Page 90 of A Sunwoven Ascent

Cillian had never seen anyone so strikingly beautiful. She carried the same stillness he often felt within himself, a calm presence that seemed content to observe rather than speak.

But he could tell she missed nothing.

Just as he did.

He was certain she was hiding something, though he had no wish to press her, nor would he allow anyone else to corner her with questions. He could not explain the sudden urge to protect her, only that it had settled firmly within him; he had known earlier that night, without question, that she would not be walking back to Velenshire alone. Even if it meant ignoring their carefully laid plans, he would have escorted her himself. Whatever secret she carried, it was not dark. It felt… good. Right.

As he pictured her delicate face, he could almost feel her hazel eyes meeting his again. In that imagined gaze, there was an unexpected sense of encouragement, as though she were gently drawing him toward something he did not yet understand. How a stranger could affect him so deeply, he could not explain. But when he finally rose from the water, droplets sliding through his hair and down his face, he exhaled slowly, the rhythm of the moment steadying him.

Then he let it come.

Warm light stirred within his chest, and he guided it gently toward his skin, careful not to startle the wolf instincts still lingering inside him or let the power flare too brightly. This was nothing like the violent magic he had witnessed before. This was different—clean, pure, and natural.

He reminded himself of that again and again as the light flowed down his arms and slipped from his fingertips in faint golden threads. It pulsed through his chest, down his legs, and rose along his neck until warmth spread through his mind itself.

A smile touched his lips as light glowed beneath his skin.

He was not broken.He was not corrupted.The darkness had not claimed him.

He was light.

And he had been chosen for a reason.

Chapter 41

Evelyne watched Kaldrek practice his wielding every night, and she could not have been prouder.

Each evening, his control strengthened. He could draw from water and flame for longer now, hold their power more steadily than before. Yet the land answered him most readily. The ground beneath him seemed to know him, to recognize something ancient and commanding in his blood.

Roots. Stone. Soil.

That was where his strength truly lived.

Perhaps it was because the wilds had always been his home—the forests, the rolling grasslands, the solid press of the world beneath his paws when he ran. Evelyne believed his power would always be strongest there, among the deep-rooted things. And tonight, seated alone with him in a small makeshift tent near the edge of the Shaw orchard fields, she watched him practice once more.

Kaldrek held both hands above the ground, eyes closed in concentration. Slowly, the dirt and scattered stones beneath him began to stir. Pebbles rattled softly, then lifted into the air in uneven clusters.

It was magnificent. And a little adorable.

His brow furrowed, his mouth pressing into a thin line as he fought to keep his focus. But when he opened his eyes, the wonder shining in his dark gaze made Evelyne’s heart swell.

“Kaldrek,” she whispered, smiling. “You are amazing. I knew you could do it.”

He smiled back, then carefully lowered the stones and soil.

When he tried again, he sank lower, bowing his head as he pressed both palms firmly into the ground. This time, when he lifted his hands, the force came with him. The ground trembled beneath them. Evelyne’s balance faltered, and she reached out to steady herself. Kaldrek had not moved.

“Kaldrek… what are you—?”

His head lifted slowly, but the shaking did not stop.

Then she saw his eyes.

Black. Rimmed in silver.

Just like his mother’s.

He tilted his head and smiled, but there was no warmth in it.