But Seren ignores it, for this feeling—this power, this control—is home. Not the place, but the feeling of finally becoming what she’s meant to be.
She draws her arms wider, siphoning the essence into the air. She commands the magic, and power answers instantly.
The world splits apart.
Three rips cleave through the night sky, gleaming threads sparking and crackling like thunder snapping in a storm.
The others watch in awe at this great display of power, and Seren relishes it—soaking it up like it can heal the wounds of her insignificance.
One circle burns vast and radiant, heat rippling off its edge like a living thing. It smells of ash and iron and scorched stone, the air trembling as though something immense is shifting on the other side.
“Vyrhal,” Seren announces, voice unyielding. “Ronyn, Jax—you have your amulets?”
They nod their confirmation, but no one speaks.
No one acknowledges the fracture.
The risk.
The stakes.
But Kael breaks the silence. “We have days. Weeks at most. We speak through the amulet with completed missions or not at all.”
It’s not a command. Not an order.
It’s a promise.
An inevitability.
And Ronyn swallows it down, giving a terse nod. He wraps his palm around the amulet, eyes boring into Seren with intensity, sincerity.
I love you, sis.
Ronyn’s words land softly in Seren’s mind, but they knife through her heart.
He’s never said that. Not to her. And now he says it like he might not get another chance.
Her power falters. A tremor in the Gateway. But she says nothing. Only nods.
Ronyn and Jax step through the Gateway of Threads, disappearing into the rip in the world.
The second portal whirls—hot and dry and whipping. Like the eye of a sandstorm. It smells of sun-bleached bone and sounds of sparse, endless space. Only the howl of hot wind cutting through dips and hollows.
“Caeloria,” Seren declares, hands still twisting and distorting to maintain the shape of the Gateway.
Kael and Elyssara step forward, double-checking their weapons.
Kael reaches for Elyssara, pulling her to his chest and pressing a kiss into her hair. But his eyes—they’re spliced with darkness. His ocean-lightning irises interrupted by streams of black.
What in the…
“Good luck,” he says to the others, voice tight and restrained, but his eyes never leave Elyssara’s. And he steps through the Gateway without hesitation.
Elyssara turns to Seren, swallowing thickly, brows furrowed in… pain? Sadness?
She tries to open her mouth to say something, but words fail. Instead, she clasps the amulet hanging from her chest, emerald-green eyes pinning Seren in place.
Greatness has always been your destiny, Seren. I’m sorry I hid you from it. Kept you from it. My fear of losing you stopped you from finding your strength sooner.
