Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 37501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 188(@200wpm)___ 150(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 188(@200wpm)___ 150(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
We've fought and bled and exhausted ourselves right alongside the Fae. And we've done it with no guarantee that we'll even survive. No, we aren't emotional. We're afraid. And we have every right to be. Who wouldn't be in our shoes?
I turn away from Rhistel and his warriors, stepping closer to the Bifröst, and inhale deeply, the heady scent of the wild poppies soothing a little of the restlessness clawing through me. More and more since arriving in Valhalla over two weeks ago, I've felt the same growing sense of unease, as if the bubble surrounding us is on the verge of collapse.
I'm not the only one who feels it. My sisters do, too. So do the Fae who protect us. It's as if we're all waiting for the Forsaken to fracture the peace we've found here and send us hurtling toward war again… as if we know in our bones that it's coming.
I guess we do. The Forsaken may not have followed us through the Portal when Tori Healed it, but none of us really believe that they've given up.
Does evil ever die quietly? I kind of doubt it.
The Forsaken are simply regrouping after my sisters and I killed so many of them in Eitr.
At least, that's what the Fae think. I tend to agree with them.
The Forsaken aren't gone. They're simply plotting their next move—the one that plunges us into a war that will decide the fate of every world, every soul.
It's a terrifying prospect.
We've been using the reprieve from battle to our advantage. When we came through the Portal, Valhalla was little more than a relic of another realm long since reclaimed by nature. The immensity of the legendary haven is overwhelming. And so is the destruction the Forsaken and the Jötunn wrought upon it centuries ago.
Litte remains now save toppled spires and burned-out barracks. The once great Hall of Warriors no longer stands at all. The only evidence that it ever existed at all is a single stone pillar, untouched by the encroaching forest.
The Fae have been rebuilding and fortifying as quickly as possible. Most of the work is beyond even their abilities—a God built this place, after all. But they know enough to have reclaimed parts of the valley from the wild. New barracks are going up to replace those that were destroyed. We have roofs over our heads, and the Fae have been bringing the comforts of home through the Bifröst as often as they can.
It's almost as if they're disassembling what remains of Eitr and rebuilding it right here in Valhalla. Tori calls it a Fae Fusion, the blending of the world they've known for the last three centuries with the home they lost long ago. It's an apt descriptor, as far as they go. I'm not sure the Fae agree. They grumble when Tori says it, as if the thought of restoring Valhalla with what they've pillaged from earth is unholy business.
Their complaints have only ensured that all my sisters now call this fortification a Fae Fusion, just to tease them. The Fae don't really mind, as much as they grumble. To them, my sisters and I are salvation. We gave them back the home the Forsaken stole from them and offer hope for a future, one they've been planning for since the Portal fell three centuries ago, trapping them on earth. They let us get away with far more than they probably should.
We try not to abuse it. As peaceful as it's been here, none of us are ignorant about what we face or what it means. If we fail, all worlds fall to Darkness. Every soul dies, used up by the Forsaken for their dark magic.
We've been working day and night to try to figure out the mysteries of the Bifröst and how to use it to free the souls trapped beyond the Veil, essentially restarting the death process the Forsaken disrupted three hundred years ago. Dying hasn't been complete for centuries, leaving millions in limbo. Everyone has just been…stuck, waiting to move on.
"How do you work?" I murmur to the silent surface of the Bifröst, wishing it would tell us what we need to know. Or that the Fae could. But not even they know how our ancestors used their Powers and the Bifröst to travel beyond the Veil. If the Bifröst has the knowledge we seek, it's refusing to give it up.
We're connected to it in some inexplicable way, our destiny tied to the magic used to forge it. But we don't understand how it works. Clearly, we should. If it senses our emotions as Rhistel believes, surely we should be able to communicate with it, right? We did once…sort of. When Tori Healed it, forging the shattered pieces back together, we all heard it whispering to us.
But it's been silent in the weeks since, not even speaking to Tori. Like with so much else, we're fumbling along blindly, hoping we hit the right combination to tap into the skills we need to reveal its secrets.