Page 23 of What Beats Within the Tunnels

“Athalda...didn’t exactly lie to you, Lyra, but there’s more to the story.”

Colton pivots to face Euric, a hardened edge to his voice. “What’s the rest of the story then? And why has it led us here?”

With Chepi held tighter to me than before, I draw in a shaky breath, bracing for the revelation my father is about to deliver.

“It’s not stolen blood,” he begins, sounding heavy with regret. “Moirati is the oldest Gholioth to inhabit Zomea, and he didn’t lose his blood unwillingly. We made an agreement, a deal. He willingly offered some of his blood as payment. At the time, neither of us could foresee the disastrous chain of events that would follow when I fed you his blood.”

His confession sends a shiver of revulsion down my spine. “I still can’t believe you fed me blood as a child.”

“I know,” he sighs, his gaze darkening. “I made choices, some of which I am far from proud of. Yet they were necessary. Look at us now, here together with the bridge unlocked.”

“But Zomea is dying,” I retort, my voice rising in frustration.

Colton interjects before I can continue, “How can we save it?”

“Athalda suggested there could be a way to separate the blood, to return it to Moirati. That could stabilize Zomea. Is it possible?” I shift my gaze from Colton back to my father, searching for answers in his eyes.

“Indeed.” He nods slowly. “That is part of what we must discuss, Lyra. I’m aware that you’ve let Elspeth access your mind and unleash your Fae magic.”

His assertion feels like an accusation, leaving a sour taste in my mouth. “You mean the magic that you kept hidden from me. My own magic,” I respond through gritted teeth.

“Yes, I hid it for your own protection,” he says, making it sound like a confession. “The reasons why can be addressed later. What’s important now is to understand that, despite being new to your Fae magic, you aren’t powerful enough yet. You’re my daughter, and I know you have the potential to wield incredible power. But as things stand, if I attempted to extract the blood, it might stabilize Zomea but at the cost of your life.”

Colton’s response is swift and firm, his grip on me tightening as he retorts, “There’s no way you’re trying that then.”

I’m not sure why I let him touch me so intimately in this moment, but there’s something comforting about knowing he’s here, that he’s on my side.

“I would never intentionally put your life in danger,” my father assures, his gaze intense. But before I can respond, Colton says, “You mean you wouldn’t intentionally put her life at risk again.”

I swallow hard, expecting my father to retaliate, to argue with Colton. But his demeanor remains calm, collected. “What’s essential for you to grasp — something I suspect you already know but I’m here to affirm — is that you’ll inherit dark magic on your birthday this year. You’ll be the first of your kind to gain such power in centuries. My dear, you are destined to be unstoppable. The power you’ll wield is immeasurable, and once you awaken your dark magic, you can return to Zomea. Only then will you be powerful enough for me to remove the blood, thus allowing Zomea to start healing.” He ignores Colton completely, his focus solely on me.

I feel a jolt of realization as my father’s confirmation of my destiny sinks in. I’ve been secretly hoping none of it is true, but hearing him say it… The inheritance of dark magic is no longer an abstract concept; it’s real, imminent, and I find myself taking a ragged breath to steady the racing of my heart. I force myself to push aside the fear, refusing to be intimidated by the vision from the echosphere. The black eyes, the shadow tendrils, they’re a part of me, and I will not shy away from them.

Chepi’s gentle nudge pulls me back, and I ask, “Once you remove the blood, do you truly believe Zomea will be restored? And what about Eguina? Drew told me that things there have started to die, that magic has become unstable in certain parts of the realms.”

“Zomea will be restored,” my father assures me, firm with conviction. “It will take time, of course, but the dying will cease, and healing will commence both here and in Eguina. The stability of Zomea is vital for the health of all the realms.”

“Lyra needs more training, more guidance,” Colton interjects, sounding concerned. “She needs to be prepared for what dark magic will entail. I don’t have enough knowledge about dark magic to help her.”

My father’s eyes meet Colton’s before shifting back to me. “I’d like you both to stay here for a while, if you will. Colton and I can train you physically, help you harness your Fae magic. As for dark magic, Athalda may not possess it herself, but her wisdom will be invaluable in preparing you.”

I nod, understanding the gravity of the task ahead. “How long do you want us to stay?” I ask, my voice barely audible.

“As long as it takes,” he replies, his gaze unwavering.

“How much of Zomea has been impacted?” Colton poses the question with a calmness that seems to contrast the gravity of our situation.

“Roughly twenty percent of Zomea mirrors this landscape of death. An additional ten percent is aflame, the fire spreading gradually with each passing day,” Euric says.

A chill creeps over me at the thought of Zomea decaying further. It’s only January. “How much more will be lost by the time we return?” I question, a faint tremble in my voice.

“Don’t concern yourself with that, Pixie. The deterioration has been slow, and what’s lost can be replenished in time. Your early arrival here is a win. It gives us time to properly train and prepare you.”

“So when do we start?” Colton says, cutting to the chase.

But before my father can reply, I voice my own pressing queries, “Are we going to see more of Zomea? Is my mother here? I’ve had dreams about her...in the burning forest.”

Euric answers Colton first. “We begin today.” Turning to me, he continues, “Zomea is vast and dangerous. In time, you’ll see more of it. Until then, unless you’re accompanied by me or Athalda, all training should take place within the protective veil near the palace. Regarding Macy… I haven’t laid eyes on your mother in many years. The midnight mind is complex, especially for one as new to this as you. Sometimes we see things as they transpire; other times, we see things as we wish they were. Visions can’t always be trusted.”