Page 272 of Awakened

“Let’s look at it here first,” Vae replies. “I feel like we need to.”

He purses his lips, like he hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud. I want to smirk, because I know exactly how he’s feeling, but I can’t quite get my lips to move. Not with the guilt still thrumming through my veins.

Flipping the book right-side up, I begin to unravel the leather binding. The cover falls open as though moved by an invisible hand.

The paper smells like lilacs. The scent surrounds the three of us and settles like a blanket where we stand. There’s no title, just a blank page and something written in sprawling, tidy script at the top.

For my daughter. I’ve always told you to never forget who you are, but I did you a disservice by keeping that knowledge a secret. Someday, you will have answers, but until that day…

Here’s one final story.

My stomach falls. I glance up, exchanging uneasy looks with Riven and Vae. It’s clear, looking back, that Annalise’s stories aren’t the same ones most mothers tell their children before bed. Instead of Jack and the Beanstalk and Snow White, Idril grew up with ancient Irish fables masquerading as fairytales that read more like prophecy.

I flip the page, and the scent of lilac intensifies.

This page includes artwork—hand-drawn and painted in painstakingly beautiful strokes. It’s breathtakingly gorgeous—something you’d find in an archive.

I wonder if Annalise did the illustrations as well.

It’s a sweeping panorama painted across the first two pages. Four quadrants connected via swirling, streaming lines of light that meet in the center before combining into a great glowing orb.

Each of the four quadrants contains its own distinct landscape. Volcanic Mountains and molten rivers; vast meadows with flowers and trees blowing in the wind; a crystalline ocean with spires rising from its depths; and a dense forest overgrown with ivy that seems to be swallowing an ancient stone ruin.

Celestial beings watch from above, each face a unique blend of features that merge seamlessly with the constellations in the night sky

Once, long before the world was full of glass buildings and people flew in metal birds across the sky, Our world was ruled beneath the keeping of a single Breath. It moved through all things, though no eye could see it.

From the Breath, four hearts were born. And by their pulse, the world was sustained.

Flame, Earth, Water, and Air.

I turn the page and continue the story.

For time beyond memory, all things lived in harmony with the Breath. It bestowed its gifts to its children freely and none of its children were denied its blessings. Yet there were certain Bloodlines in whom the Breath bestowed its gifts even deeper—like hidden gems beneath the earth.

Four Bloodlines. Four great Houses. Each defended from one of the Four hearts.

Through those four Bloodlines, the pulse of the Breath ran with no limit. Those born to that lineage held dominion over the gift from which their House was birthed—Flame, Air, Water and Earth.

In addition, the other three Hearts gifted them with a smaller modicum of power so that even a child of Flame might hear the song of Water and a son of Earth might dance among the magical currents of Air.

The illustration on the next page shows two men and two women, wearing flowing robes and crowns. They stand in a circle, hands stretched outward. They’re beautiful—whether by natural design or the artist's whimsy, I can’t begin to speculate. Each one holds an element in their cupped palms. Spirals of water, cyclones of air that buffet their clothing and hair, handfuls of soil with flowers blooming, and fire—burning so bright I instinctively want to shade my eyes.

At the center, all four elements braid together to form a crown of light. It pulses faintly, and I blink, running a finger cautiously over the illustration.

I could have sworn it just moved.

“Go on,” Vae urges, leaning closer, and I force my attention away from the crown of light and turn the page.

These were the keepers of balance. Their laughter and secrets danced in the air; the Earth wept when they grieved. Their joy fed the rivers and land, and their rage could set the heavens alight.

But light cannot exist without shadow.

For there existed those blessed by the Breath with an abundance of power, yet looked upon with mistrust and fear by Light and Humanity alike.

Envy and greed grew and grew, planting roots and digging deeply.

On the page below, a man throws his head back and laughs as clouds part around him. Elsewhere, dozens of tiny animals made from wispy clouds spin through an open field as children chase after them. Hidden behind a grove of trees, a kneeling woman weeps, and flowers bloom where her tears fall.