“We didn’t used to be like this,” I said quietly. “Before us, the Fullvalda was believed to be one soul—reborn, lifetime after lifetime. One at a time. Never two. But the Fae world changed... and now you and I are all that remains.”
Ambrose’s expression shifted. His eyes—those same chestnut eyes I once trusted more than my own—were filled with quiet confusion. He looked so young in that moment, not in body, but in soul. Like someone standing on the edge of a cliff, staring into a sea they weren’t sure they wanted to fall into.
“You keep talking about our gift,” he said slowly, “but what even is it? If it’s not immortality... then what?” The tremble in his voice was slight, but I heard it. I could always hear it.
I hesitated, then locked eyes with him. “It’s energy,” I said, though the word felt too small for what I meant. “Life energy.”
That still wasn’t enough. But how do you explain to someone that their hands could cradle life—or end it—on a whim?
“You’ve heard the laws of nature, right? That energy can’t be created or destroyed. It just moves, changes shape. Life energy is the same. It flows through every living thing—creatures, plants, people. We can move it. Bend it. Give it. Take it.”
Ambrose tilted his head slightly, frowning. “So we can use our own life force to do all that?”
I shook my head. “That’s the one thing we can’t do. A Fullvalda can never draw from their own life energy. We can touch the energy of everything else around us—but not ourselves. That’s the rule. Maybe the only one.”
He was quiet for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Okay… I think I get it. Sort of.”
I gave him a faint smile, softer now. “It’s alright. You don’t have to understand all of it right now. It’ll make more sense if I take you back. To where it started. To who we used to be.”
“I want to know,” he said, his voice steadier. “I want to remember. I want to know who I really am.”
I swallowed the ache rising in my chest. You were always searching for that, Ambrose. Even before the fall. You never felt like you belonged anywhere. I didn’t say any of that aloud. Instead, I nodded. “Then I’ll start with my story. I was born in Amathara—in the palace.”
His eyes widened. “You were royalty?”
I laughed softly. “No, nothing like that. My mother was a palace maid. I was raised with the other servants’ children in the castle’s lower chambers. We weren’t allowed to be seen until we were old enough to work.”
-------
Everything smelled like firewood and flour. The palace kitchens never slept—someone was always chopping, boiling, stirring, baking. It was the heart of the palace, even if no noble ever acknowledged it.
That morning was warm. The stoves glowed, and fresh bread filled the air with its soft, comforting sweetness.
I saw her—my mother—standing at one of the long stone counters, her dark brown hair twisted loosely behind her head, strands falling as she worked. Her green eyes—eyes I still see in the mirror—caught mine, and she smiled. I ran to her, barefoot on cold stone, and wrapped my arms around her waist.
“Well, hello, my little one,” she murmured, hugging me back. “Nervous for the big day?”
I blinked at her, confused for half a second, until I remembered. The Illumination Ceremony. Every child who turned ten that year would be examined beneath the eternal flame. Our gifts—the marks of our magic—would be revealed.
“I won’t be nervous if you’re with me.”
She kissed the top of my head. “Then you have nothing to fear.” She sent me off to prepare with the other children, and I didn’t look back.
We darted through the lower corridors, our bare feet slapping softly against stone. My long green skirt fanned out behind me, and my frilled white shirt clung uncomfortably to my frame, too tight in the shoulders and too loose at the sleeves.
We reached the overgrown archway that led to our secret exit—a thick curtain of vines we had trained to grow just right. On the other side, the gardens. Beyond them, the woods.
We moved in bursts, one at a time, signaling each other with soft birdcalls. When it was my turn, I sprinted for the tree line. One, two, three, four seconds—I made it.
Out here, everything changed. There were no rules in the forest. No eyes watching. Just children set loose among the trees.
We followed the winding trail to the riverbank where we bathed and played and forgot, for just a little while, that tonight everything would change.
Arabella called to me from the water. “Come on, Junie!”
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The sunlight danced across her dark skin, and her short, coily black hair bounced as she ran. She was always the brave one. I didn’t hesitate—I dove into the cool water with her.
Some of us would be taken after the ceremony. The rare ones. Healers. The Cruthu Fae, who could craft buildings and trinkets from nothing but thought. And the Fullvalda... the ones the crown prized most. I didn’t think I was one of them.
As the sun dipped low, I scrubbed at my arms and hair with what little soap I had left and climbed onto the riverbank.
“We should get back,” I said, offering my hand to Arabella. She pulled me instead, dragging me back into the water with a loud splash.
“Stop being so serious! What if this is the last time we get to play together?” Her smile faltered, just for a second. I didn’t answer. We both knew the truth.
By the time we returned, damp footprints followed us through the stone corridors. The children’s hall buzzed with nerves. Cots and crates and voices filled the space. I knelt beside mine and dug through the small wooden chest that held everything I owned—much of it scavenged. My fingers found it quickly: the purple dress.
It was a dusky violet color, soft with age but carefully preserved. It had belonged to Cassidy, a girl who’d been taken to serve the Adair royal court after her ceremony. I hadn’t seen her since.
The sleeves were short and clung gently to my arms. The fabric was stitched with delicate lilac thread at the hems, and though the skirt flared a little awkwardly at my calves, it moved like water when I walked. I loved it. I didn’t know why, not then. I just felt... right in it.
I caught a glimpse of myself in the cracked mirror we all shared. My mother’s eyes met mine. My dark brown hair—thick, unruly, with hints of gold that caught the light—was still damp. I grabbed my old wooden brush and tugged it through, wincing each time it snagged. The knots fought me, but I didn’t stop until the strands flowed freely down my back in soft waves.
Then came the sound of metal. Heavy boots and clanking armor. The guards. They weren’t here to protect us.
I stood and we lined up and followed the orders they barked at us. I counted twenty-two of us. We used to be thirty-four. No one blamed the children that fled, not even their families. It was an unfortunate truth of our lives that even if we chose to stay, we could still be dragged from our families anyway. The children that left and abandoned the illumination ceremony would either spend their lives in hiding or be caught and either executed or imprisoned depending on the gift that they bore. I thought about running once, but I couldn’t abandon my mther, and Arabella needed me. I sent a silent prayer to Gaia that the twelve children from our ranks that chose to run would find the peace that they so desired.
When the trapdoor above us opened, we climbed into the throne room—and into a different world. The hall was made of dark slate stone, carved with winding vines and flowering patterns. Massive pillars flanked the path leading to three towering thrones.
They were crafted from twisted wood and woven vines, upholstered in green leaf-silk that shimmered like wet moss.
On the center throne sat King Rowen Adair. His dark brown eyes carried warmth, and his smile softened the weight of his crown. He was an Arden, able to shape and grow plants with only his thoughts.
To his left sat his eternal pair—Queen Terra, a Breyta. Her hair was long and pale, cascading down her back like snowfall. Slender and composed, she radiated stillness, but her power was buried deep in the earth. Breyta could command rock and stone, reshaping the land with thought alone. When Queen Terra wished to silence a room, she didn’t speak—she made the ground tremble.
Eternal Pairs were soul-bound partners—two Fae whose gifts and lives were intertwined from the moment they were born. Every soul had one, though not all lived long enough—or bravely enough—to find them.
To the king’s right sat their son—Prince Briar Adair, now twelve. A powerful young Arden, he was adored by the court and often displayed his talents in public ceremonies. He had his mother’s cold composure and her hunger for control, even at that age.
The eternal flame hovered beside the king. A twisting orb of golden light that pulsed with life. When a child stepped beneath it, it revealed a glowing symbol on their forehead—the mark of their gift. Only the king could see the symbol, but the glow gave away one truth: all gifts from Gaia glowed green. Only the Fullvalda glowed gold.
No one explained what to do. We just knew. One by one, children stepped forward.
“Caspian Peirce,” a boy said. The king held the flame over him. A soft green glow filled the space.
“Cruthu.”
They led him through a side door. He didn’t look back.
All the others followed suit. Stepping forward announcing their name, and then the King would announce their fate aloud for all to hear.
“Arden.”
“Healer.”
“Arden.”
Then came the girl with deep purple hair. She walked slowly, her gaze steady. She was taller than most of us, and though her eyes were quiet, there was a strength in how she held herself.
“Lyra Vael.” She mumbled.
“Ruhig,” the king said.
Ruhig Fae could take away pain—emotional and physical—but only by absorbing it into themselves. A gift born of compassion, but a dangerous one. Their minds frayed over time. Their hearts wore down. She would be expected to heal, comfort, and protect—but rarely would anyone protect her. Something about her lingered in my mind long after she stepped out of view.
As the King kept announcing names, the line in front of us grew shorter and shorter, and as the distance closed my heart began to race faster and faster. Arabella stood with confidence and I envied her spirit. Eventually, all that was between the King and I was Arabella.
“Arabella Conall.” She announced, shoulders square and standing tall.
“Arden.” The King's words echoed through the halls like the jingling sound of shackles. The weight of the words not lost on the crowd that knew that her gift wasn’t rare enough to spare her. She would be assigned to the kingdom’s outer farms, where her magic would be used to grow crops for noble houses—or worse, she’d be sent to another realm entirely, a political gift wrapped in green light.
She didn’t turn around as they led her away. Not even to say goodbye. But I saw her hand brush her eyes. It wasn’t the ceremony that broke her. It was that no one stopped it. Not even me. And I would carry that silence for the rest of my life.
Then I was alone. I stepped forward.
“Juniper Blumen,” I said, barely louder than a whisper.
The king’s gaze met mine—soft, searching. The flame rose. I felt it touch my forehead, warm and strange. I waited for green. Instead, the chamber filled with a blinding gold light.
The king’s voice rang out, calm and clear. “Fullvalda.”
-------
A loud rumble from Ambrose’s stomach tugged me back. He blinked, a little sheepish. “Sorry. I guess I’m starvin’.” I gave him a tired smile and stood.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s eat something. We’ve got a long story ahead of us.”
