Page 310 of Elemental Becoming

“So you’re thinking we have to assume no one has accessed those records in years? Maybe even centuries?”

Valen gives a tight nod. “If the ledger is still there, we’re likely the first people to look for it in a very long time.”

I sit back, turning that over in my mind. If we’re the first ones searching . . . then we’re also the first ones who might lead someone else to it.

My fingers tighten against the edge of the table. “We need to get there before anyone else does.”

Valen’s expression darkens, but he nods. There is no hesitation. No doubt.

I begin gathering the scrolls in front of me, but Valen flips through another parchment and stills. His gaze moves across the faded ink, studying it carefully.

“These records are incomplete,” he says, “but this might be something.”

I lean in as Valen traces a list of Air Clan families, names that once held power before the Shadow Wars. Each is marked with an engraved crest, faded but still visible beneath the worn ink. Most of them mean nothing to me. Long-forgotten houses whose histories have been buried beneath centuries of time and war.

But one catches my attention. I frown, leaning closer.

“That name . . . ”

My gaze lingers on the faded script.

“It looks familiar.”

Vhael.

The ink is faded, but the letters remain clear, the name distinct among the others. A noble house once linked to the scholars and archivists who safeguarded lost knowledge. I study the crest beside it. A swirling gust of wind encircles an open book, a quill suspended in midair as though caught in motion.

Then I notice something else. A faint flame worked into the design. So subtle I almost miss it.

Valen shakes his head. “It’s old Air Clan nobility, but most of these families either died out or changed their names after thewar.”

I study the crest for another moment, a strange sense of familiarity tugging at the edge of my thoughts. But I push it aside. It’s just another lost name buried in history.

Valen exhales and rolls the tension from his shoulders.

“Right then. We have a region—the Air Clan. And we have a location—the Wind-Swept Halls.”

His gaze lifts from the parchment and meets mine.

“Now we need to determine who might know of its existence and whether any of them can be trusted.”

He leans back in his chair, tapping the faded ink with two fingers.

“We’re two steps closer than we were this morning.”

FIREBRAND

FORTY-FOUR

It is written that the Spiritborn shall learn faster than any who walk beside her. The blade shall feel as an old companion in her grasp, and the pen as an extension of her thought. I believe this is true for Amara. She’s caught up to others in her class who have been practicing since birth, and now appears to surpass them.

—VALEN’S JOURNAL

AMARA

In the late afternoon, I join Lyra and Rowena for a training session, while Thane remains with Garrick and Jarek, drilling with the other warriors. Rian is on patrol with a few other riders.

The moment I step into the training hall, familiar sounds greet me: leather striking flesh, boots thudding sharply against training mats. Warriors are scattered across the room, sparring with practiced precision.