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“It means—and not literally, but close—‘that wakes the gate of kingdoms.’”

Shit.

I can’t speak for Dax, but hearing that has my heart thundering in my ears.

Riven, who’s apparently oblivious to how still the room has become continues.

“‘Croitfidh no focail, nuair ghlacfas sí a ríchathaoir.’”

“Which means…?” I press, dreading the answer.

“I’m still working on it.” He admits. “I think it’s something like… ‘Trembling rocks… something.’ That last word, ríchathaoir, means seat, but it’s more specific than that. Not like a chair, but⁠—”

“You don’t know?” Dax asks, irritation flaring in his grey irises. “I thought you were fluent?”

“No one is fucking fluent in Old Irish Gaelic, Daxen.” Riven snaps. “Modern Irish? Sure. But this dialect is a fucking dead language. It’s not just some outdated drive you can reverse-engineer. It’s an ancient language written by people who believed the fae could steal your true name and bury it beneath a hill for a century. Hell, they believed that their gods lived in those hills.”

Dax grunts and leans back, silently chewing on his thumbnail. Then, apparently deciding he’s suddenly interested, he leans closer. “Repeat the whole thing back to me.”

“She will be born with a crown of starlight and carry fire in her veins. Her song will be the light that wakes the gate of kingdoms, Rocks—something… something… when she has her seat? I don’t⁠— ”

A voice interrupts him. Soft, sweet, and barely more than a breath.

“Her song will be the light that wakes the gate of sleeping kingdoms.”

Dax and I both whip our heads across the room at the sound of Idril’s voice.

“Worlds will tremble when she takes her throne,” she murmurs.

“What?” Riven’s head snaps up, and he joins us, staring at the Omega in wide-eyed shock.

Slowly, like she’s waking from a dream, Idril blinks. Her eyes are glassy, unfocused, and for a moment, it seems like she has no idea where she is.

A furrow appears between her brows. She looks like she wants to ask us while we’re all staring at her. “W-What?”

“What was it you just said, little Omega?” Riven asks gently. I can hear the excitement under his soothing tone.

Idril shakes her head in confusion, like she’s trying to shake herself awake. Her eyes flick from her paper to Riven, then back to her paper, as if it might give her the correct answer.

“You said⁠—”

Riven raises a hand to interrupt me. “Wait. Let her say it. I want to hear it without someone influencing her.”

“That’s hardly fair,” I grumble, crossing my arms petulantly. “I’m certainly the last fucking person who’d know the translation of a dead language,”

Dax glares at me. “Vae. Shut. Up.”

In response, I reach into my pocket, pull out a stick of gum, and stare him down as I unwrap it. I pop it in my mouth and start chewing aggressively.

Only when his jaw ticks in irritation do I refocus on Riven and my Omega.

The Omega.

Not mine.

Damnit.

I swear to the Fates my right eye twitches when I look back to find him crouched in front of her, giving her an encouraging smile.