Page 31 of What Beats Within the Tunnels

“Did she fear me? Was she worried about what I might become?” I ask tentatively.

“I don’t believe Macy feared you. I think she resented you. She likely envied the power she knew you’d one day wield and felt helpless against it,” Athalda confesses, leaning in closer.

“There’s something else I don’t understand, and it was never fully explained to me. I read the first Fae were born from the light of the Dream Forest. Does that have something to do with why they are born with magic and we have to wait to come of age before we get our magic?” I ask.

Athalda exhales deeply, pausing for a moment before answering. “The Fae are deeply bound to nature, they receive their magic from birth as nature instantly reacts to the call of the earth, and they sense their power from their very first breath. It’s their lesson in immediate responsibility and balance.”

I nod slowly, taking that in. “Alright, but why the delay for all the Sorcerers?”

She rubs at the scars on her face like I would rub my temple if I had a headache. “I imagine the gods intended it as a test of character. Zomea has always held all of our magic until we come of age and it is given to us. I think it keeps a balance, and it’s how Zomea stays alive.”

“And you say my magic isn’t going to be given to me. It’s already inside me just waiting…” I muse aloud.

Athalda glances at a nearby shelf, laden with scrolls. “The magic you are to inherit, Lyra, it is the deep and formidable power of ancient darkness. Such power demands not only strength but a profound sense of duty and caution.”

I furrow my brows, not understanding her point. “But why is it already inside me, waiting? Why is it not being held here in Zomea with all the other magic?”

“Because dark magic is primal, raw, and unpredictable. The gods decided that, instead of having it held in Zomea like other magic, it should be born within the destined Sorcerer, or in your case Sorceress, waiting for the right moment. This ensures it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands or is misused. Some speculate it was the goddess Ryella’s way of deceiving the other gods.”

“Ryella, the goddess of shadows,” I confirm.

“Yes.”

I take a moment, letting the enormity of what she’s saying settle. “But why nineteen? And how does it awaken?”

Athalda gestures toward the window. “The way the Fae have their connection with the Dream Forest, well, Sorcerers have their bond with the cosmos. Nineteen is the celestial number, aligned with the stars formations that gave birth to magic. For you specifically, when a dark magic Sorcerer turns nineteen, the stars align in a certain pattern, triggering the awakening.”

A chill runs down my spine. “So, it’s like an internal cosmic clock?”

She nods. “Exactly. And because it’s dark magic, its awakening is far more…intense. It’s different from all other magic because of its potency and ancient origin. While most Sorcerers discover their magic, you’ll feel yours erupt from within.”

“At least I have something to look forward to.”

“This isn’t a joke,” she scolds me, and I glare at her.

“Does it look like I’m joking? This is my life. So what’s next?” I shrug. I need something to make the pounding in my head go away. She’s making me feel grouchy and restless, and I don’t like it.

“Growing snippy with me, are you?” Athalda’s voice snaps, a venomous edge to it.

I grimace. “It’s not my fault you don’t know when I’m being serious. Maybe instead of the ceaseless talk and trials of dark magic I should actually see it in action.”

Athalda’s lips curl in a slight sneer as she pushes herself up, muttering something dark under her breath. I track her movements as she purposefully strides to the room’s center. She begins a haunting chant under her breath, her hands weaving patterns through the air.

The room’s atmosphere thickens, a coldness creeping in that feels almost malevolent. A mysterious wind emerges, spiraling fiercely before her, coalescing into a visible force.

From this vortex, a spectral serpent rises. It weaves protectively around Athalda before making a deliberate path toward me, its very motion causing ripples in the air and unsettling loose items in its wake.

Athalda’s smirk is all malice. “Dark magic is so much more than mere shadows, dear child. It’s the skill of twisting the world’s hidden powers to your every whim. You’ll inherit this might, and unlike me, having to delve into age-old grimoires, you’ll merely need to picture your desire. No words, no rituals.”

Curiosity overrides my trepidation. I reach out to the approaching entity. It coils up my arm, settling on my shoulders, its ethereal form scrutinizing me. Though devoid of eyes, it seems to study me with an intensity that’s unnerving. It looks like a storm contained, chaotic and beautiful. But before I can fully absorb its presence, Athalda’s clap disperses the being. I whirl at her, aghast. “Why did you do that?”

Her gaze is piercing. “Becoming fond of dark creations is a dangerous game. Now that you’ve glimpsed dark magic in action, satisfied? Shall we proceed without your needless complaints?”

She settles on a cushion, her every move dripping with disdain. I bristle, “I wasn’t needlessly complaining! And that…that was a storm in the shape of a snake, not the evil I was expecting. It’s not like the Monstrauths.”

She leans forward, her voice cold and unyielding, “Summoning entities is one of the purest forms of dark magic. And trust me, girl, with a mere thought that serpent could have been your undoing.” She pauses, the threat in her gaze unmistakable. “Do not mistake beauty for benevolence.”

I’m about to argue but immediately catch myself and stop when she slaps her hand down on the table. “Now let’s continue your training.”