Page 193 of The Violet Raven

My throat tightens. This is not mere speech—it is invocation.

And before us, the crown glows.

The path shall open thrice each day,

A path that once kept me locked away.

The first for hope, the second for might,

The third to reflect in the fading light.

Put to the test for strengths I possessed,

The same three you once named in me.

I speak the words aloud, etched across the stone in curling script.

Beside me, Triona huffs out air. “Three times a day?”

I nod, my gaze never leaving the softly pulsing arch. “Hope, might, reflection,” I murmur. “They aren’t just virtues… they’re times of the day. Dawn for hope, zenith for might, and dusk for reflection.”

She studies the ancient markings, brow furrowed. “But who’s it referring to?” she asks. “Who speaks those words? Who passed those tests?”

We fall into silence, combing through every myth and whispered tale we’ve ever heard. The ones recited at hearths. The ones half-remembered in dreams.

Her lips part slightly as something clicks into place.

“Lugh,” she breathes.

I turn toward her, caught off guard by the certainty in her tone.

“The God of the Sun,” she says, eyes wide. “They called him master of all arts. The shining one. The champion who possessed every skill, and had to prove himself worthy of entry into their realm. Dana said the magic would respond to what is old… to what is true.”

And suddenly, it all fits.

The sun. The timing. The trial.

“Aye,” I murmur, the truth settling deep in my chest. “Lugh.”

The archway pulses again—stronger now, as though the hill itself has heard and recognised its maker. The ancient lines shimmer faintly, not in response to force, but to understanding. To memory.

“Could it be—” she hesitates, voice lowering. “Could it be that a god laid this path with their own hands? And why? What purpose would drive such power to sleep?”

I shake my head slowly, not in doubt—but with certainty. “I dinnae ken, but I believe you’re right. This magic… it moves with the sun itself. If it’s as old as they said it is—if it’s as old as it feels—then aye… I’d believe a god built it.”

“Maybe it guards more than power? Maybe it guards what was once sacred,” I say softly, “placed inside—something loved—left waitin’ for the soul who once held it to return.”

A hush settles between us, heavy with thought.

“I guess we’ll find out soon enough…” I mutter. “The second moment draws near.”

Only half an hour passes as the sunlight climbs steadily, warming the air and shrinking the surrounding shadows. As the sunlight reaches its zenith, a glowing inscription emerges below the first one, its letters pulsing faintly, as if alive. Triona gasps as the unfamiliar words appear:

A bond with whom remains unbroken, even by death’s blade?

I read it aloud for her. The air hums with anticipation, the question hanging between us like the stillness before a storm. Triona’s lips part, her voice soft. “A bond with a… soulmate?”

“Anam Cara,” I say, surprised still by my ability to speak a language I’ve never learned. Triona repeats the words.