#21 Sylvaran Keep

Rowyn POV

By the time they called my name, I was half dead from anxiety and boredom.

“Rowyn Vale,” the voice boomed.

Oh. Shit.

I stood, my legs wobbling, my heart jackhammering in my chest, and marched toward the massive double doors like I was headed straight to my damn execution. Which, let’s be honest, was on brand for my life lately.

Thistleblitz zipped around my head before diving into my hair. “I got you, girl,” she whispered from my curls. “Just don’t pass out or bleed on me.”

I gave a weak smirk. “Noted.”

Inside the chamber, the air was thick with enchantments. Five officials sat behind a long obsidian table, cloaked in varying levels of “I make important decisions and wear expensive robes about it.” In the center of the table, the Chalice of Revelation gleamed like it knew every last one of my dirty secrets.

A man with a crisp accent gestured. “Please approach the chalice, Rowyn Vale. Use the blade to make a small incision on your palm. Let three drops of blood fall.”

I nodded, swallowing hard. My fingers trembled as I gripped the ceremonial blade, and sliced a shallow cut into my palm.

One drop. Two. The third drop hit the liquid, and the entire damn room hissed.

The chalice exploded in purple light, deep and swirling like someone poured a galaxy into it. Smoke curled into the air, and I blinked fast when glowing letters started forming above it, horrifyingly clear.

Vaelryn. Godkiller Heir. 13 Magics.

All five officials gasped like they’d just seen a naked god. One woman actually slapped her hands over her mouth.

And I just stood there. Like a dumbass.

“Uh… where do I go now?” I asked, still bleeding onto the floor. “Because this seems a little above my pay grade.”

From the shadows, a cold, sharp voice sliced through the air.

“You come with us, Rowyn Vale.”

I froze. Oh hell no.

The Obsidian Accord bitch from the headmaster’s office stepped forward, draped in murder vibes and evil confidence, her heels clicking like a death sentence.

Thistle burst from my hair like a tiny purple rocket. “NOPE,” she shrieked. “The Queen says NOT TODAY, SATAN!”

Her little hands flung outward, a burst of raw magic blasting from her body, and the world flipped sideways.

Next thing I knew, I was up on a balcony, in Zephyr’s arms, screaming like a banshee.

“Hold on, babe,” he said like this was just a normal Tuesday, his wings tearing from his back in a gust of wind. “We gotta go!”

Kalyx was already on the ground, running like a damn beast out of a myth. His silver eyes locked with mine, and even while fleeing for my life, my brain short circuited because, holy shit, my men were hot.

“Where are we going!?” I shouted over the wind.

“To my mom,” Zephyr yelled. “She won’t let those fuckers touch you.”

Good. Because I was fresh out of backup plans.

We flew for what felt like an hour. My hair whipped in every direction. My arms were locked around Zeph’s neck like a damn koala. Thistle buzzed angry threats at any bird or bat that got too close.

When we finally landed, I collapsed on the ground, dizzy and dazed, just in time to see Kalyx standing smug as hell at a massive iron gate.

“Too slow, wing boy.”

Zephyr scowled. “I literally flew.”

“And I still beat you.” Kalyx shrugged like a cocky wolf who just caught his prey.

I looked between them, panting. “Am I supposed to be impressed or exhausted?”

Zeph rolled his eyes and pressed his fingerprint to the gate. Silver runes lit up, and the gate creaked open, revealing a fairytale level path leading to the most gorgeous fucking mansion keep I’d ever seen.

“Welcome to Sylvaran Keep,” he said, all dramatic and proud.

My jaw dropped. “You grew up here?”

A woman’s laugh rang out, and a silver haired goddess of a woman sprinted out the front door, her hair flying behind her like a battle banner.

“My boy!” she cried, throwing her arms around Zeph. “Kalyx! And who is this?”

Zephyr pulled up his sleeve, showing the star point tattoo.

“This is Rowyn Vale, Mom. Descendant of Vaelryn. The Godkiller Heir. She has thirteen magics. And she’s our center.”

Her face went pale. She gasped, covering her mouth.

“And the Obsidian Accord tried to take her,” Zeph added, his voice tight.

I lifted a hand. “Hi. So… is it okay if I collapse now?”

The woman composed herself in one graceful breath, then looked me over like she was already planning to go to war on my behalf.

“I’m Liora Sylvaran,” she said, lifting her chin. “And fuck the Accord. I’d love to see those pompous bastards try to take you from here.”

Okay. New favorite person.

She spun around and clapped her hands, her voice sharp enough to cut steel. “Form perimeter protocol seven. Reinforce the gates. Activate wards. I want this entire keep on magical lockdown in under three minutes.”

Boom...instant chaos.

Soldiers and mages in sleek silver and black uniforms exploded into motion, climbing towers, casting spells, and forming defensive circles like we were prepping for a damn siege.

I blinked. “Damn. Y’all don’t mess around.”

Liora turned back to me, all warmth again like she hadn’t just commanded an army. “Let’s get you inside, darling. You look like you need a warm bed, hot food, and maybe a glass of wine.”

My stomach chose that exact moment to growl like a demon beast. Zeph laughed and pulled me close while Kalyx grabbed my hand like it was his.

People stared as we walked, but I was too damn exhausted to care.

Liora waved them off. “Ignore the gawking. Starwoven bonds haven’t appeared in over a thousand years. No one alive has seen one. You three are miraculous. A blessing.”

I glanced between my boys and yeah, it felt like fate. Twisted, chaotic fate wrapped in a glittering shitstorm, but still… fate.

Liora sighed like a dramatic queen. “Of course, it’s not exactly relaxing that my only son is neck deep in a godkiller prophecy, but hey, we’ll make it work.”

That made me laugh, and weirdly, calmed the panic still clawing at my ribs.

We walked through halls out of a fantasy novel, stone walls with ivy, glowing runes, chandeliers, plush carpets. Pure magic.

Finally, she opened a tall wooden door and waved me in. “Your room. The wardrobe should have clothes close to your size, maybe not your vibe, but wearable. Make yourself at home.”

I stepped inside. And I broke.

The door clicked shut behind me, and I collapsed onto the massive four poster bed, clutching the only thing I owned, my leather backpack.

Tears stung my eyes and poured down my cheeks before I could stop them. Everything was too much. Too fast. No home. No family. No idea who I was becoming.

Just… ancient magic, unwanted power, and two ridiculously hot guys who suddenly claimed me?

I sniffled, yanked open the bag, and dug through it. “Please still be here…”

My fingers brushed familiar leather. I pulled out my notebook and flipped it open, scribbling like a prayer.

Vaerion? Are you there? Please tell me you can reach me.

I waited. Nothing. The page stayed blank. We were too far.

Shit.

A soft glow brushed my cheek, and I looked up to find Thistle fluttering beside me, her wings dim and slow as she landed in my lap.

“It will be okay, my heir,” she whispered. “You are not alone.”

I nodded, wiping my face. She was right. I may not understand any of this.

But I wasn’t alone.

Not anymore.