My breath fogs in the frigid air. “What is this place?”
Justus doesn’t answer. Instead, he places a hand on a pillar, fingers tracing the faded markings. “A memory,” he says at last. “One I thought lost.”
We step up to the remnants of a building, its entrance half-buried beneath thick sheets of ice. Light filters through the cracked walls, illuminating dazzling runes carved into every edge. These symbols must form words, but I can’t read them. Though I do recognize them.
From the note of the underfae assassin.
It’s the language of the Above.
A round table stands in the center of the chamber. Five faded circles are etched into the ground around it. I step closer, brushing a gloved hand over an engraving. A leaf. Beside it, a rose.
“This was once known as the Celestial Landing,” Justus says, his voice reverent. “A portal Aurelia created in hopes to one day return home.”
I straighten, the weight of his words settling on my shoulders. “And you needed all the high rulers and the queen to make it work?”
“Aurelia was able to open it on her own,” Justus says. “But without her, its power comes from the divine weapons.”
“Just like Kairyn theorized,” I continue. “It’s why he wanted them so badly.”
I glance down at the circle beneath my feet, the designs eroded by time. A snowflake, its edges chipped and broken.
“It took a great deal of magic to make these work,” Justus murmurs, tracing his fingers over the faded symbols. “Far more than any single high ruler could muster.”
I exhale, my breath clouding before me. The Celestial Landing. A portal between realms.
“All this time, I knew it was here,” Justus continues, “but I couldn’t recall how we powered it. It’s been coming back to me slowly, and I’ve finally remembered!”
I frown. We’ve spent the last few weeks researching, trying to decipher if it’s possible to reach the Above. Kairyn theorized there might be ancient forges there, ones where we could work the mythkarite, the metal ribbed along the stars I pulled down. It’s the same metal used to craft the divine weapons we carry in our tokens. George is working with what mythkarite was liquefied from the volcano’s lava. As for the rest…no forge in the Vale is powerful enough to melt it.
Not anymore, at least. The divine weapons were forged in the Vale, crafted by the first high ruler of Spring, Rafael. Justus explained how Rafael had carried with him a gift from the Above: a single flame from the Forge of Onaulion, the same kind of fire Faustrius had used to awaken the volcano in Winter. But Rafael used such a flame not to destroy the Vale, but to save it. His final remnant of the Above was spent forging the divine weapons.
But now…if there is a way to repair the weapons here in the Vale, I can’t fathom it. So we’ll need a forge beyond my imagining.
And for that, I need to find a way to the Above.
I cross my arms, my gaze flicking back to the faded sigils on the ground around the table. “Don’t suppose this could work with three weapons?”
Justus’s expression darkens. He doesn’t need to say what he’s thinking. I already know. Rosalina’s bow is shattered. So is my sword, both broken by Faustrius’s blade.
“The danger would be too great to try,” Justus says, his gaze lingering on the crumbling portal. “Far greater than we can afford. If it didn’t work, we’d risk losing some of the most powerful fae in the Vale.”
“This was one theory on how to defeat Sira, not our only,” I say, turning from the table. “But there still may be answers here.”
I let my gaze drift to the ruined walls. There, carved into the stone, are depictions of islands floating in the sky with fae suspended beside them. Behind each figure is a pair of wide, tapering wings that flare outward, symmetrical down to the patterns etched within them.
Justus steps beside me, his fingers ghosting over the carving. He shakes his head. “We fae forgot how to fly in the Vale. There was no need. Not like up there. Such a different world.”
Is that true? Did the fae once have wings? Or are these an old man’s ramblings? The underfae don’t have wings, but perhaps that’s another thing they sacrificed in their change to become Sira’s monsters.
I study the image, my thoughts drifting to Aurelia. Is this why she loves birds? Some forgotten longing for what we lost?
Another carving catches my eye. Five powerful fae, each holding a divine weapon and an amulet in their hands. They are clad in magnificent armor, unlike anything I’ve seen, even in the Spring Realm.
A pang of sorrow grips my chest, and I shake my head. “If only we could get to the Above, we could forge armor like this again.”
Justus exhales, his eyes focused on the ancient warriors. “Ah, we forged great armor in the Above,” he murmurs. “But this…this was something different.”
His hand drifts to his chest, pressing against the place where a token once lay, fingers splayed as if searching for a presence long gone. Then, with a slow inhale, he lifts his palm outward, fingers curling into a fist before unfurling, releasing an unseen weight into the air.
