Page 51

My brother gazes into the fiery basin with an expression I’ve seen before. Somewhere between reverence, scholarly excitement, and blissful love. “There are accounts in the old annals…”

He starts pulling books from my shelves while muttering under his breath, his fingertips skimming across spines until he finds what he’s seeking. He flips through pages frantically, ignoring the rest of us.

Sterling catches my eye, the corner of his mouth quirking. “Lark had better get reading her Five-Fold War annals faster.”

I elbow him in the ribs but can’t stop the smile that stretches my lips. It’s the first time in weeks I’ve felt anything like my old self.

Bastian, oblivious to our exchange, continues his harried search. “The light…the way it ripples…just like the accounts…glowing water.” His fingers fly across pages yellowed with age.

“What accounts?” Hearing my own thoughts has my patience evaporating. This is just too exciting.

Startled, Bastian meets my gaze as if he’d forgotten we were here. “There are stories. Legends, really.” He returns to rifling through pages, his movements careful despite his obvious enthusiasm. “About physical pathways to the godly realm. Most scholars dismiss them as metaphor, but…”

He holds up an ancient text, pointing to an illustration with a trembling finger. The painting in the book matches what we see in Rose’s flame with uncanny precision. A jagged tear with mountainous edges and silvery light spilling from within.

My breath hitches. “A portal. An actual portal to the gods.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with possibility. A portal to the godly realm. A way to reach them directly, to demand answers instead of waiting for cryptic signs and portents. My mind spins with the implications.

“Where can we find it?” The practical part of my brain’s already planning logistics. This could solve all our problems.

Bastian points to words beneath the illustration. “Volox. That’s the old name for the continent Tír Ríoga is on. Before it broke up into several smaller kingdoms. And there’s only one mountain range. Though it’s a long one.”

“I told you Kin wanted to help.” Rose is matter-of-fact and not at all surprised by this earth-shattering revelation. Her flame familiar, having delivered the message, returns to its normal size and shape and dances above Rose’s shoulder.

“Some ancient texts mention actual pathways to the divine realm. A physical way to step into their domain. Most considered it blasphemy to even suggest such a possibility, but there are accounts…” Bastian flips to another page to show us a different illustration. “Pilgrims who claimed to have found such passages, who returned changed. Either blessed or cursed by the encounter.”

Stunned energy zips through the room like a current. A portal to the gods. A way to reach the beings who have remained so frustratingly silent while our world tilts further into chaos. A chance to demand answers about the unusual occurrences in Tirene and beyond, about the strange events at the Divine Commons, about why everything is going sideways in the mortal world.

Sterling catches my eye, and a slow grin spreads across his face. “If the gods won’t come to us⁠—”

“We go to them.” My grin matches his.

His expression shifts, his gaze darting over his shoulder.

“What?” My tension returns.

“It just felt like someone was watching me.” Then he shakes his head with a dismissive gesture. “It’s nothing.” His posture straightens, radiating defiance. If someone is watching, he clearly doesn’t care. “Time for an adventure.”

The word breaks whatever lingering hesitation grips us. Excitement takes over, propelling us into action. I hurry to my wardrobe, pulling out my travel pack while Sterling rummages through a chest for maps.

“We’ll need thick clothes,” I call over my shoulder. “The Desolate Lands are known for their barbed plants and fierce animals.”

“And weapons,” Sterling adds. “Gods or not, we don’t know what else might be living near this portal.”

We talk over each other, discussing routes and supplies, our voices overlapping in our enthusiasm.

I track a path on the paper. “We’ll fly north⁠—”

“Then cut northwest, toward the Desolate Lands.” Sterling’s finger follows the sigils for the mountains.

I push books aside so I can spread a map across my desk. “We may have to hit the Withered Undulations.”

Bastian joins the planning frenzy, finger tracing lines on the map. “The Withered Undulations are treacherous. Especially the western edges. There are trenches there that go down hundreds of feet, some filled with poisonous gas from old volcanic activity.”

Sterling nods, writing out a list of necessary gear. “Rope and winches. Some of those trenches run deep.”

Rose perches on a table, swinging her legs and watching us with bright interest. Her flame familiar darts around the room, seeming to catch our excitement.