Page 131 of Ashes to Ashes

“You’re implying that the Tuatha live among us,” I say slowly, comprehension crashing over me. “They’ve just... forgotten who they were.”

“Is that so hard to believe?” He gestures around the cabin that shouldn’t exist, magic thrumming in the walls like a heartbeat. “They walk among you, their divine nature buried beneath new identities, new lives. Until something triggers the memories.”

“What does this have to do with Ash?” The question tears from my throat.

“There you go, boy.” He refills his glass, movements carrying ritual weight. “The treasures aren’t just weapons or artifacts. They’re living echoes of their makers—of the land itself. Falias and the stone, forged by Morfesa. Gorias and the spear, forged by Esras. Findias and the sword, forged by Uiscias. And Murias...”

His gaze finds mine, heavy with meaning that makes my guardian blood sing with recognition.

“The cauldron, forged by Semias. Each one a shard of the divine. You don’t carry them—they carry you.”

The truth hangs in the air like incense, thick and choking. My hand moves involuntarily to my chest.

“And Ash,” he continues, voice dropping to barely above a whisper, “once the treasures are reunited, their true power returns. The four cities will rise. The cauldron refills with itsoriginal purpose.” He tosses back his drink. “And that’s why they’ll try to kill her.”

“But that’s good,” I protest, though the words feel hollow. “Restoration, reunion, healing the divisions between courts?—”

“Because, dear boy, when the treasures reunite and the cities rise...” His voice becomes ash and memory. “They also allow the Old Gods to remember who they are.”

The implications crash over me like a mountain falling.

Not just gods returning—but her becoming one of them. No longer ours. No longer mine.

I close my eyes against the sudden, brutal image—Ash standing apart. Distant. Divine. Her eyes no longer soft with wanting, but cold with purpose.

I’d burn every court to ash to keep her breathing.

But holding onto someone becoming a god? I press my palms against my eyes. “That’s not love—that’s selfishness wearing love’s face.”

“Everything changes,” Finnian whispers.

“Everything ends,” Tadhg corrects with bitter certainty. “The courts as you know them. The careful balance we’ve maintained. The very structure of fae society.” His weathered eyes find mine. “And the bonds you’re building with the changeling? When gods remember they’re gods...”

He doesn’t need to finish. I can see it in Finn’s pale face, feel it in the way my guardian oath burns with sudden desperation.

But then something else clicks into place. “The missing settlements,” I say suddenly, my blood turning to ice. “Seventeen Wild Court communities gone silent in the past month.”

Tadhg’s expression darkens further. “Ah. You’ve noticed.”

“Someone’s been systematically eliminating your people, Orion,” Finnian says, his face pale with comprehension. “And I think we both know why.”

“They’re clearing the field,” I breathe, recognition crashing over me like wildfire. “Before she fully awakens. The Wild Court families would recognize royal blood on sight—they could verify her legitimacy, rally to her cause.”

“Clever strategy,” Tadhg says grimly. “Kill off the Wild Court’s traditional support structure before the heir awakens fully. Leave her isolated, surrounded by court representatives who have everything to lose if she succeeds.”

The guardian oath burns with sudden fury. Not just protective instinct, but recognition of cosmic betrayal. My entire people, murdered to prevent this moment.

“How many are left?” The question tears from my throat.

“Scattered survivors. A few hidden communities. The Academy’s Wild Court students.” Tadhg’s eyes find mine with ancient sympathy. “You, flame lord. You and the handful of guardians who made it to neutral ground.”

“I’m not just the last guardian,” I breathe, comprehension crashing over me like a tidal wave. “I’m the last witness. The last one who remembers what we were before they started hunting us.”

“And she,” Tadhg gestures to the illustration, “is the last hope for your people’s survival. If she dies in those trials...”

“The Wild Court dies with her.” The words taste like ash and endings.

“That’s why the courts are cooperating. They’re not just threatened by her individually—she represents the return of an entire power structure they’ve spent centuries suppressing.” Finnian breathes.

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