Character Spotlight: Tavik's Diary Entry

Written by firelight, the ink smudge where his hand shielded the page from his brothers' eyes.

Fire’s burning low. Oren’s shadow stretches across the stone. Huge, like always.

He was fussing earlier about the kindling. How I stacked it. Does it matter? I didn’t say anything. Let him talk. That’s Oren. Always correcting, always leading. Never minded before. He’s stronger than me. Steadier. We need that.

But tonight, he fell apart.

His hands shook. Voice cracked. All because of that name. I won’t write it. Can’t. Feels dangerous even here, where no one’s looking. Like it would make things worse if I carved it into the page. Like the Ravines themselves would hear it and do something. Don’t know what. Just know I can’t.

Bran tried to be brave, but I saw his eyes darting about, saw him holding onto us like we were the only solid things left. He’s always been the sensitive one. Oren shields him. Protected him from everything since Father died. Now I reckon it’s my turn. Can’t let Bran see how unsettled I am. Can’t let Oren break further. Someone has to stay standing.

It frightens me. Seeing Oren shaken. He’s always been the one holding us together, the one who decides what we do, where we go. The one who made sure we survived after Father died. Now the Ravines are pressing down on him, and I don’t know what to do about it. Don’t know how to be what he’s always been for us.

And Nix.

He’s so different. When I touched his shoulder on the cliff, when his wings tore through, I felt something. A thread between us. Humming in my bones. It’s still there now. I can feel it even when I’m not touching him, like there’s a rope tied between us that I can’t see. Not fear of him. I don’t know what it means. What’s changed in me?

He’s younger than Bran but carries himself older than all of us. His past is carved into him, sharp and lonely. Makes him more grown than me, Oren, or definitely Bran. That makes me sad. That he had to grow up that way. Without brothers like mine. Without anyone watching his back, the way we watch each other’s.

Still, he’s, my friend. Want to protect him even though he doesn’t need it. He’s stronger than he looks. Survived things none of us could have. But he watches us like a wild thing. Always alert. Always measuring. Makes me wary but curious too. What does he see when he looks at us? What does he hear that I can’t?

Through that thread between us, I can feel his pain. Constant. Deeper than the wound in his chest. Living in his bones. He doesn’t know I can feel it. Don’t know if I should tell him. Don’t know what he’d think.

Then there’s me.

Half-elf. The words still feel strange in my mouth. Strange to write. Don’t know what it means. Father never told us, kept it secret. Why? What was he protecting us from? Or was he protecting himself from having to explain what she was, what we are?

Tonight, I can feel something stirring. Elvish magic. It’s not like Nix’s magic, all light and wings and stopping time. It’s different. Subtler. Like I’m sensing things I never noticed before. The way the crystals in the ravine walls hum. The way the stone remembers. The way I can feel Nix’s pain through that thread between us.

It’s growing stronger. Changing me. My thoughts are sharper but also... softer? That doesn’t make sense. I notice more. Feel more. Always been the one who acts first, thinks later. Oren’s the thinker. But now I’m thinking too much, and I don’t know what to do with it.

Don’t know if this magic is meant to protect, destroy, or something else. It unsettles me. Makes me feel like I’m not quite myself anymore. But I can’t deny it’s there. Can’t pretend I’m just the warrior brother who follows Oren’s lead.

The Ravines press on me. Heavy as iron. Their silence isn’t empty. It’s full of things I can’t name. Voices that aren’t quite voices. Memories that aren’t mine. The land itself is awake here. Watching. Waiting.

Don’t know what’s happening to us. To me. Don’t know if I’ll be the same person when we leave this place. If we leave this place.

But I had to write it down. Here, where no one else will see. Where I can admit I’m frightened without anyone knowing. Where I can be honest about not having the answers.

Oren’s always had the answers. Now he doesn’t. And neither do I.

Gods, I hope we make it through this.