Chapter 161
The obsidian walls shimmer faintly under the light of Cora’s lantern, the glow refracting into sharp, fractured lines that dance across the cavern floor. The space feels eerily still now, the molten fury of the lava transformed into something beautiful and unyielding.
I reach out, brushing my fingers across the cool glass surface. A chill lingers at the edges of my awareness, unsettling in its quiet presence.
“It’s… changed forms completely,” Cora says softly, crouching to inspect a jagged piece of obsidian. She pries it free with care and holds it up to the lantern’s glow. The shard is smooth and dark, but faint veins of deep red pulse inside it, like blood sealed within glass. “This shouldn’t be possible. I’ve never heard of any Heir doing… this.”
I pull my hand back, staring at the obsidian like it might give me an answer. “I don’t even know what ‘this’ is,” I admit. “I felt cold. Just for a second, like it spread through me, and then… everything stopped.”
Cora nods, slowly turning the shard over in her hands. “Possible, I suppose. The Ægir line has dominion over ice and cold, but this…” She trails off, her brow furrowing before tucking the shard into her belt pouch. “This is different. I’ll analyze it when we’re somewhere safer.”
Then, Cora rises abruptly and seems to shake herself off internally. Her breath shudders as she exhales. “Thank you, Phoebe. For staying calm back there. For keeping your head when I couldn’t.”
The words hit me unexpectedly. I blink at her. “You don’t have to thank me.”
“I do,” she insists, her voice soft but sure. Her gaze stays fixed on the ground, on the shards of black glass scattered across the glittering floor. “I was weak when you needed me. For that… I’m sorry.”
I glance at her hands, trembling slightly as they secure the pouch. “You don’t have to thank me, but you do need to stop apologizing.’”
Her head snaps up, eyes sharp, but I don’t let her interrupt.
“No,” I say firmly, folding my arms. “You are the last person I would ever call weak. You’re… well, not human. But you are a person. You don’t have to apologize for that.”
Cora exhales, shaking her head like she can push the thought away. “I’m supposed to be stronger than this, Phoebe. Too many people are counting on me. It’s irresponsible to dwell on regrets that should have been buried long ago.”
“Stop.” I step closer, planting myself in front of her so she can’t look anywhere else. “Your feelings aren’t small, Cora. Feeling them isn’t a waste of your time and energy. If you keep pushing them down like they don’t matter, they’re going to eat you alive. Maybe if you stopped neglecting your own needs, you wouldn’t have so many regrets.”
Her gaze hardens like she’s about to argue, but something in her flickers. Her shoulders slump, and suddenly, she looks… tired. Deeply, soul-weary tired.
“I always was a better grandmother than I was a mother,” Cora admits, her voice low. The cavern seems to hold its breath with her. “I always felt pulled in too many directions. It was easier to focus on my work—my duty. Anything other than being a mother to Melody.” She shakes her head, a bitter edge to her laugh. “When I showed up to her college graduation to find that she was already married, do you know what I felt? Not anger. Not hurt. Just… relief. Relief that she finally had someone. Because I knew I wouldn’t always be there for her.”
My chest tightens. I know where this is going. “Because you had to return to your Clan,” I say softly.
Her eyes meet mine, and for the first time, I see the vulnerability beneath all her sharp edges. She nods. “I always knew where my place was—where it had to be. And it killed me. It was easier to stay distant. The guilt of being absent was easier to bear than the pain of saying goodbye.”
I reach out and grab her hand, her fingers cool against my skin. “She loves you. My mom talks about you all the time. She admires you.”
Cora scoffs faintly, but her mask is slipping. “That’s because she doesn’t really know me.”
“She knows the woman who raised her,” I tell her, my voice fierce. “And that woman is just as much a part of you as the physicist or the… mermaid princess or whatever title you think defines you. And damn it, you raised a great kid. I couldn’t ask for a better mom. She’s kind and supportive, and fierce as hell when she needs to be. She didn’t get that from anywhere. That matters. It counts for a lot.”
For a moment, Cora just stares at me. I half expect her to brush me off, but instead, she sighs. Her shoulders slump, and she looks away as if she can’t quite meet my eyes.
“Maybe you’re right,” she says quietly. “But it doesn’t change what I did—what I didn’t do. I made my choices, Phoebe, and I have to live with them.”
“We all make choices,” I say, just as softly. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t forgive yourself. And it doesn’t mean they don’t make sense.”
Cora frowns faintly. “What do you mean?”
I lean back against the obsidian wall, the cool surface grounding me. “I get it now. Why did you stay away and hide the truth? I can’t imagine disrupting my parents’ lives or splitting them up. Even if it’s for something important, like… making our line stronger.” My voice catches slightly. “I know how important that is. But I can’t do that to my mom. The gene-editing process alone… I almost didn’t survive it. I can’t ask her to risk it too.”
Cora’s eyes widen, and she grips my shoulders tightly. “Phoebe, no one is going to ask that of you. Or her.” Her voice is steady and firm, and it wraps around me like an embrace. “Even if I’d known such a thing were possible, I would never have suggested it. Bloodline be damned—no one should have to forsake themselves for the sake of power.”
The tension in my chest eases, and I blink up at her. “You mean that?”
“Every word.” She smiles faintly, something rare and soft. “Trying to keep you safe is one decision I will always stand by. Nevertheless, I can’t deny that I’m glad that you found your way here.”
Before I can respond, a deep groan reverberates through the cavern. I freeze. The sound swells, a grinding crack that sends chills skittering up my spine. Cora and I whip around, eyes locking onto the wall as a fissure splinters across the obsidian surface. Dust and shards rain down in a glassy shower, the noise building, growing sharper.
“Please tell me that’s not what I think it is,” I whisper, my throat dry.
“It sounds like another lava flow,” Cora says, her voice tight.
The wall shudders violently, the crack widening as molten light pulses faintly behind the fractured glass.
“Move!” Cora shouts.
She grabs my arm, and together we stumble back as far as the narrow ledge allows. The obsidian trembles under our feet.
My heart pounds as I stare at the growing fissure. Not again.
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