Chapter 62: The Shape of Absence

  A pale blue light washed over the table in Aeor's chamber within the Cradle, spilling across a clutter of maps and folded charts laid out in uneven layers.

  For hours, the only sound had been the dry whisper of paper. The soft rasp of pages turned, the faint crackle of parchment eased open and flattened again. Aeor had gone over them until the routes began to blur, until the same roads and coastlines felt carved into his eyes.

  The outcome never changed.

  There was no mention of Sar'Vareth.

  No marking. No inked note in the margins. No empty space where a name should have been. The coastline itself looked complete, as if the world had never needed that harbor, never needed that city, never needed the lives that had once gathered there.

  A thought returned to him again and again, unwelcome in its simplicity.

  If a major settlement could vanish, then smaller ones could as well.

  He had checked every lesser town and outpost he could recall since his arrival. Every name he had heard in passing. Every place mentioned in reports, prayers, trade talk, and travel routes. They all remained.

  But that only covered a small portion of Sol'Karenth.

  The rest was uncertainty.

  And the people caught inside that shroud weighed on him more heavily than the maps ever could.

  He was the only one who remembered.

  If the Custodian had not acknowledged Sar'Vareth in front of everyone, Aeor might have questioned himself. He might have wondered whether his own memories had been altered in some quieter way, reshaped without leaving a scar.

  Now he knew the truth was worse.

  Some believed he remembered because of the power he wielded. That his Primeval Death was the only constant strong enough to resist Existence's distortions.

  He could not deny it was the most obvious factor.

  But to him, it still did not feel like a sufficient answer.

  Aeor let out a slow breath.

  He pulled his attention away from the tangled spread of maps and leaned back in his chair, letting it creak softly beneath his weight. His gaze drifted upward as he raised a hand, shielding his eyes from the lamp set into the ceiling. Pale blue light slipped through the gaps between his fingers, breaking into thin bands that shifted as his hand moved.

  For a moment, he did nothing else.

  Since the Empyreans had given their orders, everything beyond these walls had become a blur of motion. The situation did not demand immediate departure, and so many had returned to the depths of the Cradle to recover and prepare for what came next.

  Some talons had already been dispatched.

  Their task was simple in wording, if not in execution. Reach the remote corners of Sol'Karenth. Speak to those who lived far from the major settlements, those who could not previously be reached or sheltered.

  There was comfort in that plan.

  Comfort Aeor did not trust.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  One of those great settlements had vanished without warning. What guarantee did the others have?

  The remaining forces were assigned to search for the cradle belonging to the Empyrean Wyrmkin who once bore Existence. A place that, if it still existed at all, had been lost longer than memory.

  And then there was his assignment.

  Aeor, along with a small number of others, would enter Sar'Vareth.

  To see what remained.

  If anything remained at all.

  He was still turning the pieces over in his mind when a knock broke the quiet.

  "Come in," he said.

  The door opened, and Dregor stepped inside. His gaze flicked immediately to the table, taking in the disorder of maps and notes before settling back on Aeor.

  "Did you get any sleep at all?" Dregor asked, adjusting the straps of his armor as he moved.

  "Not really," Aeor replied. He rose and crossed the room toward his bed, where his armored clothing lay folded. "Has the talon been finalized?"

  Dregor nodded. "You, me, Velora, and Zoey. Korren as well, along with a couple of dragon riders. One of them you know. Rorick."

  Aeor inclined his head in acknowledgment.

  "Travel is going to be a problem," Dregor continued. "Navigation in this darkness is proving difficult. Landmarks are unreliable, and distances do not always behave the way they should."

  He paused, the set of his jaw tightening.

  "Vaelirras are running low. And there have been reports. Strange ones."

  Aeor looked up. "Reports of what?"

  "Beings moving in the dark," Dregor said. "Not creatures born of Sol'Karenth. Their forms are wrong. Elongated. Jointed in ways that do not match bone. They move as if they are still learning how bodies work. Bodies that seem half-formed, as if they were sketched and abandoned before they were finished."

  A chill settled in Aeor's chest.

  "Have there been casualties?"

  Dregor did not answer at once. When he did, his voice was slower, more careful.

  "No. Not that anyone remembers."

  Aeor froze, fingers curling against the ceremonial lines of his armor.

  The weight of Dregor's words settled slowly, then all at once.

  After the First Solenar rose, many had perished. That much was known. But of those deaths, none among the living, save Aeor himself, retained any memory of the fallen. Names had vanished. Faces had blurred. Grief itself had thinned into something vague and distant.

  Aeor had hoped the erasure was contained. That it was bound to those lost during the First Solenar's rise, an isolated cruelty born of a singular calamity.

  Dregor's words shattered that hope.

  It was not that the dead were forgotten.

  They were removed.

  "While I cannot say with certainty," Dregor continued, "the possibility exists. If what you and the Custodian claim is true, then those who perish may no longer leave anything behind to be remembered."

  Aeor exhaled slowly and forced his hands to move again.

  "Have the others seeking the cradle departed?" he asked, deliberately shifting the subject.

  "Most of them," Dregor replied. "Serenya and Naeysar's talon just left. Vaelkar is the only one among the Empyreans who has not."

  The words lingered.

  Since the Reckoning, Aeor had avoided Vaelkar.

  Serenya, Vaireth, even Velora had gone to consult the Empyreans, along with several members of the council. Aeor, by contrast, had buried himself in maps, records, fragments of proof. He told himself it was necessity. That Sar'Vareth demanded his full attention.

  It was not untrue.

  It was also not the whole truth.

  Only now did he recognize it for what it was.

  He had been avoiding Vaelkar.

  The realization unsettled him more than he expected. He had known the Empyrean for no more than three days, and yet the sense of betrayal persisted, sharp and unyielding.

  He did not fully understand why it affected him so.

  But he knew he could not continue to run from it.

  Aeor finished putting on his armor and reached for his lance, the familiar weight steadying him. He turned to Dregor, resolve settling into his expression.

  "I'll go speak with Vaelkar," he said. Determination flickered in his eyes. "Can you gather the rest in the meantime?"

  Dregor studied him for a moment, then nodded. The corner of his mouth curved upward, just slightly.

  "I'll see to it."

  Aeor rose above the Cradle astride an avian, the torchlights below dimming into scattered embers as altitude pulled him away from the field. The ordered movement of soldiers blurred into patterns of light and shadow, and he forced himself to look away.

  His gaze turned instead toward the Sar'Quethal peaks.

  There, upon the jagged crowns of several mountains, Vaelkar waited.

  Even at a distance, the Empyrean's presence pressed against the world. The air thickened as Aeor drew closer. The avian shifted uneasily beneath him. Its wings beat harder, its movements losing their earlier rhythm. A tremor rippled through its frame.

  Aeor leaned forward and placed a steady hand against its fur, murmuring reassurance, but the gesture brought little relief. The discomfort only deepened as Vaelkar's aura wrapped around them.

  Aeor did not force it further.

  He guided the avian into a slow turn and sent it back toward the lights below, watching until it steadied and descended.

  Then he let go.

  Violet mist bled from his body as gravity loosened its hold. Aeor stepped into the air and rose, his ascent smooth and deliberate as he closed the remaining distance alone.

  As he neared the peak, Vaelkar lifted his head.

  Ancient eyes settled upon Aeor, and the mountain seemed to grow quiet beneath their gaze.

  For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

  They simply watched one another, the violet light in their eyes burning like embers against the night.

  "I have been wondering," Aeor said at last, breaking the silence. "Wondering why I remember."

  His voice was steady, but something tight lived beneath it.

  "Everyone keeps telling me it is because of the power I wield. That my defiance of Existence is what spared my memories." He shook his head slightly. "It sounds plausible. Given everything we are facing, it even makes sense. But it does not sit right with me."

  Vaelkar did not interrupt.

  "I remember trying to resist it," Aeor continued. "The chant. The moment Sol fell. I fought against Existence itself, and I failed." His fingers curled once at his side. "I should have assimilated into this altered reality like everyone else. Instead, I remain apart. Carrying the weight of what was lost."

  He let the silence return, allowing the words to settle between them, heavy and unresolved.

  Then he spoke again, quieter.

  "But I do not believe I am alone in this."

  Aeor's eyes narrowed slightly.

  "You remember too, don't you?" he said. "You knew this was going to happen all along."

  Chapter 63 releases Monday at 6 PM EST.

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