North Drake
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Book 1: Chapter 42: What Remains
🕑 Added 2025-06-18 14:42:58 +0000 UTCChapter 42:
What Remains
“Fuuuuck!”
The word snapped through the room like a whip, followed a half-second later by the sharp crash of glass against stone. Somewhere in the dark, a bottle shattered.
“Incompetent bastards!”
The voice belonged to a man, hoarse, furious, but also winded. Not old, but fraying at the edges. A few feet away, cloaked in shadow near the threshold, a weaker voice answered softly.
“Master… they couldn’t have known…”
The silence that followed was worse than the shouting. Dense. Breathing.
The man—the one who had thrown the bottle—stepped forward. His boots scraped softly over the marble floor, the only sound in the otherwise windowless chamber.
“They couldn’t have known?” he repeated, softer now, but far more dangerous. “They were tasked with observing a five-year-old girl.”
The flicker of mana pulsed again, distortion rippling faintly across the air. A presence that bent the edges of space, like a breath held too long.
“They were supposed to kill three brothers, and they killed two. Barely. But the third?” His voice cracked into a half-laugh. “Ronan’s alive. Not only alive, he is protected from the king himself. How could they fail to kill this incompetent brat of all three?
The shadowed servant stayed silent.
“And the girl?” the man went on. “They weren’t supposed to touch her. She wasn’t the target. Clara Bellgrave was. A six-year-old baron’s daughter and no protection.”
He paused, pacing now, boots whispering over stone.
“But no. Some idiot assassin thought he’d earn himself a footnote in history, stabbed the heir of Ashford in the open. With half the duchy watching.”
He stopped, then turned, and stared directly at the servant.
“Because of that brilliant improvisation,” he said coldly, “Liliana has burned half of Velwick’s underside to ash. Three of our informants are dead. Two cells compromised. And the priestess network is quiet.”
The servant swallowed audibly.
“Do you know how many years it took to thread that web under her nose?”
The man stepped closer. The distortion in the air pulsed with each word.
“And now I’m losing sight of the child. And you know what I’m left with?”
He turned back toward the servant, his eyes glowing faintly pink, warped at the edges like glass stretched too thin.
“You know what I’ve got instead?”
He let the silence hang a second too long.
“Incompetents. Dead men. And fucking excuses. How dare you excuse yourself in front of me!”
He exhaled sharply. “Seriously, is it that hard to follow basic instructions? ‘Don’t touch Grace.’ That was literally all they had to remember. But no. Let’s go stab her instead. What a fucking good idea.”
He dropped into a chair like it offended him just by existing. One arm draped over the side, the other dragging across his face.
“And now?” he muttered, eyes unfocused. “Now she’s more aware. She’s waking up faster than expected.”
He leaned forward again, voice lower, tighter.
“The whole plan was simple: bring her in. Pull her into the fold. Let her break the seal from the inside, willingly.”
He let out a bitter chuckle. “Willingly. What a joke.” His fingers tapped the armrest. Magic pulsed faintly from beneath his skin.
“But now she’s resisting. Asking too many questions. And worst of all…” His lips curled into something like disgust.
“That bitch Iras has her fingers in her again. I can feel it. It wasn’t there before the new loop.”
He spat on the floor. “That fucking whore goddess is playing a long game. Subtle. Whispering shit into her head when she’s vulnerable. And no one else sees it.”
He looked at his servant, eyes burning with pink. “I won’t let her steal this version. Not this one.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers laced, breath ragged.
“Fucking Iras,” he growled. “Sanctimonious sky-whore with a martyr complex.”
The servant didn’t respond. Knew better.
Then he wiped a hand down his face, smearing the sweat or the mana, it was hard to tell which. The room felt smaller now, tighter. More real than it should.
“She’s slipping,” he muttered. “I can feel it. Every time she hesitates, every time she hesitates to cut, that’s Iras. That’s not her.”
He stared into the shadows, eyes twitching slightly, focus drifting.
“She used to burn,” he whispered. “God, you used to burn.”
Silence.
Then softer, still to no one in the room.
“Was that the plan?” he asked. “Send me through the In-Between so I could watch you fade? So, I could see them chip away at what made you terrifying? What made you beautiful?”
He barked a laugh. “Thanks for that, by the way. Great gift.”
He stood suddenly, pacing now, faster.
“I gave you everything. You asked me to die, and I said yes. You said serve me, and I did. I crossed into a realm that eats souls, let it carve me hollow, and still, I remember your voice like a fucking prayer.”
He stopped, staring at the far wall.
“I miss you,” he whispered. The words broke something in the air, not loud, not dramatic. Just real. His eyes shimmered faintly, pink and distant, and his voice turned low, aching.
“They will not take you away from me,” he said. “No one will.”
Then, quieter, not to the servant. Not even to himself.
To her. “I’ll get you back. Whatever version I have to break to do it.”
And the room, warped and still, swallowed the words like a vow.
--::--
The brunch ended without ceremony.
Marissa was gone. The room had been cleaned. The servants didn’t speak of it.
Clara had gone quiet. She clung to Grace’s side the entire walk back through the corridors of the estate, her fingers brushing the edge of Grace’s sleeve, like she wasn’t sure what was safe anymore. Grace didn’t mind. Clara always reacted like this, shock first, tears later, silence in between.
Elen walked a little behind them. Her shoulders were rigid. Her face unreadable. But Grace saw it, the way her eyes didn’t meet anyone’s. Melissa’s words had sunk in. Deeper than Elen wanted to admit.
Too fat for the dress. The daughter of a knight. Not even worth dressing like a noble.
Grace didn’t speak to her either. Not yet. Some wounds needed to breathe before they could be cleaned.
As for Grace herself? She was in a surprisingly good mood. Selira had impressed her. The brutality hadn’t been expected, not like that, but the principle behind it? The message? That had been clean. Swift. Controlled. Grace liked people who didn’t hesitate once they committed. She liked people who understood how to end a moment without flinching.
Big sister, she thought, amused, even as Clara and Elen peeled away toward outside to Clara’s mansion. Grace let them go without another word, only a nod.
Then Elyne, who had walked the whole way beside her in thoughtful silence, finally spoke. “Do you have the energy for lessons today?” Her tone was measured, neutral, not pushing, but waiting.
Grace looked up at her, then gave a faint shrug. “I thought I was managing an estate now. That’s a full-time position, isn’t it?” Elyne’s lips twitched, not quite a smile. “Your mother said you can ‘play’ with the estate… but only if you keep up your education.”
That sounded exactly like Liliana, rules twisted into freedom, freedom framed in rules. Grace didn’t mind. It made sense. And as she looked up at Elyne again, Elyne wasn’t so bothersome anymore. Grace actually liked the nineteen-year-old governess. Sometimes.
“After the whole… brunch situation,” Elyne said with polite understatement, “I’ve rescheduled the formal class for today. You, Clara, and Elen will be attending together. Starting tomorrow.”
Grace blinked. “You’re sending me back to Master Ardan?”
Elyne gave a calm, satisfied nod. “Six hours a day. With the others. Full court etiquette curriculum. You’ll attend as a unit.”
Grace exhaled through her nose. Six hours. With Clara’s optimism. Elen’s restraint. And Ardan’s voice droning through half a dozen perfect curtsies like they were sacred rites of passage.
“I’m managing an estate,” she muttered again.
“And if you want to keep playing Duchess,” Elyne said pleasantly, “you’ll be expected to look like one.”
Elyne glanced at her again. “Today, though, is mine.”
There was no threat in her tone. Just certainty. “I’m not here to test your handwriting,” she added. “I’m here to judge your control. And if needed, correct it.”
Elyne didn’t press the point right away. They walked in silence for a time, the estate halls cool and sunlit, the staff parting instinctively around them. But just before they reached the stairs to Grace’s private chambers, she spoke again, quieter now, but firm.
“Forming a Mana Core at your age is… remarkable.”
Grace didn’t respond.
“I should have been the one to guide you through it,” Elyne continued. “You should have come to me.”
Yes, well, Grace thought drily, and I should’ve been born in a world where people didn’t try to kill me before my sixth birthday, but here we are.
She said nothing aloud. She wasn’t planning to tell anyone about the core when she formed it. Not then. Not now.
They reached her chambers without another word.
Inside, she let Elyne help unlace the finer dress, stepping out of velvet and pearls into something simpler, a training tunic stitched with layered fabric, soft boots with reinforced soles, her hair tied back in a sharp, low twist.
It wasn’t regal. It was efficient. Just how Elyne wanted.
Once dressed, they crossed the outer hall and made their way down the long passage toward the east wing. The windows shifted from glass to lattice, and the scent of chalk, oil, and old stone thickened in the air.
The training grounds of the east wing were quiet at this hour, long before the younger nobles came out to play at fencing or pretend to duel with practice staves.
Grace stood on the smoothed stone platform in the center of the yard, the soft chalk grid already drawn underfoot in pale, clean lines. Wind stirred faintly through the high arches, and her boots made no sound as she stepped into the center.
Elyne stood across from her, sleeves rolled, hair tied back with military precision.
She didn’t smile, just folded her arms and asked:
“What do you already know about magic?”
A simple question. Meant to feel harmless.
Grace didn’t answer immediately.
How much should I show?
She knew the game. Give too little, and she’d be underestimated. Give too much, and she’d be… something else entirely. Feared. Watched. Filed under dangerous. Or just labled as a freak. The problem was, Elyne already suspected things. No, knew things. She wouldn’t be here otherwise.
So, Grace exhaled, slowly, and said:
“I know about the Seven Affinities,” Grace said evenly. “The six divine ones—and Void.”
She didn’t pause, didn’t explain, just let the word settle as if it were nothing more than an academic note. Elyne gave no visible reaction, but Grace didn’t miss the faint tension that crept into the air between them.
She met Elyne’s gaze without flinching.
“I know that casting is as much about intention as it is about control.”
Still just theory, she thought. Let her assume that’s all it is.
But they both knew it wasn’t. Elyne gave no visible reaction, but she didn’t interrupt either. Grace continued, carefully.
“I know you can cast without a Core, but not safely. And never silently. And I know the Old Tongue isn’t just a language, it’s a framework.”
She let her eyes linger on Elyne’s for a heartbeat.
“I’ve read. Watched. Listened. I know theory.”
Not a lie, she thought. Just not the whole of it.
Most of what she knew hadn’t come from books or formal lessons. It had come from Corax, whispered lectures in the dark, observations over years, fragmented truths filtered through a being who did not teach like a human, or even a mage. His knowledge was vast, but not always current. Some things might be outdated. Others… things no one in the living world even taught anymore.
Outdated or better, she thought. Possibly both.
She didn’t care. It had worked so far.
Elyne nodded once, satisfied, for now.
“Good,” she said. “Then let’s build from that.”
She took a step to the center of the chalk ring, drawing a clean arc with her toe across the ground as she spoke.
“You know what an affinity is. But what does it mean for a mage with a Core?”
Grace didn’t answer. Elyne didn’t wait for her to.
“It means you’re attuned. It shapes how your mana behaves, how it moves inside you. It doesn’t lock you into one style of spellwork—not with runewords—but it guides you. Makes certain types of casting easier, more instinctive. A Velarion mage doesn’t have to think about pressure the way a Thyron mage has to force it.”
She moved her hand in a slow spiral.
“With time, a skilled caster can learn spells outside their affinity,” Elyne continued, her voice steady, instructional. “But complexity increases. Precision becomes everything. Also, some affinities are so unique, so inherently different, that without an innate connection, they remain inaccessible.”
She drew a short mark beside the spiral rune.
“Elyra’s gift, for example. Space affinity. No amount of training will let you fold space without the attunement. The runes won’t respond. The mana won’t shape.”
She paused then, glancing over at Grace.
“The seventh official affinity you know also,” she said, her tone deliberate. “Void. Rare. Difficult. Feared.”
She didn’t flinch from the word, and Grace didn’t give her the satisfaction of reacting to it either. She stood still, arms crossed lightly, letting the moment pass.
At least she didn’t say ‘forbidden’, Grace thought and didn't react outwardly.
“But there’s also an eighth,” Elyne added. “Most people don’t even think of it that way. It has no god. No domain. It’s called null affinity.”
She knelt and traced a simple rune into the chalk, a flat spiral with no edges.
“Null mana is pure. Unaligned. It doesn’t come from the gods or from elemental resonance. It’s what’s left when affinity burns away.”
Grace frowned slightly.
“You mean ambient mana?”
“No,” Elyne said. “Ambient mana is tainted by place, shaped by the world. Null mana is what remains after casting. When the rune drains, when the spell ends, there’s always some energy left behind. Mana that didn’t take shape. Didn’t carry weight.”
She looked up at Grace.
“You can’t form a Core with it, not in Nyras. It doesn’t stick. But you can use it. Carefully. It’s the edge between systems. Between intent and instinct.”
Grace narrowed her eyes.
So the residue matters, she thought. The waste. The part no one talks about.
Elyne rose smoothly. “Remember that. Null is everything left over. And the ones who learn to shape leftovers… they’re the ones who stop following spell books and start writing them.”
Then she looked at her for a long moment, and asked, almost casually, “Which runes do you already know?”
Grace didn’t answer immediately. Of course, she knew plenty. Corax had fed her knowledge like wine, bitter and ancient and heavy with meaning. But she also knew better than to list them aloud. So, she just tilted her head slightly, eyes sharp.
Elyne didn’t push. “Then show me,” she said instead. “Pick something. Doesn’t need to be elaborate, just real.”
Grace sighed inwardly.
Right. That conversation.
She’d already confessed she was beyond First Circle. Claimed Second, just enough to keep Elyne satisfied, enough truth to keep control of the lie. Which meant this spell needed to match that story. Strong enough to impress, restrained enough not to alarm.
She stepped forward into the center of the chalk ring, exhaled once, and opened her Core.
The world slowed.
Not completely—not like true temporal magic—but her senses expanded. The threads of her body sharpened. Her breath felt heavy in her throat. The taste of mana flooded her system, cool and dark, rushing down her limbs like liquid metal.
She didn’t let it overtake her. She regulated it. Controlled it.
Across from her, Elyne said nothing. But Grace could feel the attention. Precise. Measuring.
She began to trace the glyphs with her fingers, air-cast, as Corax had taught her. The Void rune came first, its form warped, the linework always slightly unstable. Corax had warned her of that. It bends to the caster. Not the page. Then came the second: the one for shatter — ᛋᚺᚨᛏᛏᛖᚱ.
She bound the two.
ᚹᛖᛁᛚᛋᛁᚷᚱ ᛋᚺᚨᛏᛏᛖᚱ (Void Shatter)
The spell collapsed into the stone target with no flare, no explosion, just absence. The rock didn’t break. It didn’t vanish. It simply… stopped being. Its shape unraveled. Its presence folded inward until only a soft, humming void remained where matter had once existed.
Silence held the yard.
Then Elyne, after a moment, smiled faintly.
“Well done,” she said under her breath. “Well done.”
Elyne didn’t ask where Grace had learned the runes.
She didn’t need to.
There were enough old books in the estate library, enough half-forgotten tomes sealed behind dust and wax, filled with runic words no one had spoken in decades. It would have been easy enough to pretend Grace had found them there.
But Elyne wasn’t focused on how Grace had learned. She was still watching what she’d done.
A five-year-old girl had cast a Void spell with flawless structure and control. Not experimental. Not copied. Shaped.
Elyne didn’t comment on it. Didn’t praise her again.
Instead, she stepped forward, folding her arms loosely. “In Light,” she said, “you could have used your affinity. Reached for healing, for purity, for structure. But you didn’t. You didn’t lean on anything.”
Her gaze sharpened. “You taught yourself.”
Grace said nothing and Elyne’s voice softened. “Which means we start somewhere else.”
She flicked two fingers. For a heartbeat, Grace felt it, Elyne’s Core. Not bright, not burning, but anchored, like the world itself bent politely around its presence. It was too fast to trace, too complex to unravel, but it was there.
And then: crack. A tear opened in the air. A thin line split reality like snapped glass, and from it, the same stone Grace had annihilated fell.
It dropped with a solid thunk onto the ground, as if it had never been gone, only misplaced.
Grace blinked. Elyne didn’t explain.
“You see your fading mana now, don’t you?” she asked quietly. “The after-thread? The light in the edges when your Core drains.”
Grace nodded once.
“Good. Then think,” Elyne said. “Null affinity. The one you can’t hold, but can use. Can you guess why it’s special?”
She didn’t smile this time. She waited, while testing and watching Grace.
Grace stared at the stone, now whole again, resting where nothing should have been. The ripple of space was gone, but the echo of it still hummed in her bones. Null affinity. The edge between what is and what was meant to be. She didn’t answer Elyne’s question. But she was already thinking through it. Already reaching. Somewhere, deep inside her Core, the Void stirred, curious.
She exhaled once, steady. “I’ll find out.”
