My vision blurs, and I quickly blink back the tears threatening to spill.
“She... she was human,” I manage to whisper.
Elder Aïna offers the pendant to me, and I reach out with trembling fingers. The moment it touches my palm, an inexplicable warmth spreads through me, both familiar and foreign. Like a memory just out of reach. My thumb traces the surface of the crystal. It’s smooth and faintly blue. Too faint.
I glance up at Elder Aïna. “The crystals on your foreheads, they’re vibrant. This one is... dull.” My voice grows steadier as I study it more closely. “What does that mean?”
Aïna’s gaze darkens, her brow furrowing in thought. She lifts her paw to her own crystals, a V-shaped formation of white gems that glimmer with life. “When a vólkin dies their crystal loses its brilliance, turning dull, like ordinary stone. It’s a reflection of their spirit’s departure from the body.”
My grip tightens on the pendant, dread curling in my stomach. “Then Ándor . . . he’s . . .”
Elder Aïna shakes her head, her eyes narrowing as if trying to piece together a puzzle. “This crystal is neither vibrant nor fullydulled. It’s muted, suspended between life and death. I have never seen such a thing.”
I stare at the crystal, trying to make sense of its unusual state. The weak blue hue pulses in the light, almost as if it’s holding on to something. Or someone.
“What does it mean?” I ask.
“I do not know,” Aïna admits, her tone uncharacteristically uncertain. “It should not be possible. If Ándor passed, the crystal would have dulled completely. If he lived, it would shine brightly, as ours do. This faint light...” Her voice trails off as she studies the pendant with a frown. “Perhaps it is tied to you.”
“To me?” My voice cracks. “How could it be? I don’t even—” I stop myself, the words trapped in my throat. I don’t even know who Ándor is.
Elder Aïna tilts her head, her ancient, pupilless eyes locking onto mine. “Crystals are bound to the soul, Ethereal Leader. If this was once Ándor’s, then it carries his essence. If it came to your mother, and now to you...” She pauses. “There may be a connection you have yet to uncover.”
My mind races, but no answers come. “You knew him,” I say, desperate for more. “What was he like?”
A small smile touches Elder Aïna’s mouth, though it’s tinged with sadness. “I knew Ándor well. He was strong, intelligent, and protective of those he loved. Even as a cub, he was curious, always seeking more from the world than what was in front of him. He was one of the strongest vólkins I knew.”
She exhales, her gaze drifting toward the glade as if she can see him in the distance. “When he left, it was with certainty. He believed he had found his mate in his dreams. That bond is the strongest of all for a vólkin. He would have done anything to reach her.”
I clutch the pendant tighter. Was Ándor my mother’s mate? Could she have been tied to this world, to the vólkin? But my mother, she was born and raised in Tárnov, just as I was.
“I don’t understand,” I whisper. “If this crystal belonged to him, why did my mother have it? How did she— How could she...” My words falter, the questions too tangled to finish.
Elder Aïna’s paw settles on my hand. “The answers may not come easily,” she says. “But the crystal found its way to you for a reason. Trust in that. And trust in yourself to uncover its meaning.”
Naïa steps closer to me, her paws extended as she offers to help me put on the pendant. I nod as I hand over my precious jewel.
Ándor... He probably knew Theron’s parents. He knew my mother. The more I learn about this world, the deeper the mysteries grow, twisting my thoughts into knots I can’t seem to untie.
“Who were Theron’s parents?” My voice cuts through the quiet hum of the sacred glade. I can’t stop myself, the need for answers is driving me insane.
Elder Aïna hums, her arms clasped behind her back as she gazes at the ancient stone. “Ánya and Vládan,” she replies.
“Ánya?” I repeat. It’s a common name in Tárnov, popular for centuries among noble families. Could it be...
“Is Ánya human?” I ask, swallowing the lump forming in my throat.
“Was,” Elder Aïna replies simply.
Was. Ánya is gone. Of course, she would be. Theron is over four hundred years old, his mother would have passed long ago. Still, the realization stings.
“Ánya was the kindest human I ever met,” Elder Aïna says. “Theron has her eyes—hazel and bright.”
Theron listened to me speak of my mother’s loss, but he never mentioned his own. Did it hurt him too much to say? I need to talk to him. I need to hear this from him, not secondhand.
“Elder Aïna,” I say, my voice firm now.
Her ears twitch at my tone, and she turns her piercing gaze toward me.
