeilge in its purest form. Before men’s destruction ever touched it.”

Finn looks at the map again, his jaw tightening as he processes her words. “I’ve never spoken it a day in my life. How…?”

Dana’s smile is faint but knowing. “The same spark that calls Triona to the Stone of Fál burns within you. It connects you to the truths hidden in this language—truths older than words themselves.”

I look at the map, its symbols shimmering faintly, but nothing registers. “I cannot read it.”

Dana’s expression remains serene. “I cannot say what gifts will or will not awaken in you, Triona. Magic chooses its own time.”

I meet Finn’s eyes and smile tenderly. “See? I needed you all along. You were always meant to be here by my side.”

“Hard to argue with that,” he murmurs, his voice laced with a heat that feels poised to stoke my desire for him. “And yet, it’s me who’s grateful—you saved me from myself that day in my bedroom, when I thought I was beyond savin’.”

I reach out and place a hand on his upper arm, giving it a light squeeze, feeling the warmth and strength beneath my fingers. The sharp intensity of his gaze gives way to something tender.

From behind us, Callan clears his throat. “Suppose it’s a good thing I didnae impede savin’ the world,” he mutters, his eyes snapping briefly to mine.

Before I can respond, Finn—without even looking at him—says, “Our love isnae fragile. You never stood a chance. ’Sides, it was nothin’ a few good punches couldnae fix.”

I swat him lightly on the chest, and he huffs a quiet laugh, the sound curling low in his throat. When I glance over at Callan, his arms are crossed, posture stiff as ever—but there’s a small smile teasing the corners of his mouth. The apology is there, clear in his eyes, even if it never makes it to his lips.

With a deep breath, I turn back to Dana, ready to receive whatever comes next.

She steps closer, her violet cloak sweeping around her. She gestures for Finn to lay the map down on the table, and points toward a narrow path leading away from the tavern. “The way to Tara begins here,” she says, pointing to a road leading inland going northwest.

“Just beyond the last farms of County Dublin. You’ll follow the old way that winds toward Navan—keep to it past the rise at Skryne, and you’ll see Tara greet you from the land like a crown.”

Her finger drifts along the path, then pauses over a faint marking.

“The door to the mound answers only to the sun,” she continues. “It must be approached at the precise moment—no sooner, no later. When the sun strikes the threshold at its peak angle, it will reveal itself to those it deems worthy.”

Dana straightens, her dark eyes locking onto each of us. “The journey will take ten to twelve hours… on foot,” she says, her voice firm but warm. “You’ll need to leave much behind to move as quickly—and as quietly—as possible. There are paths that will help you avoid unnecessary attention, but time is not on your side. Stay together, and remember—magic does not favour hesitation.”

The thought of leaving our horses behind—entrusting them to practical strangers—twists in my chest. Shadow is more than just a horse—he’s mine. Stubborn, temperamental, half-wild… but mine.

“My—Shadow…” I murmur, voice low. “He’s not one to take kindly to strangers. He’ll hate being left behind.”

Dana’s lips curl into a faint, knowing smile. “I have dealt with my fair share of beasts, Triona. He will be well cared for. Focus on the path ahead—he will be waiting for you when the time comes.”