Chapter 2 | Part 2

The presence strengthened. Solidified. Like a thread being pulled taut between them.

Drusniel? Can you hear me?

He sat up in bed, heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat. The voice wasn’t sound—it was impression, meaning pressed directly into his mind. The way their connection had always worked, back in the grove. Pattern recognition. Intimacy. Something they’d never been able to name.

Annariel? He shaped the thought as clearly as he could. How—I thought they isolated you.

A pause. The presence flickered, as if gathering strength.

They did. The voice came through clearer now. No outside contact. Complete isolation. But I had to reach you, Drus. I couldn’t just… I couldn’t leave you alone with what happened.

Drusniel’s eyes burned. He pressed the heels of his hands against them, forcing back the tears that wanted to come.

You found a way.

I found a way. A sense of warmth carried through the connection. Affection. Concern. It’s not easy. The distance is… it’s hard to maintain. But I needed to know you were alive. That you were okay.

Drusniel almost laughed. Okay. He hadn’t been okay since the trial chamber.

I’m not hurt, he sent carefully. If that’s what you mean.

But you’re not okay. It wasn’t a question. I felt something, Drus. During your trial. Even through the isolation, I felt it. Like a door slamming shut. Like something being… severed.

The word hit him in the chest. Severed. Yes. That was exactly what it had felt like.

You believe me? The thought came out raw, desperate. That something was wrong?

I don’t believe you. I know. The presence pulsed with certainty. What happened to you wasn’t natural. You did everything right. I watched you practice for years. I felt you reach for the blessing, and then—something changed. Something interfered. I don’t know what, but it wasn’t you.

Drusniel’s hands trembled. Validation. After days of isolation, of doubt, of his family’s careful avoidance. Someone believed him. Someone knew.

I thought I imagined it, he sent. I thought maybe I wanted it so badly that I convinced myself it was real.

No. The voice was firm. A pause, then softer: Remember that night in the grove? When we first felt the connection? You said you’d never give up. You said—

The memory was wrong. It had been Annariel who said that, not Drusniel. But maybe the isolation was confusing things. Maybe reaching across this distance scrambled details.

Drusniel let it pass.

Drusniel pulled his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them like a child. His head throbbed—the connection was taking something from him, some energy he didn’t have to spare. But he didn’t want to stop. For the first time in days, something other than emptiness lived in his chest. Hope.

What do I do? he asked. Everyone thinks I just failed. My father says the assassin path was always my calling. They want me to forget it happened and move on.

You can’t forget. You shouldn’t. A sense of frustration carried through the connection—shared anger at an unfair situation. Someone did this to you. Don’t you want to know who? Why?

Of course I do. Drusniel’s jaw clenched. But how? The mages won’t help me—they think I’m just another failure. My family doesn’t believe anything was wrong. And you’re…

Isolated. I know. A pause. The presence seemed to gather itself, like someone choosing words carefully. But I’ve been listening. Learning things. The training halls have more information than they know—mages talk, and they don’t always notice who’s listening.

What kind of information?

Another pause. Longer this time.

There’s someone on the surface, the voice said finally. A mage who trains people outside Venemora’s system. They say he’s controversial—that he doesn’t follow the old rules. But he knows things, Drus. Things about how magic really works. About what can block it. Remove it.

Drusniel’s heart stuttered. The surface. Where drow didn’t go. Where sunlight killed.

You want me to go to the surface?

I want you to have answers. The presence pulsed with what felt like sincerity. I can’t come to you. I can’t help you directly. But maybe he can. His name is Zaelar. The mages here speak of him in whispers—some with fear, some with respect. He might know what happened to you.

Zaelar. The name landed in Drusniel’s mind like a stone dropped into still water.

I’ve heard that name, he sent slowly. Rumors. Bad ones.

Rumors spread by people who fear what they don’t understand. The voice softened. I’m not saying trust him blindly. I’m saying talk to him. Ask questions. You’re the smartest person I know, Drus. You’ll be able to tell if he’s lying.

The compliment warmed him, even as doubt gnawed at its edges. The surface. A controversial mage. This was dangerous territory.

But what was the alternative? Stay in his room? Practice reaching until his mind broke? Accept that he’d failed and spend the rest of his life as his father’s assassin, never knowing what had been taken from him, or why?

I’ll think about it, he sent.

That’s all I’m asking. The presence began to fade, the connection thinning like a thread stretched too far. I should go. The isolation makes this… exhausting. But I’ll reach you again. I promise.

Annariel—

I meant what I said. The voice was barely a whisper now, a brush of warmth at the edge of his awareness. In the trial chamber. I’ll find you. However long it takes.

Then the presence was gone.

Drusniel sat in darkness, alone with his thoughts. The emptiness still ached. The questions still had no answers. And his head pounded from the connection—a dull pain behind his eyes that wouldn’t fade.

The surface. He’d never been above ground. The stories said sunlight could kill a drow in minutes. That the air itself was wrong, too thin, too bright.

And he was supposed to find a mage there? A controversial figure even the trained mages feared?

Zaelar.

He whispered the name aloud, testing its weight on his tongue.

It was dangerous. Possibly fatal. His family would be furious if they found out. And the voice, Annariel’s voice, had felt almost right, but not quite. That hesitation in rhythm. That wrong memory.

Drusniel lay back against his pillows. His mind raced, but his body demanded rest. The connection had taken more than he’d realized.

I’ll think about it, he’d said.

He wasn’t sure yet. Not completely. But he was closer than he wanted to admit.

End of Chapter 2.2 —> 2.3: Voices in the Dark: The Seed of Doubt