Page 60 of Legacy of the Heirs (The Lost Kingdom Saga #2)

Larelle

L arelle refrained from smiling at the look Alvan gave her while handing over the scrolls.

“ You were right, ” was what she imagined he would say as the group looked to her for answers.

What would they have done if Osiris had other plans for her?

They would not have her talisman, or the different options for how to call upon their gods.

Perhaps this would always be her role: the organiser, the scholar.

She wished the Historian were here to offer guidance on which options could work, though that was assuming he even knew the answer.

Despite the uncertainty he had placed in her mind regarding Kazaar, Larelle trusted his opinion and wisdom and hoped that his knowledge, aided by the fighters alongside him, kept him safe during his travels. The absence of letters concerned her.

Larelle and Alvan had scoured through the pages of Vivian’s oldest book of prayers.

Most were difficult to make sense of, written in riddles or an unfamiliar language.

It had never crossed Larelle’s mind that different languages might have existed on Ithyion.

Eventually, they settled on three prayers, referencing all four gods.

“We brought the oldest references to the gods we could find,” Larelle began.

“I suggest we read them aloud as a collective, like the prayer they are intended to be. The words, along with the presence of the talismans, should hopefully be enough to summon their spirits.” Scepticism flickered across the room.

Nyzaia and Caellum wore matching frowns.

Nevertheless, Larelle passed around multiple handwritten copies of each prayer and allowed them all a moment to scan the words.

She looked to each ruler, who raised their heads and gave a nod of confirmation as she went around the circle.

Taking a deep breath, Larelle led the first prayer.

“The God of fire, we thank for strength.

The Goddess of water, we thank for sight.

The God of earth, we thank for health.

The Goddess of air, we thank for light.

From the four to the threes, we give to thee.

Our soul and love for the right to be.

When all seems lost, we ask for your way.

Deem us worthy to hear your say.”

Larelle looked at each talisman resting on the table before searching the eyes of each ruler, none of which glowed.

Not that one, then. She passed around another prayer, remaining hopeful.

The second still focused on the gods, but as they read it, it touched more on blessing the lands.

They read the next prayer in a unanimous, monotone voice at the edge of their seats.

Still, nothing happened. The same occurred on their third attempt.

Nothing. They read a line one by one, but nothing.

They even read the prayers standing, but nothing.

“This is useless,” Nyzaia said, voicing what they likely all thought.

“There has to be a way; the prophecy was clear,” said Elisara, rubbing her eyes. Kazaar squeezed her shoulders, and Larelle sighed, thinking it through. Caellum caught her eye, whose gaze focused on the talisman while he gripped Sadira’s hand.

“ The Gods may whisper and help them on, only if all possess that from Ithyion,” Caellum murmured. The talisman before him glowed, and they all widened their eyes.

“ The Gods may whisper and help them on, only if all possess that from Ithyion,” Nyzaia repeated, her talisman suddenly radiating the shade of her flames.

“The prophecy!” Elisara exclaimed. “Perhaps that is the message they need. They need confirmation we know the prophecy. ”

Larelle stood and gripped the talisman, surrendering to the power that had consumed her when she parted the ocean.

Nerida’s power flowed through Larelle as she realised it was not just a prophecy but a summoning ritual.

She glanced at the others: flames filled Nyzaia’s eyes, and a pale blue—almost ghostly white—burned in Elisara’s.

To her right, where Caellum gripped Sadira’s hand, his eyes remained their usual brown, but the talisman in his left hand glowed all the same.

Soren’s eyes matched Sadira’s and faintly glowed behind the pair, but her gaze narrowed on Caellum’s back.

“We recite the whole prophecy,” Larelle commanded. The fog on the floor rose and twisted around their bodies, reaching for their hands. The flames in the room brightened in contrast to the darkening afternoon sky. Although the sun still shone, the moon crept towards it.

"The door to the soul bears all to hear,

Multiple generations is the rule of the seer.

With those of white and those of black,

The spirit of the first makes their way back.

When the darkness returns, sacrifice is made,

In the wake of disaster, the return of the blade.

When light meets dark in the rarest of times,

When all that is left is the last of the lines.

The power to awaken that of old lore,

Lies in the soul of those with all four.

From fire and ice, the King and Queen must hide,

Secrets from the past, the heirs must find.

Only together can they defeat and restore,

Only together can they gain so much more.

The Gods may whisper and help them on,

Only if all possess that from Ithyion.”

Each heir glowed as the colours of their realms encircled them, extending for the sky.

Blue coated Larelle’s skin and intertwined with the thrum of power running through her veins, yet the power stuttered like a heart skipping a beat, not quite cementing within her.

Light surrounded and pulsed around the other heirs, but it flickered, too.

It isn’t holding. It’s not enough , Larelle realised as their radiance began to fade, threatening to disappear completely.

As the moon covered the sun and swallowed the final slither of light, plunging the sky into darkness, Larelle whispered the final words to the prophecy—the words delivered by the Historian when he warned her of Kazaar.

“Watch for the dark one that will bring suffering to all: the rise of old power, the Kingdom will fall.”

Light exploded throughout the room, throwing Larelle’s hair up into the air, floating around her as she tightened her grip on the talisman and closed her eyes, blinded by its dominance in the dark room.

Behind her eyelids, Larelle sensed it fading, and finally, she opened her eyes.

The moon hovered before the sun, casting the city in darkness.

“Holy shit, it worked!” Nyzaia cut through the stunned silence.

Slowly, Larelle lowered her eyes from the sky, but nothing prepared her for Nerida’s intent stare.

She materialised as an apparition and stood on the table, looking down at her descendant.

Larelle bowed her head on instinct and remained there until she felt the slightest touch against her shoulder.

A shiver ran down Larelle’s arm before a tranquillity settled over her when her body recognised its maker.

She met Nerida’s deep-blue eyes. Larelle could not read the goddess’ expression as she scanned Larelle’s features with a tilt of her head.

She looked the same as the portrait in her father’s hidden room.

Her silver tiara of waves pulled back her tightly coiled hair and framed her high cheekbones.

“Daughter of mine,” she whispered, her voice like silk.

The panels of fabric on her ghostly dress floated around her like she was underwater, and Larelle craved to reach out and touch them—touch her.

She was too stunned to speak, however, and was not the only one as she tore her eyes from Nerida’s watchful gaze.

To her right, Soren knelt behind Sadira and Caellum, whose heads were also bowed.

The man standing on the table before them was tall, his side profile firm as he examined the three.

While Larelle could not see him face on, she saw the scrunch of his face, and his frown as he peered at the two whose golden hair matched his and the man who wore the crown.

Garridon stepped down from the table to survey them from all angles.

Nerida floated until standing beside Larelle.

The movement allowed Larelle to see the others.

Keres wore a smirk similar to Nyzaia’s as he watched her with a matching glow in his eyes.

They look like siblings, Larelle thought, as did Kazaar, who stood to the side with his hand on Elisara’s shoulder.

Vala towered over them with fury on her face as her silver hair floated around her frame.

Her ice-blue gaze was different from the bright white reflected in Elisara’s, and it seemed to anger the goddess, who turned her back and surveyed the room before stepping down from the table.

Larelle shifted in her seat and glanced to see if anyone else had noticed Vala’s behaviour though everyone was focused on their own gods.

The four gods paced the room and silently circled the table, a cold breeze trailing with their movements. Their voices echoed throughout the room, and while each spoke separately, their words formed full sentences.

“You call,” Nerida began.

“Upon us—”

“Why—”

“Children?” Garridon finished.

Larelle shifted under the weight of their booming voices echoing off the stone walls as each god spoke a word in turn. She tried to catch another ruler’s eye, but all were too distracted by their gods, except for Elisara, who stared at her hands.

“We need your help.” Larelle lifted her head to meet Nerida’s eye, who continued circling the room. A slight smile graced her face as Larelle spoke.

“You wake us—”

“For help—”

“For aid—”

“For answers. ”

Larelle nodded as Nerida spoke the final words of their unified sentence.

“The one—”

“With all four—”

“Awakens.” Vala did not contribute; instead, the goddess glared at Elisara and Kazaar.

“The kingdom—”

“Can fall—”

“To the darkness.”

Again, Vala said nothing, and her siblings cast odd glances her way. Nyzaia sighed and leaned forward.

“We know.” She tapped the talisman on the table. “We have seen the dark creatures; they have attacked and killed; they even took one of us.” When Nyzaia looked at Larelle, Nerida twisted her head to her descendant, concern swimming in her eyes.

“You are okay?” Larelle kept her face neutral as her goddess’ voice entered her mind, the same voice she had heard when first picking up the second half of the talisman.

Larelle nodded. “Zarya… is she okay?” Warmth flourished in Larelle’s chest that the goddess cared about her daughter.

Larelle could not hide her smile this time as she nodded again.

“There is more—”

“To darkness—”

“Than wings—”

“And amber.”

Amber. Larelle recalled the amber flowers on Osiris’ jacket and the wings that later protruded from it.

“What do you mean by more?” Elisara asked. While she avoided Vala’s gaze, she kept her chin high. The gods stopped until each stood directly behind the queens and king of their realms. Nerida’s ghostly hands floated upon Larelle’s shoulders .

“To understand—”

“The coming war—”

“You must see—”

“The past.”

Larelle gasped as Nerida gripped her shoulders, as though material hands were there and not those of a spirit.

Light burst from the centre of the table until it faded, leaving a floating scene before them of two young children with dark hair running through the sand and laughing.

A small sob escaped Elisara, and Larelle saw the emotion swimming in her eyes as she stared at the young girl whose features resembled hers.