Goddess Of The Underworld. Chapter 80

The scent of roasted fruit and spiced bread pulls me from sleep. For a moment, I’m still floating, weightless, tucked between warmth and breath and skin. A leg slung over mine, a hand tracing slow circles at my waist. I blink up at a carved ceiling of stars, glowing faintly with morning light. My magic feels steadier today. Clearer. As if something inside me has realigned. Noah is already awake beside me, gazing at the ceiling like he’s been memorizing it. Haiden is curled half on top of me like a smug cat. Levi’s hand still rests in mine. Xavier sleeps in the chair near the bed, as if he meant to watch over us and lost the battle with sleep.

Layah, of course, is sprawled out by the now-dormant hearth, her tail flicking lazily. I slip out quietly, pressing a kiss to each of them as I go, before padding barefoot toward the scent of something warm and inviting. The house hums in greeting as I walk, vines curling softly out of the way. The hall opens into a great room I hadn’t seen last night, vaulted ceilings, sunlight pouring through skylights in rainbow arcs, and a long stone table set with breakfast. Fresh fruits, steaming tea, honey-glazed meats, cheeses, breads still warm. A low fire crackles in a glass hearth at the center of the room, and above it, a mobile of bones and feathers spins in a slow, deliberate circle.

Mum looks up from where she’s pouring tea and smiles softly. “Good morning, little storm.”

Before I can answer, I feel them. A shift in the air. The bond threads hum. One by one, the others filter in, my mates with sleepy eyes and rumpled hair, Layah with a smirk that says she knows something I don’t, and finally, my three brothers. Malachi enters first, regal as ever, his golden eyes sweeping the room before landing on me with a soft glint of relief. Julius and Arztec follow, both tense, though they relax slightly at the sight of the food. Arztec snatches a plum off the table like a starving animal.

“Nice of you to invite us to the feast,” Julius grumbles.

“You found your own way here,” Mum replies dryly. “I didn’t think I needed to roll out a red carpet too.”

Layah snorts and flops into a seat near the middle, stealing a chunk of bread.

“Don’t mind them, they get cranky when they’re not fed.”

Noah takes the seat beside me. Xavier and Levi flank us while Haiden tucks into a plate like he’s never seen food before. Across from us, Mum raises a brow.

“We have someone joining us,” she says, just as a soft chime echoes in the air.

The vines part like a curtain and in steps a woman. She’s old, but not frail. Tall, with hair like braided steel and eyes the color of storm glass. Her presence hits the room like a hush, every spell on the walls stilling in recognition.

Mum straightens. “Mother.” My breath catches.

Elira’s mother. My grandmother. The woman’s eyes land on me, sharp as a knife and just as knowing. “So. This is the child who became a godseed.”

Her voice is smooth as silk and rough as stone.

“Everyone, this is Saelira. She’s a witch. A very old one. And once upon a time, she taught Salira herself.” Elira’s voice tightens on the last part.

My stomach knots. “Then she knows how Salira thinks.”

“I know how she pretends to think,” Saelira says, sweeping forward with elegance. “I also know how to track echoes in blood. That’s why I’m here.”

“You think you can help us find the other children?” Xavier asks carefully.

“I don’t think,” Saelira says. “I will. As long as you’re ready to face what’s left behind.”

“What do you mean?” Levi frowns.

Saelira meets my gaze dead on. “The ones who survive magic like yours, girl? They don’t stay children. Not really. They become… something else.”

The room falls silent. Then Layah, mouth full of honey-soaked bread, says quietly, “Then we better find them first.”

“I thought the royal bloodline was strictly shifter,” Xavier says after a long silence, his brows furrowed. “No witches. That’s what the archives say.”

“They say a lot of things,” Mum mutters. "My father was a wolf and his fated mate just so happened to be a witch."

Saelira smirks, but there’s steel behind it. “They say what they were told to say. What was necessary, for peace.”

I glance between them, heart thudding. “So you’ve been hiding who you are. Why?”

“Because the last time the world knew a wolf carried witchblood,” Saelira says, “it sparked a war.”

Elira sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “My mother married a shifter king. She bore his children. Me included. But her blood runs older, deeper, tied to a line of witches who predate the first pack bonds. When the council found out, they threatened to strip the throne. My father died defending it. We were told to erase her lineage. To pretend it never happened.”

“And so we did,” Saelira finishes calmly, “until now. Until the world started breaking in the way I always knew it would. Your existence, little one, makes hiding pointless.”

My stomach twists. “So the magic I carry…”

“Is your birthright,” she says. “Through both lines.”

Layah leans back, grinning. “Oh, this just gets better and better.”

Haiden whistles. “I mean, who hasn’t lied about their bloodline to survive, right?”

Saelira stands, brushing crumbs from her dark robe. “Enough breakfast. I want to see what this divine storm of ours can actually do.”

My brows lift. “Right now?”

She nods once. “Right now. Show me what Marcus tried to cage.”

The training ground is a wide clearing just beyond the living grove, ringed in ancient standing stones that hum with quiet power. Each is etched with runes older than any language I know, and the air inside the circle is thick with magic, ready, waiting, watching. Saelira walks to the center and draws a line in the dirt with the tip of her staff. “Cross the line, Envy. Show me what you are.”

My mates hang back at the edge of the stones, tense but silent. Layah lounges nearby with her chin in her hand, watching intently. Elira says nothing, but her hands are clenched behind her back. I step forward. The moment I cross the line, the air shifts, denser, colder. Saelira lifts one hand, and the world answers. Wind howls. The ground trembles beneath my feet.