Chapter Thirteen: Revelation

I’d been pacing the center of the Wizard’s hut for what felt like hours, every creak of the wooden floorboards echoing my frustration. The old man, meanwhile, sat perfectly still in his crooked chair, puffing his pipe like we had all the damn time in the world.

“Rest, Charlie,” he said finally, his tone maddeningly calm. Smoke curled from his lips in lazy spirals. “Pacing won’t tell us where Carter is, nor how to find him.”

My hands balled into fists. “What do you want me to do then? Sit on my ass and puff a pipe like you?”

“Charlie!” Snow’s voice was sharp, shocked—but the Wizard only smiled, a knowing, pitying thing that made my stomach twist.

“It’s all right, Snow,” he said, his eyes never leaving me. “He’s angry because he’s afraid. And because he blames himself.”

I froze mid-step. “Excuse me?”

“You and I both know I’m right,” he said softly, smoke ghosting around his face like a veil.

My jaw locked, but I couldn’t meet his eyes. He was right—and that made it worse. Because no matter how hard I tried to shove it down, I did blame myself. If I’d just followed Carter into the Shadowvale—if I’d just listened to that gut-sick feeling clawing at my chest—he’d still be here. He wouldn’t have vanished into whatever hell swallowed him whole.

And that thought was what kept me pacing… because stopping meant facing it.

Snow’s voice broke through the storm in my head. “Charlie, you need to breathe.”

“I am breathing,” I snapped, though my chest burned like fire.

“No, you’re spiraling,” she countered, stepping closer. Her tone softened. “You think this is helping him? Because it’s not. It’s only tearing you apart.”

I turned to her then, eyes blazing. “You didn’t see him, Snow! You didn’t see the look in his eyes before he disappeared. He was terrified—and I just stood there.”

Her lips parted, but no words came. The silence between us was thick, heavy. The Wizard’s pipe crackled faintly, the only sound filling the air.

Finally, he spoke again, his tone grave this time. “Carter’s mark has awakened. I can feel its pull even now.”

Snow’s face went pale. “Then it’s true,” she whispered.

“What’s true?” I demanded, stepping closer to the old man.

He lifted his eyes, and for the first time, I saw something like fear behind them. “The prophecy is in motion,” he said quietly. “And your friend… he’s no longer just Carter Fisher.”

A cold chill slithered down my spine. I swallowed hard, but my voice came out as barely a whisper. “Then what is he?”

The Wizard met my gaze—steady, unblinking. "The beginning of the Wicked.”

“He wouldn’t give in to that,” I bit out, the words laced with disbelief. “Carter’s stronger than that—he wouldn’t let something like this take him.”

The Wizard exhaled a slow, weary sigh, his pipe smoke curling in the dim light. “Child…” His tone had changed—softer, almost pitying. “He hasn’t told you anything, has he?”

My jaw tightened. “Carter tells me everything. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, but I do.” The Wizard leaned forward, his ancient eyes glinting beneath his hood. “You think this is about strength? About will? You fool yourself, boy. This is about destiny.”

My fists balled at my sides. “Speak straight, old man. What are you saying?”

The Wizard’s lips curled into something grim, almost mournful. “Carter and the Wicked do not share the same Fate, Charlie…” His voice dropped lower, each word deliberate. “They are the same Fate. The same soul. Two halves of a dying star, bound to destroy or save this realm depending on which half wins control.”

I froze, the world tilting beneath my feet. “That’s impossible.”

The Wizard shook his head slowly. “Is it? When you looked into the Wicked’s eyes, tell me, what did you see?”

“I saw…” I stopped, swallowing hard. The memory clawed its way back—those mismatched eyes, one red, one black. The same eyes I’d seen every day for years. My stomach turned. “No,” I whispered. “No, I’d know if—”

“You did know.” The Wizard’s voice cut through me like a blade. “You felt it the moment he stood before you. You just refused to accept it. The Wicked isn’t Carter’s enemy, Charlie. He is Carter—everything he’s buried, everything the mark was meant to awaken.”

I shook my head violently, stepping back as if the words themselves were poison. “You’re lying. You have to be lying.”

“I wish I were,” the Wizard said quietly, eyes heavy with centuries of regret. “Because if I’m right…” He looked toward the door, where the storm raged against the world outside. “…then your best friend is already halfway gone.”

Silence filled the hut after the Wizard’s final words. The only sound was the faint crackle of the fire — soft, mocking. My mind refused to process what I’d just heard.

Carter… and the Wicked? The same person?

No. It couldn’t be.

My throat burned as I finally managed to speak. “You’re lying,” I said, though my voice was shaking. “You’re trying to scare me into giving up. Carter’s not—he’s not that monster.”

The Wizard leaned forward, the firelight casting shadows across the lines of his face. “The mark that binds him—the sigil—it connects their souls. It doesn’t just link them, Charlie. It is them. The Wicked is not a separate being wearing Carter’s skin. He is Carter, just... consumed by what the curse makes of him.”

I stared at him, heart pounding so hard it hurt. “So what? You’re saying this is all fate? That he’s doomed no matter what we do?”

“There is no fate,” the Wizard said quietly. “Only choices. But some choices carry a weight heavier than most can bear. Carter tried to fight it once, but the darkness in him…it was born from sacrifice, from pain, from something even I can’t undo.”

Snow, who had been standing silently, finally spoke, her voice trembling. “There has to be a way to save him. There has to be.”

The Wizard shook his head slowly. “You cannot save a man from himself, child. You can only remind him of who he once was.

I turned away from them, my hands shaking. My vision blurred, whether from anger or grief, I couldn’t tell.

“Then that’s exactly what I’ll do,” I said through gritted teeth. “I don’t care what he’s become. If there’s even a piece of Carter left in there, I’m going to find him—and I’ll drag him back before the Wicked takes what’s left of him.”

The Wizard’s eyes darkened, his voice a low murmur. “Be careful what you chase, Charlie Greene. For when you find him… he may not recognize you anymore.”

“So what am I supposed to do?” I snapped, throwing my hands out until the sleeves of my robe billowed. “Just stand here and listen? Watch Carter bleed away into the thing he’s been terrified of since we stepped through that Gate?”

The Wizard didn’t flinch. He rose slowly from his chair, the pipe smoke curling like a question mark as he moved toward the mantle above the dying hearth. “Of course not, Charlie,” he said, voice low and steady. “You fight.”

“Fight how?” My voice cracked on the last word. I felt ridiculous and desperate all at once—like a kid demanding answers from a god who preferred riddles.

He reached up and pulled down a narrow, dust-muted box that looked like it had been waiting four centuries for someone to notice it. The wood was darker than the shadows in the corner, and runes were carved along its lid in a hand older than any I’d seen. He set it on the table between us as if it weighed nothing at all.

“You don’t have the title Child of the Sun by accident,” he said, his eyes boring into mine. “Names are promises. They come with demands. You have gifts buried beneath the everyday boy you were—powers that can burn the dark back if you learn how to coax them out.”

My laugh was short and hollow. “Powers. Right. Because when Carter disappears, what I need most is a glow-up montage.”

Snow’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t interrupt. The Wizard’s face softened—just a hair—as if he felt sorry for what he was about to ask of me. He reached for the box and flipped its lid open with a tiny click. Inside lay a simple leather strap and a small medallion, its surface hammered into the shape of the sun, veins of dull gold running toward a crimson center. It hummed faintly, like something alive.

“Scarcity breeds strength,” he said, lifting the medallion so it caught the firelight. “This is a Sunbrand. It will not make you into a warrior overnight. It will hurt, and it will demand everything of you. But it will wake the things in you that were meant to stand against what hides in Carter.”

My throat tightened before I could stop it. “I don’t know how to do any of that.”

“That is why I will teach you,” the Wizard replied. “At dawn, you will place that medallion against your skin. You will learn to call the light, to hold it. You will learn to move when the dark tries to move you. You will train until your bones remember what your mind doubts.”

Outside, rain whispered on the roof. Inside, the little box glowed faintly, as if licking the edges of a promise. I could feel the weight of the choice settling on me—heavy, hot, impossible.

“I’ll do it,” I said before my fear finished speaking.

The Wizard inclined his head once, with the slow gravity of someone who had watched boys become storms and storms become ruin. “Good. Because there is no time—and because, Charlie, the light you learn to hold might be the only thing that pulls him back.”

Snow stepped forward then, face taut but determined. “We leave as soon as you say he is ready, Grandfather.”

She turned to me. “You will not go alone—Carter may not be the only one changed in Shadowvale.”

I stared at the medallion, at the sun hammered into its core, and felt something in me shift—not the reckless boy who laughed at dares, but a thread of something steadier. I slid my fingers over the metal and felt a tiny vibration, like a heartbeat answering mine.

If this was a promise, then I intended to keep it.

I turned to the Wizard, a new fire burning in my chest, scorching away the hesitation that had been clinging to me. “What do I need to do?”

The Wizard’s expression darkened, his usual calm replaced by something heavier—something that almost looked like pity. “We train,” he said solemnly. “But not just your hands or your blade. We prepare your mind, your will, your heart. Because what lies ahead will not only test your strength…” He paused, meeting my gaze with eyes that seemed to see far beyond me. “It will test your ability to look into Carter’s face—and still remember who the enemy truly is.”

A chill rippled down my spine at his words. The fire that had ignited inside me flickered for a brief moment, threatening to go out. Face Carter. The thought alone made my stomach twist into knots.

“How am I supposed to fight him if I can’t even think about hurting him?” I muttered, barely trusting my own voice.

The Wizard studied me quietly, his pipe resting idly between his fingers. “That is precisely why you must train. The Wicked feeds on hesitation—on mercy. He will use Carter’s face, his voice, even his memories against you. He will make you believe you can save him.”

I swallowed hard, my pulse hammering in my throat. “And can I?”

The Wizard’s silence was louder than any answer could’ve been. Finally, he said, almost a whisper, “That depends on which Carter you find first—the boy who still fights… or the one who’s already gone.”

The fire inside me didn’t fade this time. It roared. Then I clenched my fists, jaw set, and said, “Then I guess we better start training.”