Page 144 of What Blooms from Death

My gaze fell first on Luminor. The idea of touching it—of reading the memories contained in its glimmering blade—struck me again. Yet, even now, as close as I stood to it, I couldn’t bring myself to reach for it. I knew what I wanted the truth to be. But I was still afraid of being wrong.

So, instead, I focused on Grimnor. It looked as heavy and daunting as ever, its velvety dark blade shining dully, like a blackened mirror that only occasionally caught the light.

“Kindred spirits who have all wielded this sword at one point or another…” I thought aloud.

The look Bastian gave me bordered on proud. “Exactly.”

Another stab of pressure struck my hand. It didn’t frighten me as much, this time. I tried to imagine all my predecessors within that pressure point, each laying their hand upon it, and I took a step toward the pedestal in the center of the room.

Grimnor stilled in the air as I drew near, its slow, subtle movements coming to a stop with its grip lined up almost perfectly with my hand. As if inviting me to grab it.

Part of me still expected resistance when I reached for it.

But there was none; before I knew it, my fingers were already closing around the obsidian hilt. Drawing it away from the pedestal felt like pulling a heavy tree limb from a muddy river. Once I took a step back, though, its weight seemed much more bearable.

The turquoise bracelet rattled once more. I closed my eyes, briefly, and let the ghostly pressures take over my wrist, leading me into a series of swipes and thrusts.

For several minutes, I went through the motions like I would have during any practice session, while my brother watched with a contemplative look on his face. It felt oddly mundane—like I’d done it a hundred times before—in one moment, but breathtakingly momentous in the next. Like a mountain beneath a deep sea, only the tip of the sword’s true strength was obvious—but so much more lay hidden underneath the surface.

Once I felt relatively comfortable with the weight and feel of the weapon, I slowly walked it back to the center of the room. I didn’t want to let the sword go; it felt like leaving behind an oldfriend. Yet, it also felt safer—smarter—to leave it here until I was ready to truly use it.

My hand slipped from the grip, and the sword took it from there, lifting on its own to float back into its suspended spot above the pedestal. I marveled at it for a minute longer before my eyes were drawn once more to its counterpart, and a troubling question reared its head.

“I can wield Grimnor, but what about Luminor?”

Bastian avoided answering me, instead making his way over to a small chest in the corner of the chamber. It sat on a pedestal similar to the one the swords hovered above.

Another spot protected by the same kind of magic?

“Aleksander wielded that sword in the Above,” I pressed, following him across the room. “He’s been training as hard as I have these past weeks to get his magic acclimated to this palace and everything around it. And every time I’ve revived any of the shades, he’s been right there. We should consider what he might be able to do alongside me, with the Sword of Light in his hand. I’ve told you this from the beginning.”

“A lot has happened since then,” he insisted.

It was true—four dead bodies, and an ever-growing sense of desperation and mistrust. Still, I stubbornly said: “True revival requires balance. You’ve told me that yourself. And I know you’ve been trying to create some other source of Light magic, but—”

“And we’ve done it.”

“…You have?”

His fingers worked deftly over the lock on the chest for a moment, and then he opened it and pulled out a necklace—a thick cord with a long, shimmering pendant attached to it. Walking back and offering it to me, he said, “We’ve been working on this for some time. A potent jewel made from a pieceof Luminor’s blade, honed into something any skilled magic user should be able to use with little difficulty.”

I took the necklace, unable to stave off my curiosity. It hummed softly in my palm. A marvel, I knew—the end result of dozens of scholars and magic-users working tirelessly for a solution to their dying world.

But it was nothing compared to the warmth and power of Aleksander’s magic. And holding it brought none of the certainty I’d felt when holding Grimnor.

I gazed up at my brother, fighting the urge to crush the jewel in my fist. “You’re never going to trust him, are you?”

He took the pendant again, fastening it around my neck. “This is the safer route. The more predictable one.”

“Safer doesn’t always mean better,” I argued. “And how can you expect to win any war for this world if you aren’t willing to take any risks?” My tone came out harsher than I meant for it to, but I didn’t take my words back.

He fixed me with a hard look, a rare glimmer of anger simmering in his grey eyes. “Almost everything I have done fordecadeshas been a risk. To survive in this world is a risk in and of itself.”

I shuffled my weight from side to side but held my tongue. Furious—yet freshly reminded of the things he’d had to bear without me for so long.

He exhaled deeply through his nose. “Let’s just see what happens tomorrow.”

My heart was ready to go to war with my thoughts, but I somehow managed to silence them both and continue to hold my tongue.

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