He did not have to wait until afternoon. No sooner had Ingwaz and Fehu left him alone than he heard the same metallic scraping and clicking from the direction of the door.
He looked toward it in surprise. Ingwaz, Ansuz, and Daeg could not have opened the door—but someone was definitely standing at the already open doorway.
It was a woman.
"May I come in?" she asked gently.
Rhys was suddenly unable to speak, overwhelmed by the moment. It was Mirael—his former comrade, one of the Twelve, a member of the Brotherhood. He recognized her instantly, not only by her appearance. The same familiar sensation washed over him that he always felt when Aisling was near. As if they had known each other for a thousand years.
"I am Mirael," the visitor introduced herself at once.
"I know. We've already met in my visions. I'm Rhys," the boy replied.
He would have offered her a seat, but there was not a single chair in the room.
"From which world were you brought?" Mirael asked.
It seemed to matter more to her than any vision of an unfamiliar person.
"We don't really have a name for our world," Rhys answered.
Mirael did not seem bothered. She sat down beside him, directly on the bedside table.
"Not from Nexoria?" she pressed.
"As a matter of fact, someone knocked me unconscious in Nexoria, and an extremely uncomfortable carriage brought me here," Rhys explained.
"The same thing happened to me," Mirael sighed. "Something attacked me there, and a very uncomfortable carriage brought me here as well."
"Two thousand years have passed since then. How are you still alive?" Rhys asked.
It was a fair question.
"Two thousand? Since when?" Mirael stared at him in disbelief.
"Since the day you were attacked."
"Oh, no—don't think that. I was brought here only two years ago. And since then, I know nothing about my people… nor about—"
She fell silent.
"I know," Rhys said quietly, leaving Mirael the choice of whether she wished to speak of Drakthor. If not, his words could apply to anything else.
Rhys did not understand how Mirael measured time. He did not doubt her words—at that moment, it did not matter.
"So you know from the visions. What kind of visions did you have?" she asked.
"Kaelen is my past," Rhys replied simply.
"Oh," Mirael smiled softly. "So the Twelve awakened again—two… that is, two thousand years after my attack."
"Not yet. Only I, and your future self—Aisling—are awakening. We've begun to see you… from the past. More than that, we've begun to live your lives."
Mirael lowered her gaze. She hoped her future self had not seen—or lived—everything.
"I sent visions too. To Drakthor. That's why I'm asking what you received."
"The last day of your life in Nexoria, up until the attack."
"So you were the ones who received those memories. I wanted to show that I was still alive somewhere."
By her reckoning, Mirael had been here for two years. Rhys, meanwhile, always returned to Nexoria exactly two years after her attack—and every day he returned, Nexoria's time advanced by only a single day. He told her all this.
"Perhaps your abilities began to awaken the Brotherhood even from here," Rhys said thoughtfully.
"You can return to Nexoria," Mirael said urgently. "Tell them that I survived."
"You've been here for two years and still haven't been summoned before the Committee. Why do you think I'll get there sooner? Why do you think the Committee would send me home?"
"Hope is speaking through me," she admitted. "I don't know where the Committee sends people from here."
"There are others waiting for a hearing?" Rhys asked in surprise.
"Oh, countless ones. Every day. Most are summoned the very next day—and no one ever sees them here again," Mirael explained.
"What attacked you?" Rhys finally asked the most important question.
"Something enormous and unseen," she said. "A force wrapped around me. I heard a screaming sound. My pulse raced, my head felt like it would burst apart. And yet—I saw nothing. No attacker."
"I don't think it was the same thing that struck me," Rhys said. "I clearly felt someone hit me with something solid by the river."
"I suppose… I suppose Kaelen died," Mirael said softly. "After all, I lived. And the Brotherhood ceased to exist for two thousand years."
Rhys told her what was believed in Nexoria.
"They found Kaelen's clothes by the river. Everyone believes that after you were killed—or taken—he threw himself into the water out of grief."
Mirael smiled genuinely at last.
"Kaelen? He was gruff, but he loved life. Why would he drown himself?"
"They say the shepherds spread the story that he loved you—that heartbreak drove him into the river."
"Too much imagination around campfires," she scoffed gently.
"I know he left his clothes there as a diversion," Rhys said. "I lived that day."
He was glad to see Mirael in better spirits—if only briefly.
"Look, Mirael. We don't know what became of Kaelen," Rhys said gently.
She was convinced that the Brotherhood had dissolved because one of the Twelve—Kaelen, who had accompanied her to Nexoria—had died.
After a few minutes, Rhys continued.
"I searched for Xewith in Nexoria. In the time I returned to, only two years had passed since your attack. And Xewith had vanished—so completely that even the shepherds had never heard of her."
Mirael frowned.
"That's strange. It was Xewith's cycle. Xewith is the one who retains the memory of the Brotherhood through every rebirth—even if the Brotherhood itself dissolves. And it was Xewith's time. Time does not work the way you think. Xewith awakened first. What's curious is that you all come from the same moment in time."
"Why? Wasn't it the same for you?" Rhys asked.
"Oh, no. Our story was different. We lived scattered across different points in time."
Rhys needed several seconds to process that.
"And we were not the First Ones," Mirael continued. "The First Ones' history and identity are uncertain. Their Brotherhood also fell apart. We were the Second Ones. You are the Third Awakening."
Rhys nodded silently. He had so many questions—and either of them might stand before the Committee as soon as tomorrow.
"I know you were searching for the symbol," Rhys said. "Why did you need it?"
"That symbol would have led us to the secrets of the First Ones," Mirael answered.
"Was that all?"
Rhys sounded disappointed.
Mirael laughed softly.
"What did you think we needed it for?"
"Honestly? We had no idea," Rhys admitted.
"Does understanding the secrets of the First Ones really seem so small?" Mirael asked gently. "We awakened without knowing who we were, why we existed—and given what we were capable of, we wanted to know our purpose."
Rhys understood then how important the symbol had been to the Second Ones.
"Perhaps someone tried to prevent you from learning more about the First Ones."
"I thought so too," Mirael said. "But who?"
"How many worlds exist? Do we even know?" Rhys asked aloud.
"Possibly countless," Mirael agreed. "When you return, do not search for us—search for the First Ones. And find the symbol. After you swear the Brotherhood's oath, you will need it. So that what was denied to us may be yours—the full memory and knowledge of the First Ones. The symbol is no longer in my possession. Perhaps the attacker took it, or perhaps I lost it while I was being brought here. Search heaven and earth to find the symbol."
"I can't promise on behalf of the others that we'll follow your path or risk our lives," Rhys said honestly.
Mirael smiled, amused.
"You say that—the one who already put himself in danger?"
It felt familiar. Just like the way Mirael and Kaelen had always sparred.
"One more thing," Mirael said darkly. "The First Ones saved that city—but in doing so, they tore the world apart."
"And you wanted to change that," Rhys said quietly.
"We wanted the symbol. Without it, we understood nothing. And someone stopped us."
"I promise I'll tell the others," Rhys said again. "I can't decide for them."
"For now, that's enough," Mirael said. "Daeg will arrive soon with raspberry syrup. You must sleep and heal. I hope you stand before the Committee tomorrow. If you return home, please tell Drakthor that I live."
"If I don't stand before the Committee," Rhys replied softly, "I'll be here tomorrow."
Whether it was a final farewell—or just for the night—neither of them knew.