Page 70 of Elemental Becoming

And yet, these survived. Hidden. Someone—maybe several someones—ensured their survival.

I tear my gaze away from the records. “Have you found anything yet?”

He exhales, his thumb tracing the edge of one of the journals.

“Possibly,” he says. “But I need to keep looking. There’s too much here to assume anything. I have to cross-reference it all. Make sure I’m not missing something . . . or misinterpreting.”

His tone stays even, but I know what that means.

He won’t rush this. Valen won’t take guesses when the truth could be buried beneath layers of forgotten knowledge and carefully placed deception.

He steps away from the table and moves toward a small cast-iron stove in the corner. A soft click-click-click sounds before the blue flame flares to life. He lifts the already filled kettle and sets it over the fire. The faint hiss of heating water fills the quiet space.

Thane runs a hand along the edge of the table before speaking. He doesn’t start with the prophecy.

Instead, he tells Valen about last night. How the shadows responded to the bond, and to me. About how the curse might not be what we thought it was. That his father may not have been lost. That, maybe, he’s still fighting.

I watch him as he speaks, watch the way he chooses his words.

But I remember last night—the way his control slipped, the way his breathing changed, the way the bond reacted to the very idea of it. The way he broke, his restraint slipping like cracks spreading through stone.

The way the shadows seemed to embrace him, curling around his frame like something familiar.

Valen listens without interruption.

When Thane finishes, silence settles. No one moves to break it. It stretches between us, pressing in. I feel it in my chest—a quiet tension, coiling, waiting.

Thane doesn’t rush him. Neither do I.

At last, Valen draws in a breath before speaking. “That . . . is an interesting thought.”

The air presses in around us.

The tea kettle whistles, its sharp sound cutting through the weighted silence.

He turns, lifting it from the flame, pouring hot water over tea leaves settled in a strainer. A rich, earthy aroma curls into the air. Valen sets the kettle down, taking a moment before facing us again.

I steady myself. “But there’s more.”

Thane turns slightly toward me and nods. He doesn’t speak, but the silent acknowledgment is enough.

I meet Valen’s gaze.

“Before coming here, Thane introduced me to his father. I didn’t expect much—not after what the healers said, not after everything we’ve been told. But he spoke.”

Valen’s brows lift, his attention sharpening.

“And not just a few scattered words. He spoke of the prophecy.”

I press on. “He knew the name Spiritborn. He knew what it meant.”

Valen goes still.

I glance at Thane. His lips are pressed into a thin line, hands curled at his side.

“And?” Valen asks, his voice quiet.

I swallow.