Chapter 268
I wake with a jolt, breath caught in my throat, heart pounding like a war drum. My fingers are lit again—sparks dance from palm to wrist in crackling violet flashes, wild and flickering like they’re trying to escape me. The residual hum of power crawls under my skin, tugging at every nerve.
But this time, I don’t panic.
I close my eyes and breathe deep, slow in, steady out—pressing my palms together until the arcs slow, fizzle, then vanish completely. It takes a few more seconds for the tingling to fade, but when it does, I finally look up.
Wake’s already sitting up in bed, shirtless, damp hair falling across his eyes, watching me with that intense stillness of his. Like he was already awake. Like he never really sleeps anymore.
“Another dream?” he asks, voice low and rough.
I nod, pushing a hand through my hair. It’s damp at the roots. I must’ve been sweating.
He pushes himself up, bare chest, catching the faint glimmer of my leftover power. His voice drops to that quiet tone he only uses with me. “Tell me.”
So I do.
The city, the crystals, the way everything glowed like it was alive. The version of me with the indigo curls and the confidence of a goddess. The orb. The betrayal. Lily’s face.
When I’m done, his brow furrows.
“That doesn’t sound like a memory,” he says. “Might be a vision.”
I blink. “You mean like… Khale’s mom?”
He nods. “Future-sight. Some Enkians have it. Not many, and it usually only shows up under extreme stress or Ether saturation.”
I pause. “I thought only certain bloodlines could do that.”
“Maybe,” he says. “Or maybe you’re a latent talent. Or maybe,” his eyes flick to my hands. “It’s just the excess of Darklite reacting to the Ether you’ve been pulling in your sleep. It’s possible that it might be clouding your dreams.”
That clicks something in me. I scramble off the bed and make a beeline for my duffle bag.
Wake follows, half-curious, half-concerned. “What are you doing?”
“The orb I brought from Ao,” I say, digging through a pile of gear and clothes.
My fingers close around the small sphere. Cold, smooth, and familiar enough. Usually, it’s cloudy, like an opaque quartz, but now it’s shimmering. Swirling. Like someone dumped microglitter into liquid starlight. Lavender, silver, blue—an entire sky in motion. It pulses faintly in my hands, and in the dim light of our room, it looks just like the city from my dream. Exactly like it.
Wake steps closer, eyes narrowing. “It looks different.”
“I think it’s made of Darklite,” I whisper.
His expression darkens. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t be touching it.”
But I can’t let go. I know I should. My skin’s tingling, my stomach tight. Still—I grip it tighter.
“Or, maybe we don’t really understand what Darklite is,” I murmur. “What do we actually know about it?”
Wake answers without hesitation. “It’s a highly reactive mineral. Toxic under the best circumstances. Radioactive at worst.”
“Yeah,” I say, finally dragging my eyes off the orb to look at him. “But what if that’s just what we think we know? What if those are just… theories?”
His gaze sharpens. I can see the gears turning now. He’s catching up.
“Theoretical or not,” he says carefully. “Those warnings are based on firsthand observations. Dire ones.”
“I’m not doubting the outcomes, or even the source,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m just questioning the catalyst.”
He gives me a long look, searching. “What are you thinking?”
I take a breath. “In my dream, I saw a city made of what I think was Darklite. A palace. Technology. Magic. And the people there… they weren’t sick. They were dazzling. They were the strongest, most powerful versions of themselves. And the other me—she used an orb just like this. When she held it up, it didn’t hurt her. It amplified her and the city. Like a…”
“Battery,” Wake says.
“Only a thousand, thousand times stronger,” I say. “Didn’t you tell me once that the ancient Enkians had access to powerful tech that was lost, and no one’s been able to recreate it since?”
I see it land in his mind. Up til now, he’s been following my train of thought, but now the station is in sight.
Wake nods slowly. “Yeah. The old legends say our ancestors could do things we barely understand now. Cities that swam through the sky, machines that could travel the length of the ocean in minutes. It stemmed from a power that came from the ocean floor.”
“What if Darklite was that power source?” I say.
He hesitates. “Phoebe, the stories say Darklite came from Leviathan. From his blood, his very essence. How could a source of such wonder come from the embodiment of darkness?”
“Shoal said that before the betrayal, Leviathan’s purpose was to bring balance to the world by bringing the darkness that counters the light,” I ask. “One can not exist without the other. Darkness creates light.”
Wake mutters under his breath, voice soft with realization. “That was the gift, the power Leviathan gave to the old Enkians that gave them the power to rival the Conclave. Darklite is the reason they went to war.”
“And then Leviathan was locked away,” I finish, clutching the orb tighter. “The power vanished. The tech died out. And the Enkian forgot it ever existed in the first place.”
“Except now, Leviathan’s waking up, the Darklite’s coming back with him, and no one knows what to do with it.”
“Shoal’s trying his damndest to figure it out,” I say.
Wake’s mouth pulls into a thin line. “Then riddle me this—if it’s just a power source, if it’s just meant to channel the Ether… why is it making people sick?”
I stare at the orb, watching the glitter swirl like a galaxy dying slowly in my hands.
“I haven’t figured that part out yet,” I admit. “Maybe… maybe all that time in captivity tainted the source. Or maybe the issue is user error.”
Wake’s eyes lock on mine. “How so?”
I blink. “I think… What if the Darklite just reflects the intent of the person wielding it? Good or bad doesn’t need to factor into it at all if the mineral is just a battery.”
“So, for instance, if someone were to have a goal of mining the Darklite,” he starts. “It might grow unstable and explode, thus making it easier to uncover more. And if those explosions trigger earthquakes and volcanic activity, it doesn’t matter as long as the job gets done.”
My heart stutters.
“Or,” he continues. “If you’re a tyrant, determined to subjugate your kingdom in order to bend its subjects to your will… that would be much easier to do if they were sick and weak. Moreso for the Ether-wielders who might be strong enough to stop you.”
My throat is dry when I speak. “And if you happen to be hellbent on using it to build supersoldiers… it’ll speed up the process to make it happen—whatever it takes.”
Whatever it takes.
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
