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“The black salt only repels the Asteri; the mists repel everyone else. But certain people, with certain gifts, can access the power of thin places—on any world. World-walkers.” Aidas gestured gracefully to Bryce. “You are one of them. So were Helena and Theia. Their natural abilities lent themselves to moving through the mists.”

Bryce brushed invisible dirt off her shoulders,

“Add it to Bryce’s list of Magical Starborn Princess crap,” Hunt said, chuckling. But then he frowned deeply. “If the sword and knife could open a portal to nowhere all along, why didn’t Theia use them herself in the First Wars?”

“Because she was scared,” Aidas said, his voice suddenly tense. “For everyone.”

“Right,” Bryce said. “Ultimate destruction.”

“Yes,” Aidas said. Thanatos gave a disdainful snort, but Apollion looked at Aidas with something like compassion. “Theia,” Aidas explained, “had theorized about what uniting the blades would do, but never put it into practice. She was afraid that if she opened a portal to nowhere, all of Midgard might get drawn in. She might succeed in trapping the Asteri in another world only to damn this world to follow them right in. So she opted for caution. And by the time she should have damned caution to the wind … it was too late for her. For us. It was safer, wiser, for her to separate the blades, and her power.”

“But Helena felt differently,” Bryce said.

“Helena believed the risk worthwhile,” Aidas said. “She suffered greatly in the years following the First Wars—and saw the suffering of others, too. I came to agree with her. She wouldn’t tell me where she moved Theia’s power, but I know she left it accessible for the future scion who might emerge, bearing Helena’s own third of Theia’s light. The person who could somehow, against all odds, unite the pieces of Theia’s power—and then the two blades.”

“What blinds an Oracle?” Bryce whispered.

“Theia’s star,” Aidas said softly. “I told you: The Oracle did not see that day … but I did. I saw you, so young and bright and brave, and the starlight Helena had told me to wait for. That third of Theia’s power, passed down through Helena’s line.”

Hunt demanded, “But what is Bryce supposed to do? Find that last piece of Theia’s power, use it on the blades, and open this portal to nowhere while praying we don’t all get locked in with the Asteri, too?”

“That’s about the sum of it,” Aidas said, his eyes fixed on Bryce. “But there was one thing Theia and Helena did not anticipate: that you would bear the Horn, reborn, in your body. Another way to open doors between worlds.”

“And what’s she supposed to do with that?” Hunt snarled.

Aidas smiled slightly. “Fully open the Northern Rift, of course.”

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“So,” Bryce said slowly, as if letting the words sink in, “why not use the Horn to open the portal to nowhere?”

“Because no one knows what that is—where it is. The sword and knife are pinpointed to its location, somehow. They are the only way to get to that nowhere-place.”

Hunt’s head spun. Hel, his head had been spinning nonstop for the past ten minutes. But Bryce was having none of it. “What if I never got the knife back? What if I never came to Avallen? What if I never got the chance, or refused to come here, or whatever?”

Apollion and Thanatos shifted in their seats, either bored or on edge, but Aidas continued speaking. “I do not know how Helena hoped you would be able to retrieve the knife from her home world. As for Avallen … Helena wanted me to nudge you along. But you harbored such hatred for the Fae—you would never have trusted me if I had pushed you to travel to their stronghold.”

“That’s true,” Bryce muttered.

“My brothers and I had doubts about Helena’s plans. We continued to rest our hopes on reopening the Northern Rift so that we could continue the fight against the Asteri. If someone like you, a world-walker, did come along and Avallen was somehow not accessible for you to claim Theia’s power, we still needed a way to … fuel you up, as it were.” He faced Hunt at last.

Hunt could barely breathe. Here—after all this waiting … here were the answers.

“You are the son of my two brothers only in the vaguest sense,” Aidas said.

Something in Hunt’s chest eased—even as his stomach roiled.

“Thanatos refused to help at first,” Apollion added, glaring at his brother.

“I did not approve of the plan,” Thanatos snapped, gripping his helmet tight. “I still do not.”

“My brother,” Aidas said, nodding to Thanatos, “has long excelled at crafting things.”

“Funny,” Bryce said, “I didn’t take you for a quilter.”

Hunt gave her an incredulous look, but Aidas smiled before he said to Hunt, “During the First Wars, as you call them, Thanatos helped Apollion breed new types of demons to fight on our side. The kristallos, designed to hunt for the Horn—so we might find a way into Midgard unobstructed. The Shepherd. The deathstalkers.” A nod to Hunt, like he knew of the scar down Hunt’s back from one of them. “They were but a few of my brothers’ creations.”

Bryce shook her head. “But the kristallos venom can negate magic. If you knew how to do that, why did you not use it against the Asteri in the war?”