Page 1 of Elemental Becoming

PROLOGUE

JOURNAL ENTRY: VALEN THORNE, ARCHIVIST OF FORGOTTEN TRUTHS

She is more than I ever imagined the Spiritborn could be. The prophecies spoke of one who would wield all four Elements. She does, butsheis more.

She heals.

She creates portals.

She is dragon-bonded.

She is what the realm needs.

But can she embrace the parts of herself she still resists? Can she forgive herself for burdens that were never hers to carry?

If she cannot, the realm will fall into darkness. And we will be powerless to stop it.

The prophecies never spoke of the truths buried during the Shadow Wars. How do these revelations reshape the Spiritborn’s role? What are we meant to do with this knowledge?

And what of Thane?

Shadow Clan blood runs through his veins. He wields theforbidden Element. Is this what the prophecy meant when it declared:

When the four align, the fifth shall rise?

It is too soon to know.

And the Shadow Element he commands does not behave like the magics wielded by the Shadeheart and her cursed forces.

Have we misunderstood it? Has the Shadow Element itself been corrupted—or only the way it was used? If it is not what we were taught . . . what does that mean?

I have more questions than answers. I can only trust the gods will light our path.

Otherwise, we will perish.

—Valen Thorne

Sage of the Fire Court

THE CAPITAL

ONE

History does not always tell the truth. The brief glance I stole at the journal before we rushed out of the chamber felt like a mountain collapsing inside me. Could everything we know about the Shadow Wars—perhaps even about the Shadow Clan itself—be wrong? These were people who were already feared and ostracized, and then ultimately wiped out. Yet, what if they were never the villains we believed them to be? What if, all along, they were the war’s greatest victims?

—VALEN’S JOURNAL

THANE

Along the road to the capital, I feel the bond bloom in my chest, warm and fierce.

When I turn, she’s already watching me, sunlight filtering through the canopy to catch in her eyes, deep and rich as earth. The sight hits me square in the ribs.

I thought I lost her today.

When she collapsed after healing Lyra, I barely caught her before her head struck the hard stone of the cave. I wanted to do more—gods, I wanted to tear the pain from her. Stop the way her body shook while she knit Lyra back together, bone and blood and breath.

I’m grateful Lyra lived. She is a force unto herself. And for Amara’s and Garrick’s sake too. The devastation would be . . . no. I can’t go there.