I blink a few more times, and I shake myself off. “I’m sorry, you said he’s been reborn?” 

The Oracle brushes herself off and she doesn’t look at me. “That is what I said. It happens, sometimes. When magic runs amuck.” 

Suddenly my breath catches in my throat, and I can’t get any air in or out. Reborn. Just like me. “But how?” 

The Oracle shrugs her shall back over her shoulders. “As I said, it happens when magic runs amuck. Some say the Divine captured his soul before it could escape and gifted it to the Hillweather family to bless them for their worship. Others say he was cursed into an endless cycle of immortality. Either way, he is here. And he lives.” 

Cursed. 

I specialized in curses.

My head spins, and I stumble back a step. I turn, looking into the sad, worn eyes of my new parents, my lip trembling. “You knew?” I do not know how much they knew, but they knew about this. About the prophecy. And they never told me about it. 

Mother turns to look at Father, who hangs his head in shame. They do not answer, which does not stop the room from spiraling. 

“But—Nox doesn’t have any magic. How can he fight the Queen?” Mayelle’s voice cuts through the shattered wood of the room, and I turn to find her at my side. 

My chest rises and falls unevenly with my breaths, and she covertly slips her hand onto my back. A subtle message. She chases small circles with her fingertips, and I slowly descend back into my body. 

The Oracle purses her lips. “He does, dear child.” 

My head snaps to her, and I blink. “What?” This is news to me. I haven’t been able to cast a single Curse or Hex since rejoining this mortal plane as something new. Every time I’ve tried, just for the hell of it, nothing occurs. No wilted flowers. No wobbly wheels. Just nothing. 

“You will unlock the magic, with time.” She explains, turning to face me. She walks over and places both hands on my cheeks. “Let me get a good look at you.” 

I hum out a noise of protest that is quickly ignored. She turns my head left, then right, and then pats my cheeks twice. 

“Good. A strong boy. You’ll do well on this quest.” 

“I don’t remember agreeing to any quest.” I remind her as soon as her hands are off of my face. I track her movements through the crowded room and watch her flit her way to my parents. They are wearing matching grave expressions, but the Oracle’s eyes shine. 

“Do you have it?” 

“Have what?” The exasperation in my voice is obvious. 

Father exchanges another look with Mother and lets out a breath as if resigning himself. “Yes. It’s back at the barn. We’ve kept it safe, locked away. Just as the Elders instructed us too.” 

Mayelle’s hand halts its journey, and she slowly lowers her touch. I almost miss it the moment it’s gone, because it had been the only thing connecting me to the room. “Your family has something from the Elders?” 

The Elders, who haven’t existed since Queen Ceelia and her daughter wiped them out. An ancient collection of people from the time Before. And my parents have something from them—talked to them too, from the sound of it. 

I shake my head. “I’ve covered every inch of that barn, and I’ve never found anything untoward.” 

Father locks eyes with me, a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes dampening his usually jovial features. “No, Son. You haven’t.” 

Mayelle is asked to go home. Vastelli takes her, but the Oracle comes with us. The market has been all but forgotten, and it sits in the back of my brain like a curt reminder that today was supposed to be just like any other day. We’re back on the farm, making the trek over to the old abandoned barn at the far corner of the property. 

Dust clouds the air as Father shoves open the old, rickety door. “Watch your step,” he commands us. “There may be some nails pocking out.” 

He doesn’t need to remind me, but I think the directive is more for the sake of Mother and the Oracle. He leads us all the way to the back, through piles of stale hay, old rusted farming tools, and more cobwebs than I can possibly count. 

Still feeling smug and defiant, I look around the old, single-story barn curtly. “See? Nothing here but dust.” 

Father reaches up, feels for a dent in the old wood, and pulls. I don’t see how he does it, but a staircase descends from the ceiling. My jaw drops open, and Father nudges me. “Go on.” 

“What? Why me?” 

“Because what’s up there is yours.” Mother steps forward, her voice wilted and weepy. “We can’t touch it. Only the Chosen Son can wield…” Her voice trails off, choking on a faded sob. 

The Oracle rests a hand on her shoulder. “Go. It’s your destiny. And it’s waiting.” 

I think I’ve had too many destinies. I think I’m tired of other people telling me what my destiny is. But I turn and face the stairs, and I let them lead me into the dark. Because that’s what they all want me to do, and I don’t want to disappoint Father, or Mother. 

But that doesn’t mean I’m going on some dumb quest. Even if I did maybe accidentally put a curse on the rightful heir to be reborn. In my defense, I was young. 

The stairs lead me to an open attic space. Light bleeds in through the cracks in the wood, illuminating a single stone in the center of the room. The room is empty of everything except the stone, and what’s stuck into it: a single, sturdy sword with a golden handle. 

Seriously? 

The stairs close behind me, and suddenly it’s just me and the sword. I think I’m supposed to pull it out. I suppose I could give it a good yank, not even wiggling it, and tell everyone they are mistaken. I would have given it a try, and we would have discovered it wasn’t me. No harm, no foul. I go back to my perfect life. 

I approach the slab of stone and inspect the handle. It is engraved with bat wings on each side, embedded with shimmering stones. Not the most practical, but certainly pretty. 

I wrap my fingers around the hilt, and I give it the tiniest hint of a nudge. 

All at once, the sword breaks free, and the stone disintegrates to dust, as if it was never there at all.