Page 134 of A Thread of Breath and Bone

My heart races when I think of what lies before us. I came through the gateway. I’ve been training with beings that aren’t human. The Elven are tall and lithe, and there’s a grace and speed as they move, like they almost float along the ground. They’re cunning and deeply intuitive—patient, too.

And the High Fae are tall, strong, and beautiful. So beautiful, it’s hard to gaze upon them. They command a presence and are fierce, intimidating, raw creatures.

If Ryker and I go in there, will we lose who we are? Will he become a stranger to me—not in the ways that matter, but in all the small ones? In the way his inky locks catch the light and appear almost bronze. The way his eyes swirl like miniature storms. Will the dimple in his cheek disappear when he smiles? Will I recognize the arms that hold me?

And what about me? Will I recognize myself when I look in the mirror? Will I still be me once my body changes?

All of this, for a lifetime, I can’t wrap my mind around. For thousands of years, living a life I wasn’t born into. It’s a funeral for the girl I am, swallowed by the shadow of the heir I was born to become. But what choice is there, really, if I say no?

I look into the stormy gaze of my mate, my friend, the man I’ve fallen so deeply in love with that there is no end. For him—with him—I would choose a thousand lifetimes. Eternity will never be long enough.

Tears flood my eyes as Ryker steps closer, his hands now bracketing each cheek as he tilts my head back, my gaze lifting to his. “Together, Soraea,” he whispers. He’s been saying that for months, and he’s never left my side. Every task, every new revelation, he’s been there. He’s always here.

He brings his mouth to mine, the kiss slow and soft, a simple brush of his lips.

“I love you,” I say, my breath fanning over his mouth.

His lips tilt up, still pressed against mine. “And I love you.” He pulls away, taking my hand in his, our fingers interlocking. He doesn’t even look back as he pulls me along. “I’m claiming my forever with you, Soraea, so keep up.”

Chapter 48

Ryker

Raea’s emotions are on full display again as I peel back the stone door that once could have locked out entire armies—but now crumbles in my hands. What the hell is this place? Caelus seemed fine to ditch us here, so I’m assuming we aren’t in danger. Still, I don’t let my guard down, searching the darkness, keeping one eye on the trees at our backs. My ears strain, listening for any subtle change in the air.

The door finally gives, large chunks falling to the ground. I almost snort when Soraea peeks in, shaking her head when she’s met with another dark space. I grab her hand, leading her inside.

I know what she’s thinking, what she’s feeling. Normally, I’d agree, but in this case, I can’t protect her in this human body. Vaeric has shown me again and again that no matter how hard I try, I won’t best him in this frail human body. Nurek proved it when he lifted boulders with his mind while I struggled for hours.

And Riven—Riven moved like he was part of the wind itself, taking men down without even blinking.

So no, I won’t waste any time mourning my old self.

Stepping inside, magic slides across my skin like invisible cobwebs.

A breath passes through the hall—cold and unseen—and one by one, torches ignite down the corridor, stretching farther than the eye can see. Our footsteps squeak on the polished tile. This place is enchanted—has to be. Outside, the building looks unstable as it’s reclaimed by the forest. Here, the polished floor reflects our movements. There's a low chant drifting through the air—too faint to understand, but heavy with ancient power.

Otherwise, the space feels stripped bare—like something once sacred that has long since been abandoned. Now, there’s just stained glass windows, scattered chairs, and a few ancient tapestries along the stone walls.

The air smells faintly sweet, not comforting, but old—like incense burned centuries ago and never fully faded. A few of the tapestries are depictions of wars. Ugly and brutal—limbs torn from bodies, blood-soaking battlefields, heads severed and lifted in victory.

We continue, unsure of our destination. It takes several minutes before we reach the front dais, where two bowls lie beneath a mural of creation. Stars blinking into existence, the Primordials watching and looking down upon their five children, all creating the planets and systems within this galaxy.

Godly hands sweep across stone, painting stars into existence—some bursting into light, others erased with a single careless gesture.

Raea gasps as we watch.

The air shifts—pressure building, cold seeping into my bones.

When I turn, a wisp of white and blue hovers behind us, like a torn strand of cloud given life. Raea turns, unsure where to look—at the mural that is still depicting the creation, or at the eerie strand that seems sentient. It drifts around us, tendrils of light stretching outward until it spills across the mural—swallowing it whole before pulling itself into a towering form.

Dressed in white robes, the hood so deep we can’t see a face, it speaks. “Kneel, daughter of the forest and son of storms.”

Well, that's a new title.

Its voice is ancient and cold—neither male nor female.

Raea struggles with her breath as she kneels in front of the bowl. I glance around, following her lead. The robes are made of strands of light, crackling with gold and blue energy.