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Just them, though. Not Daxen and Vaelenor. They don’t get gifts. They have to watch everyone else open their gifts and be sad.

“Two.”

I am really, really looking forward to making them watch everyone else get things while they have to sit in time-out. Alone. Gift-less.

“One.”

My eyes snap open and shoot to the shimmering seam. Gods, I can practically see the other realm! I don’t stop to ogle as much as I’d like to. The timer’s already counting down.

I’ve practiced this a thousand times, so I don’t hesitate to plunge my hands into the air where the seam’s the thinnest. I position them six inches apart, palms facing inward, and cross my pointer finger and middle finger on both hands. I count to three, then flip both hands upside down, then right-side up, bring them together like I’m praying, then rotate them away from each other without breaking contact.

My movements are swift. Confident. I lay my hands flat, palms facing the Earth, wait four seconds, then spread my fingers like I’m holding a large ball. I twist my right hand thirty degrees to the left.

Count to five.

Twist my left hand sixty degrees to the right.

A thin, blue glowing line appears between my hands and my lips curve into a grin, but I don’t stop to celebrate.

I’m not done just yet.

Most magic’s accomplished intuitively. It’s part of us—part of our souls. More complicated magic, however, requires precise movements—usually with the hands, like this spell—but I’ve heard of some that require much more. Rumors say one only works if you have a partner and requires both casters to complete a complicated series of dance steps that most pairs have never managed to get right.

No matter what spell you’re casting, if it requires movement, you must perform it perfectly. The slightest mistake, one little screw-up, and the whole thing falls apart.

Spells require three things: Intent, movement, and words backed by intent.

A request. Never a demand. One does not demand the source of our blessing.

I’ve rarely come across a spell that includes words spoken out loud, but this is one of them. Despite the fact that it’s rarely used, the spell must be spoken in our mother tongue—the language of our people.

Another thing I’ll need to teach Idril if she’s to use her powers to their fullest extent.

With a deep, calming breath, I begin.

“Shâick moux shâick.” Light to light.

“Thai’dar moux, thai’dar.” Blood to blood.

“Alatheòn moux Alatheòn.” World to World.

“Drax’ven ald rathlöx chy’lith,” Let the road return.

“Drax’ven ald plaxlon draxlôt.” Let the veil part.

With one last inhale, I fling my arms apart while visualizing myself physically ripping the Ley line apart in front of me. I see the veil between worlds tearing like tissue paper in my mind, replaying it over and over until I swear I can actually feel a physical weight in my hands.

I repeat the chant three times, and after the third, I lift my head to the sky and shout my final request.

One word. A prayer that holds all the hopes and dreams of an entire race.

“VAERATH!”

Reality rips apart. I feel it before my eyes open fully—the air twists and spins. Leaves, grass, twigs, and petals whip on currents of wind and stick to our hair and clothing. A sound like velcro tearing, but a thousand times louder, reverberates in my ears.

I turn to Oneric, who looks from me to the open Ley line, then back. I follow his gaze and my mouth drops.

Oh, my gods! I did it!