Prologue - Sacrifice
She held her tiny elfling in her arms. It was late—or early—she couldn’t entirely tell. Everyone else was fast asleep, but she’d been roused to feed this wonderful creature. He was small and fragile, yet deceivingly powerful. She’d fought and sacrificed and waited for him, and now he was here. Perfect. Cherished.
The light of the waning moon slipped through her bedchamber window, pouring shards of white across her son’s face as she paced. It reminded her of what she must do—the task she alone could finish. There was one last rift bleeding dangerous magic into this world; it needed to be snuffed out. She’d fulfill that which the guild had set out to accomplish, even if it was the last thing she ever did.
Her brother had been at her side once. Now she went alone. He, like all the other guild members, had given his life to the same mission, and the rifts had taken their price. The cost was non-negotiable.
She placed her elfling, her tiny masterpiece, in his cradle, her gaze lingering on his precious face—his eyes closed once again in slumber. She reached for her father’s soul stone resting against her chest, protecting her from the thirst of the rifts. To leave the pendant behind meant death, but she couldn’t leave her son unprotected, and she couldn’t take him with her. Not for this task.
One day, he would be a formidable Anam Wielder, more powerful than she could ever be. He would hold the strength of generations before him, passed down through succession and careful breeding. Only the soul stone could temper that. It would keep the soulfire within his tiny body at bay, locked within his consciousness until he could learn to control it.
So much damage had already been done while she’d been delayed, struggling with pregnancy. A single battle had changed the course of history, destroying thousands of years of peace between the elves. Not since the humans had scarred Rhend had her people known such hatred.
She squeezed her eyes closed and tried to see anything but the white fire that always burned in her mind. If the guild was wrong about the prophecy’s meaning, closing the rifts would be the world’s undoing. It was possible she’d be the catalyst for their end, not the savior.
The doubt was as heavy as death.
She said a prayer to the Elder Gods. Maybe someday the power of the rifts could be better understood and protected from those who’d use it for nefarious purposes, but for now, she needed to close the last of them.
Her sweet son shifted in his cradle. With the lightest touch, she traced a pattern across his forehead and down his nose, over and over until he stilled. She stood a moment longer, memorizing the lines of his face, the tuft of dark hair, his diminutive hands that would someday wield amazing power.
It was time to go.
She knew the way, passing unnoticed across the moors toward the forest line, which loomed like a dark blade of shadows separating the earth from the night sky. She wove between trees and rocks on an ancient path, allowing the sounds of the slumbering forest to ease the anxiety that bubbled around the edges of her confidence.
As she approached the last rift, light bled across the broken earth and stained the tree trunks white. Her death was in that colorless flame. She pressed the toes of her boots to the rim of the burning fissure. Trepidation soaked through the soles of her feet and crept up her legs before sitting like a stone in her gut.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, methodically, then shook out her hands in anticipation.
It was time.
With her palms down, she drew the fire into herself, feeling her life force struggle against the raw essence that melted into the fibers of her flesh. As with closing the other rifts, tingling began in her fingertips, then poured into her hands and up her arms. The rift’s insatiable thirst grated against her consciousness with a sharp dissonance that spoke of sorrow and anguish. It flooded the depths of her being, filling her with doubt, coating her memories in a haze of desperation.
Blood boiled in her veins, pumping like acid through her extremities. A cry ripped free from her lips, but there was no one to hear it. Where once the brilliant white had surrounded her, now there was only a darkness that drew tighter.
This was the cost the soul stone had protected her from: unimaginable pain. Unthinkable pressure as the presence of the rift fought against her mind, desperate to escape its fleshy prison. No elf was ever meant to hold such magic within themself.
She tried to take in a breath, but there was nothing. No air to breathe. No lungs to draw in the air. Her insides had melted. Her vision charred black around the edges until there was nothing left.
Nothing but the memory of her sweet son’s amber eyes.
