Birthright

Chapter 11 - into the Abyss - Jackson PoV

As I stand before the rift, staring into the endless dark beyond, a storm brews inside me, excitement, vengeance, sorrow, each emotion colliding and twisting until I can’t tell one from the other.

This is the moment I’ve trained for, dreamed of, bled for..yet the weight of it presses heavy on my chest.

“Right,” Aunt Theo says, her voice steady despite the strain of holding the rift open. “As soon as you pass through, the portal will seal itself. I’ll reopen it tomorrow night, when the moon is at its highest.”

Tomorrow night, when the moon reaches its peak, it will mark the start of my eighteenth birthday. The thought sends a shiver down my spine. None of us truly know what will awaken in me when that moment comes, only that I need to be here..safe, surrounded by those who can contain whatever power might rise.

“You don’t need it,” Aunt Theo said with a small, knowing smile as she pulls me into a tight hug, “but I’m going to say it anyway, good luck, treasure.”

Her voice caught at the end, and for a heartbeat, I saw it, pride shining in her eyes, tangled with something deeper. Longing. She hid it well most days, but I knew she missed her world, the one she left behind to raise me. Maybe this mission wasn’t just about reclaiming my birthright. Maybe, in some small way, it was about giving her a way back too.

I turn to Lex, who’s just finished his sappy goodbye with Ivy. He still looks a little dazed, her scent clinging to him like a shadow.

“Ready?” I ask, giving him a short nod.

He exhales, straightens his shoulders, and the faint grin that crosses his face tells me all I need to know. Whatever waits beyond the Veil, we’re going to face it together.

We take one last look at this realm — at the people we love, the faces and memories that made us who we are before stepping forward into the abyss.

The moment we cross the threshold, the world tilts. Darkness folds around us, pressing against our skin, thick and endless. My head spins, my stomach lurches as if the ground itself is shifting. Then, through the blur, a faint yellow light flickers in the distance, growing brighter with every step.

When the dizziness fades, we stumble out onto patchy grass. The soil squelches beneath our boots, damp and uneven. Around us, the land stretches dull and colorless, ruins of old buildings, a faded ghost of the world we once knew. The sky above is painted in soft blue, the sun sinking low and gold, yet the air reeks of rot and decay.

This isn’t home. It’s Talvarna but it’s not the one from the stories.

We trudge through a stretch of wetland, the ground soft and sucking beneath our boots. The trees around us are skeletal, their branches stripped bare as if even the seasons had given up on this place.

“Maybe it’s their winter time?” Lex mutters, mostly to himself, but I hear the doubt in his voice. I know what he means this land feels dead, not merely cold.

“Any idea where we are?” he asks.

I glance down at the map Elder Leon gave me. The parchment is damp from the mist, the ink bleeding at the edges. None of the landmarks look familiar.

“Nope,” I reply, exaggerating the pop of the p just to break the tension. “Can you see a river or lake nearby? We’re supposed to be close to a bay, maybe?”

We both go still, listening but there’s no sound of running water, no distant waves, only trickling drops from beneath our boots. Only the wind, whistling through hollow branches like a warning.

After another few minutes of trudging up a low hill, something catches my eye, thin column of smoke curling into the sky. As we crest the rise, the shape of buildings emerges through the haze: long, two-story structures.

But as we move closer, realization settles in. It’s not a single structure, it’s rows of houses, packed tight, leaning into each other like they’re afraid to stand alone.

The sight before me saddens my soul. I can’t help but think of home of how, back in the realm, we had wide open spaces, gardens bursting with life, farms that stretched for miles, and homes filled with light. Here, everything feels smaller, colder.

The people huddle together in narrow streets, their clothes caked in mud, faces shadowed with exhaustion. Children cling to their mothers; men move like ghosts through the filth. It’s as if hope itself has been stripped from the air.

We move quietly through the winding streets, the wet ground squelching beneath our boots. The sky bleeds into deep indigo as the sun sinks below the horizon, and one by one, the faint glimmers of lanterns appear behind cracked windows. Night settles fast here, heavy and watchful.

At the end of the narrow street, a burst of noise breaks through the stillness, laughter, shouting, the clatter of mugs and voices raised in rough cheer. The glow of lanterns spills from an open doorway, casting golden light across the mud-soaked ground.

Lex squints up at the weathered sign swinging above the door. “Cauldron Poison Inn,” he reads aloud, one brow arched and a grin tugging at his mouth. “Sounds..interesting.”

Before I can reply, a man and woman tumble out of the doorway, both breathless with laughter. The woman swats at him playfully and calls out, “Bad wolf! My place or yours?” The woman shouts. “Are we roleplaying my dear? My place is your place,

How much have you had to drink?” then man replies.

Lex chuckles under his breath, and despite everything, I find myself smiling too. For a place buried under decay and ruin, it’s strange, almost comforting, to see that people here still know how to laugh. Maybe all hope hasn’t died after all.