Page 119 of A Sunwoven Ascent

“No,” Kaldrek said quickly. “That will not be necessary.” He had no intention of enduring another cup of that steaming brown concoction and honestly didn’t want to spend any more time than he needed to here.

Charise gave a small nod. “Very well. No tea.”

They settled into their seats, and for a moment, silence lingered. Then Kaldrek spoke.

“My mother was from here,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You may have known her, or of her, once.”

The words felt heavier than he expected.

“Her name was Vaelora.” He paused. “She had a twin sister. Kaya. Who was killed before I was born.”

Charise went very still.

“Kaya was murdered?” she asked softly.

“Yes,” Kaldrek said. “By her sister. By my mother.”

Charise straightened slowly in her chair, her gaze moving between him and Evelyne.

“How old are you, boy?”

“Twenty-five,” he replied. “Near enough to twenty-six.”

Her hand rose to her mouth, her expression shifting to something closer to shock.

“She was the sacrifice,” she murmured. “The shift we felt all those years ago… The disturbance in the balance.” She shook her head slowly. “How you survived such a beginning is nothing short of a miracle.”

“He is nothing like her,” Evelyne said firmly. “His heart is good. And he is alpha of the Ironwolf pack.”

Kaldrek glanced at her, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite the weight of the conversation. No amount of reassurance would erase what his mother had done, but her faith in him settled something nonetheless.

“Have you begun practicing?” Charise asked, her attention returning to him.

“Very little,” he admitted.

“He practices each evening,” Evelyne added quickly. “He learned the basics from a witch in Cindermoor. He prefers working with soil, stone… anything grounded.” Kaldrek heard the quiet pride in her voice.

“I see,” Charise said, rising from her chair and moving toward a shelf lined with worn books. “How is your control?”

“Limited,” he said. “I can draw from the elements for only a short time.”

“And your mind?” she pressed. “Your impulses? New witches often struggle with restraint, with the urge to draw too much, too quickly. Though that usually begins in adolescence… and you are well beyond that.” She studied him carefully. “Given your mother’s tendencies, I would be concerned about whether some of those instincts have passed to you. No offense intended.”

“None taken,” Kaldrek said, though his hand lifted unconsciously to his jaw as he considered it.

He thought back to his moments of practice and the small amount of power. There were no memories of power-hungry instincts. The only foreign, possibly addictive pull he had felt was when visiting the grove. Watching Cillian’s power thrive near the tree. It was almost intoxicatingly beautiful. But that had just been a quiet urge to touch it, nothing more. Though that simply could have been due to the vulnerable state he’d been living in ever since Evelyne was taken from him. He’d never felt so powerless.

“Not that I am aware of,” he said at last.

Charise held his gaze for a long moment before exhaling softly. “Then I would strongly advise you to return here regularly,” she said. “At least once each week. You will not learn what you need from books alone, or from fleeting instruction. You require proper guidance—and you require it now.”

Evelyne looked to him.

It is your choice. I will support you, whatever you decide.

Kaldrek exhaled. The idea of sitting in a room, reading books and playing with dirt, felt… absurd. But he also knew what she was asking. What she needed from him. So he gave a small nod.

Charise wasted no time gathering items for him. By the time they left, he had been handed three books, a small iron cauldron, and several vials of tonic meant for “practice.”