Ambrose sat at the kitchen table, shoulders tense and brows furrowed, meticulously studying every line of the ancient Fullvalda text. His fingers traced each symbol, his lips barely moving as he tried to sound out the language. The frustration was almost tangible, his magicless effort laid bare in the silence of the room.
He kept waiting for the meaning to click into place, for the symbols to suddenly take shape into understanding. I suppose, in a way, it was magic. For me, it had always been instinct. The language of the Gods had rolled from my tongue like second nature, unfurling meaning in my mind as easily as breath. There had been no moment of awakening, no sudden burst of clarity. It was as if I had always known it, as though my soul remembered what my mind never learned.
But this—this was the first thing I didn’t know how to teach him. There was no lesson plan. No translation key. Only patience, and hope.
I sat across from him and gently lowered the book from his white-knuckled grip to the table. “You know,” I said, offering him the break he refused to take himself, “you caused quite the uproar in our kingdom.”
He looked up with wide-eyed curiosity. “How so?”
“The whole ballroom went still. Not a single Fae knew how to react. Not even the King or Queen could find their voices, with you kneeling there in front of them. You were like a spark dropped in dry grass. Everyone froze, waiting for the fire.”
-------
I had risen from my throne that night, my heart beating like war drums in my chest. The King had not moved. The Queen watched like a predator, but neither of them stepped forward. So I did.
I crossed the floor slowly, the crowd parting around me like mist. All eyes fixed on the small boy with tanned skin and a head of unruly brown curls. He knelt in silence, trembling, a golden glow still lingering faintly at the center of his forehead.
I crouched beside him, resting a hand lightly on his back. “Stand and face them,” I whispered into his ear. “Show them you are unafraid.”
His wide eyes stared straight ahead, unblinking. His hands shook violently. I took one in mine, and though my own fingers trembled slightly, I kept my voice calm. Steady. We were two frightened children playing the part of legends.
I stood and brought him with me. I clasped his other hand, folding both of his into mine to hide the tremors. He looked up at me with those chestnut eyes, his lips quivering as if he meant to speak and couldn’t remember how.
The whispers started again, rising like the tide. The attention of the court shifted to the King, who remained motionless, and then to the Queen, who lifted her hand.
A deep green swirl of magic coiled in her palm. Then, without warning, she struck the floor. The ground trembled. No, it roared. The quake rolled through the ballroom with such force that I stumbled forward, barely catching my balance. Half the court fell. Even the strongest Fae clutched the air, unsteady on their feet.
Then came the silence.
As the crowd slowly stood again, shaken, the King stepped forward from behind us and gently placed a hand on each of our shoulders. His touch was unexpectedly soft. He turned us to face the gathering.
“Never in the recorded history of the Fae,” he began, his voice strong but strangely reverent, “have two Fullvalda existed in the same lifetime.” He let the words settle before continuing.
“We have felt the tension mounting, the whispers of war creeping ever closer. But now, we have our sign. Gaia has marked us. The gods favor us. And to our enemies—any who would challenge the might of Amathara—know this: we have never been stronger. We will defend what is ours, and if you threaten us, we will take what is yours.”
His declaration echoed against the stone walls. Then the chamber erupted. Cheers burst like thunder. Every Amatharan dropped to their knees, fists to hearts. The floor was a sea of green and gold and devotion. I tightened my hold on the boy’s hand. He needed to know I was still there. That he wasn’t alone in this.
The King leaned close to my ear. “Get this boy out of here. Take him to your chambers. Let no one else see him.”
Stolen story; please report.
I nodded once. Turning back to the crowd, I gave a single wave and the smile I had practiced a thousand times. Then I turned on my heel and led the boy behind the thrones. Lady Nerezza followed in our wake, silent as always.
We moved quickly through the gleaming halls of the palace, beneath vaulted ceilings and chandeliers made of glowing suncrystals. He clutched my hand tightly. His wide eyes drank in every detail—the velvet drapes, the golden inlays, the portraits of royal ancestors long turned to dust.
At last, we reached my private door. And there, for the first time, it had changed. Beneath the familiar ring of glyphs that granted me entry, a second phrase had been etched, still glowing faintly. My fingers brushed over it as I read the new inscription.
A cry resounded; powers divided, and now the burden shared.
It wasn’t for him. It was for me. Gaia had sent another Fullvalda.
“I was just as scared as you when I first arrived,” I whispered, not wanting to startle him. “My name is Juniper Bl—”
“I know who you are,” he interrupted. “You’re the Fullvalda. My friends told me you were a Goddess. Is that true?” His voice was small, but filled with awe.
I knelt beside him. “No. I’m not a Goddess. I’m just a vessel. The magic of Gaia flows through me. And soon, it will flow through you, too.”
I turned to the door. “This passage only opens for those who can read the words. Do you want to try?”
He stepped closer, studying the glyphs. His brow furrowed. Then he shook his head, looking down. “I don’t know how to read our language, m’lady. The symbols don’t mean anything to me.”
I smiled gently. “That’s alright. We’ll learn together.”
I placed my hand on the stone and spoke both phrases aloud. The doorway parted with a low rumble.
Inside, everything was as I had left it—except for the new bed hanging from a young tree that hadn’t been there before. A bed meant for him. I helped him into it, the weight of the night beginning to show in his limbs.
“I told you my name,” I said. “What should I call you?”
He blinked up at me. “Ambrose,” he whispered. “My name is Ambrose.” He repeated it again, softer, like he was afraid it might slip away.
“And what about your family, Ambrose? Can I help you find them?”
His expression fell. “I don’t know who they are. I’ve been looking for them for as long as I can remember.”
Without thinking, I wrapped him in a hug. I knew what that emptiness felt like. No words could fill it.
My mind wandered to my father, or rather the idea of him. My mother had never told me his name, only that he was from Kalik, the realm of storms, ruled by the fierce and fickle Goddess Indra. I had stopped asking questions about him once I became Fullvalda.
A loud knock at the door shattered the moment.
Startled, I rose quickly and crossed the chamber, already feeling the shift in magic as I reached for the handle. When I opened the door, Queen Terra stood there, flanked by two guards bearing her crest. Lady Nerezza trailed behind her like a silent shadow.
As soon as the stone doorway parted, my magic drained from me, as it always did in the Queen’s presence. She stepped past me without a word, her gaze locked on Ambrose.
“What are you doing?” I asked, but my voice faltered beneath the weight of the moment. The Queen didn’t respond. She gave a single nod, and the guards rushed forward.
Ambrose screamed, twisting and kicking as they seized him. I tried to lunge forward, but Lady Nerezza’s spell bound my muscles in place. My arms locked. My breath caught. My body would not obey.
I watched helplessly as they dragged him toward the door. Just before he disappeared from sight, a flicker of light burst in his hand—a golden spark, brief but bright, just like a Fae’s first instinctive connection to magic. It sputtered, then vanished.
He was beginning to awaken. That was impossible. He had two years before his power was meant to manifest. Lady Nerezza and the Queen hadn’t noticed the gold spark, and I knew I had to keep it secret until I could learn more.
The Queen did not react to his screams. She turned, swept out of the room, and the stone sealed behind her.
Only after the echo of her footsteps faded did Lady Nerezza release me. I crumpled to the ground, my limbs shuddering from strain. She knelt beside me.
“They won’t hurt him,” she whispered. “They’ll hide him, hide their next great weapon. Tell everyone it was a lie—that a Volturra, a shapeshifting Fae from Arcanum, impersonated a second Fullvalda.”
“No one will believe that,” I murmured, though I already doubted myself.
“She will make them believe it,” Lady Nerezza replied. “She always does.”
“That will mean war,” I said quietly.
“War is already upon us Juniper.” She left the way she had come. The stone doorway sealed, leaving me alone with my returning magic—and the silence.
-------
“Where did they take me?!” Ambrose’s voice broke the stillness, urgent and full of childlike disbelief.
“To this day, I still don’t know,” I said softly. “Somewhere deep in the palace. Guarded. Hidden. Enchanted so thoroughly even I couldn’t find you. I didn’t see you again until they allowed me to train you in the forest.”
Ambrose looked down at the closed book in front of him. Then, slowly, he reached for one and opened it—the journal of Sarala Netzel, one of the most revered and remembered Fullvalda.
She had ended the Cordelian Wars seven centuries ago by riding samorogs into battle with a trained squad of riders. She also discovered the magic of Furtum—a well-kept secret among Fullvalda, one she urged all of us desperately to hide. If only she had written more about the true dangers she discovered in wielding it.
He tried to read, eyes dancing across the ancient glyphs. I watched him carefully.
Then I opened one of the oldest texts in my possession, running a hand over its faded cover, and began to read. The stories of those who came before me filled the room like forgotten voices.
Somewhere within these pages was the truth I needed. And this time, I would not look away until I found it.
