Page 75 of The Awakening of Essensia

Vaelira shook her head.

A faint crease appeared between Galfri’s brows. “It may be rooted deep in your ancestry,” he said. “Or you were chosen. It is rare, but not impossible. Still, those we deem chosen may only be awakening bloodlines so old, they’ve passed into legend.”

“How do you know all this?” she asked, sceptical. No one spoke of magic, or essensia, this way. Like it was fact.

Galfri glanced at the window. With a quiet motion, he raised his hand, palm facing up. A flame sparked to life in the centre, no larger than the one atop the candle beside her. With a slow breath, he closed his fingers, smothering it.

Vaelira gaped. “You’re a mage?” she whispered. “Does anyone else know?”

“There is no need to whisper. This room is warded against listening ears. No sound will pass beyond these walls. And no, no one else knows. I didn’t reach this age by sharing such truths freely.” He smiled. “There is much to learn. But let us first answer your burning questions.” He chuckled to himself.

Vaelira rubbed her forehead, trying to focus. “The moonstone,” she said, drawing it from a hidden pocket sewn in her skirts. She laid it on the table. “It found me, I think. I was drowning and it glowed. I should have died.”

Galfri extended a hand. “May I?”

She nodded. He lifted it, turning the stone in his fingers, then laid it flat in his palm. It glowed instantly, the light spilling across the room in a cold, pale wash. A slight hum filled her ears. Then it was silent, the stone dull once more.

“It wasn’t your power that awakened it,” he said, placing the stone on the table. “The power inside came from someone else, woven into the stone long ago.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The answer is likely the most obvious. One of your ancestors imbued it to use as a conduit, a way to focus power. When it sensed their blood in you, and that you were in danger, it acted.”

The thought chilled her. “You talk about it like it’s alive.”

He raised a brow. “You don’t feel it?”

Vaelira thought back to the times her magic had lashed out, as if from nowhere. It had always been something that had happened to her, never something she had purposefully done. She nodded slowly. “How did the stone end up at the bottom of a cavern?”

Galfri leaned back, thoughtful. “This was near Anhaven?”

“Yes. There are tunnels that lead down from the cliff to the cave.”

Galfri’s face grew solemn. “We were hunted once. People feared mages the same way they would a disease. The chapels preached that we were an abomination, a corruption of The First Three’s vision for humanity. It did not matter that we healed and fed their villages. They feared what they could not control.” He rubbed his chin, eyes distant. “Fools,” he muttered. “Many fled across the sea, in search of a land where they would not be persecuted. Others stayed, hiding their power and trying to live like everyone else, but awakened essensia cannot be suppressed for long. Those tunnels would have been carved by mages. Together, they could cut through stone as if it were silk, as they did here. That cavern was likely a refuge, or a place to flee by boat. Perhaps both.”

Vaelira pictured it. Men and women, maybe even children, piling into a rickety wooden skiff, the wind howling as a storm raged, the moonstone clutched in a pale hand, knocked loose by a wave and descending into the murky depths.

Had her ancestor made it out, and what family had they left behind to pass down the magic?

To her.

To Jon.

A sob broke loose before she could stop it. She raised a hand to her mouth.

Galfri reached across the table, taking her free hand.

“My brother,” she said. “He was possessed. If he’d known, if he’d had this power…”

Galfri’s fingers tightened around hers. “Essensia awakens under threat. If he had any, I believe it would have shown itself when the demon came for him.” He paused. “I have thought on it since your arrival in the city. It’s the most logical conclusion.”

Vaelira frowned through the tears. “What do you mean? How did you know?” She wiped her face with her arm.

“Elijah told me the night you arrived.”

“That wasn’t his story to tell,” she said, ignoring the prickling in her palms.

Galfri’s grip tightened. She felt the essensia inside her recoil, the surge ebbing with it. “Control your rage,” he said. “Anger is the easiest path to power, but also the most volatile.”