The Silent Guide

Book 5: The Awakened Realm

by D.K. Holmberg

Genres: Fantasy action & adventure

Synopsis

The seals are breaking. The ancient patterns are failing. And the power spreading through her may be the key to salvation.

Ellie thought finding her vanished mentor would bring answers. Instead, she discovers Zaren has been hunting something far more dangerous than the Servants—an artifact that could either repair the failing barriers between worlds or shatter them completely.

From the haunted port of Saltmere to the lawless Whispering Coast, Ellie races against servants of the Quell who use her own corruption to track her.

Every seal that fails brings the Quell closer to breaking through. Every use of her opposing powers tears her further apart. And in the spaces where the separation of realms grows thin, something vast and hungry watches her progress with terrible patience.

To save both worlds, Ellie must become something more: a bridge between realms, a wielder of impossible harmonies, and perhaps the last person who can restore the First Song before the boundaries collapse forever.

Old debts are calling. Ancient powers are stirring. And the key to everything might already have been lost.

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Release date: December 30, 2025

Publisher: ASH Publishing

Print pages: 312

Sample

Chapter One The port city of Saltmere was already stirring as Ellie made her way through the narrow streets. Merchants were setting up their stalls in the predawn darkness, their movements methodical despite the early hour. Canvas awnings snapped in the salt breeze as vendors arranged displays of dried fish, imported spices, and bolts of fabric that would catch the light once the sun rose properly. Fishermen headed toward the harbor with their nets slung over shoulders, their sun-tanned faces set with the determination of those who knew the morning tide waited for no one. The familiar sounds of commerce should have been comforting—the creak of wagon wheels on cobblestone, the distant calls of sailors preparing their vessels, the clink of coin as early customers haggled over prices—but Ellie couldn’t shake the sensation of wrongness that had settled into her bones since closing the keystone. She paused at a fountain in the market square, its three tiers carved from the same pale Inarak stone that formed the oldest buildings in the city. Water cascaded down in a constant murmur that had once helped her focus during meditation

exercises Ralen had taught her. Now, she pressed her palm against the cool stone and tried to center herself, but the corruption marks on her skin pulsed with a rhythm that had nothing to do with her heartbeat. The patterns had changed overnight—no longer spreading outward in tendrils but rearranging themselves into something that looked almost deliberate. Like a map drawn in dark ink beneath her skin, though a map to what, she couldn’t say. Through her transformed connection to the seals, she could feel the entire network pulsing weakly. Each of the seals sent back its own distinct signature, like voices in a vast chorus struggling to maintain harmony. She could sense microfractures forming and healing in a constant cycle, the pattern she’d created straining against pressures it hadn’t been designed to withstand. “Couldn’t sleep, either?” Ralen’s voice came from behind her, soft enough not to startle but carrying that particular quality of awareness that marked him as someone who’d been watching her for several minutes before speaking. She turned to find him carrying two cups of tea from a vendor who’d opened early—a woman with kind eyes who’d set up her cart near the fountain. The steam rose between them in the cool morning air, carrying an unfamiliar but pleasant scent of mint mixed with something floral, different from the harsh black tea she was used to in Busal. It reminded her that despite being only a few days’ sail from home, Saltmere had its own traditions, its own flavors. Ralen looked as exhausted as she felt, shadows under those silver-blue eyes that seemed more pronounced in the half-light of dawn, but his gaze remained alert, constantly scanning their surroundings with the vigilance of an Arbiter who’d survived too many ambushes to ever truly relax. “Every time I close my eyes, I feel them,” she said, accepting the warm cup gratefully. The heat seeped through the ceramic into her palms, a small comfort against the constant cold that had permeated her bones since channeling both her abilities through the keystone. “The seals. They’re holding, but barely. Like trying to dam a river with loose stones while the water keeps rising.” “Any change from yesterday?” “Three more microfractures formed overnight. I managed to reinforce them, but…” She trailed off, not needing to finish. The connection the keystone had burned into her allowed her to sense the entire seal network as if it were an extension of her own body. When a fracture formed, she felt it like a sharp pain in her chest. She could send her Kindling through that connection, pushing her power across impossible distances to patch the weakness, but the effort left her gasping each time. It was like trying to hold her breath while running—possible for a moment, but unsustainable. They both knew she couldn’t keep this up indefinitely. The Kindling that allowed her to strengthen the seals had been severely diminished by her efforts at the keystone, and each use drained her further. They found a bench near the fountain and sat together, their shoulders almost touching.

Around them, Saltmere continued its morning transformation. A baker hurried past with a tray of fresh bread, the yeast-sweet smell making Ellie’s stomach remind her she hadn’t eaten since noon the previous day. A flower seller arranged bundles of coastal wildflowers in tin buckets, their bright yellows and purples almost garish in the gray morning light. Two dockworkers argued good-naturedly about a dice game from the night before, their voices carrying across the square. The normalcy of it all felt surreal after what they’d witnessed in the desert—the Priest’s calculated death, the vision of the Quell trying to reach through, the moment when she’d felt certain her body would tear apart from channeling opposing forces. “Your father is securing passage on a larger vessel,” Ralen said, breaking into her thoughts. His tone was carefully neutral when mentioning Karishel, the way it always was when navigating the complicated dynamics of her family. “The one we came on won’t be sufficient for the journey back to Busal. We’ll need supplies for the extended voyage, and rooms for everyone. He’s negotiating with a captain who owns a three-masted carrack.” “Let me guess. He’s also making sure the ship has defensive capabilities.” “Multiple ballistas and a fabricator who specializes in wind manipulation,” Ralen confirmed. “Your father doesn’t believe we’ll have an easy journey.” “And Tabitha?” “Still translating. She hasn’t left that pile of documents since we made camp yesterday.” A note of concern crept into his voice. “She says she’s found references to something called the First Song—apparently it was used in the original seal creation. She’s convinced it might be the key to permanent repairs.” Before Ellie could respond, a familiar coldness touched the edge of her awareness. Not the chill of the corruption in her body or the lingering exhaustion from overusing her abilities, but something far more specific. She stood abruptly, her cup clattering to the ground as tea splashed across the cobblestones. The sensation was like ice water down her spine, raising every hair on her arms. Through her enhanced sensitivity to energy patterns—a side effect of her connection to the seal network—she sensed a presence that shouldn’t be possible in the mortal realm. “She’s still here,” Ellie said, her voice barely above a whisper. “And now I think she’s calling me.” But why again? It didn’t make sense, but when it came to the fae, things often didn’t make sense. Ralen was on his feet instantly, his hand moving to his blade’s hilt. “Who?” “Aliason.” The fae woman stood at the edge of the market square, her dark hair tangled in the breeze. The early-morning crowd parted around her without seeming to notice they were doing so, their eyes sliding past her as if she were just another shadow cast by the awakening city. Her expression was grim as she approached, lacking the enigmatic half-smile she usually wore. Something had changed, something that warranted this dangerous level of manifestation. “We need to speak,” Aliason said without preamble, her voice carrying an edge of urgency Ellie had never heard from her before. “Away from crowds.” They followed her through streets that grew progressively narrower and less populated, turning away from the main market into the older sections of Saltmere. Here, buildings leaned against each other like drunken sailors, their upper floors jutting out so far that residents could shake hands across the narrow alleys. Laundry lines stretched between windows, dripping onto the cobblestones below. They passed the fish-sellers preparing their morning displays, the sharp smell of brine mixing with the copper scent of fresh blood as they gutted the night’s catch. They moved around the temple where early-morning prayers were just beginning, the sound of chanted verses drifting through open doors along with incense smoke that made Ellie’s eyes water. Then they headed through an alley that smelled of yesterday’s garbage and sea rot, where scrawny cats fought over fish heads and a beggar huddled in a doorway, either asleep or pretending to be. The path Aliason chose seemed random but wasn’t—Ellie recognized the pattern of doubling back, taking unnecessary turns, climbing steps only to descend again a street over. The route was designed to shake off followers. Anyone trailing them would quickly become disoriented in the maze of Saltmere’s old quarter. Ellie’s Blade ability tracked three separate fabrication signatures following them at a distance—probably local authorities noting unusual movement patterns—but Aliason led them on a route that would lose any mundane pursuit. Finally, they reached an abandoned warehouse near the docks, its wooden walls gray with age and salt exposure. The building had once stored grain, judging by the faded sign that still clung to one wall: “Ketterick & Sons Imports.” Now it stored only shadows and decay. Broken crates were stacked against one wall, their wood soft with rot, branded with shipping marks from cities Ellie didn’t recognize. Morning light streamed through gaps in the roof where shingles had been torn away by storms. Dust motes danced in the shafts of light, swirling in patterns that seemed almost deliberate. The air smelled of old rope, rotting wood, and something else—a sweetness like flowers left too long in water, cloying and wrong. Inside, Aliason moved to the center of the space and began to hum. The low, thrumming sound seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. It wasn’t quite music, but it had structure, pattern, purpose. Ellie had heard her do this before, though never with such intensity. The sound built in layers, harmonies adding to harmonies, until the air itself seemed to vibrate with it. As she sang, even without words, the quality of sound in the warehouse changed. The distant crash of waves faded, the cries of seabirds became muffled, and even their own breathing seemed to come from very far away. “The song will hide us,” Aliason explained, somehow without pausing in her humming. “We cannot be overheard now. No fabrication can penetrate it, no eavesdropping can detect us.” She let the final notes fade slowly, and the air seemed to thicken around them, creating an invisible barrier between them and the outside world. “What is it?” Ellie asked. “You just saw me⁠—” “And now I need to see you again. I’ve been searching for someone who might help us. Garridan. He heads the Guild of Assassins. And I fear he is the key to what has happened to you—and to fixing it.” Her gaze drifted to Ellie’s side. Ralen’s hand moved instinctively toward his blade. “The Guild? They’re⁠—” “Necessary,” Aliason interrupted. “Whatever you think you know about them, Garridan is more than he appears. He was supposed to be coordinating certain… defenses. But he’s vanished. His entire network has gone silent.” “Why would he need to maintain defenses?” “Garridan understands threats that others dismiss. He’s been preparing for this possibility for decades.” Aliason began pacing, a startlingly human gesture from someone who usually remained perfectly still. “Without him, I cannot coordinate the various groups who might stand against the Quell’s incursions. The Arbiters are scattered, the few fae in this realm are hiding, and the human kingdoms are too busy with their own concerns to see the true danger.” “What about finding him directly?” Ralen asked. Aliason’s laugh was bright but edged with fear. “I’ve tried. Others have tried. But we need someone else. Someone with different skills.” She turned to Ellie. “I need you to find Zaren. He’s one of the most powerful Blades alive, and more importantly, he knows Garridan. They have history.” “Zaren and Garridan,” Ellie said, remembering. She’d met the Guild’s leader years ago with Zaren. Even then, she’d sensed something different about him—something that made her Blade abilities react strangely in his presence. His fingers had tapped a rhythm on the table during that meeting. Not nervous energy, but something purposeful, like a musician working through a complicated piece in his mind. “Yes. If anyone can find Garridan or convince him to return if he’s simply in hiding, it’s Zaren. They have a long history.” Aliason stopped pacing and faced them directly. “We will need them both. The Quell… It’s stronger than you realize. And Garridan is one of the few beings it actually fears.” Ellie’s breath caught. “The Quell fears him? I remember when I met him with Zaren. There was something unsettling about him even then, but why would an entity like the Quell fear him?” “Because I suspect Garridan isn’t entirely human,” Aliason said quietly. “Not anymore, at least. The things he’s done, the places he’s been, the knowledge he’s gathered—they’ve changed him. Made him into something the Quell recognizes as a genuine threat.” “You need us to find Zaren, and through him, Garridan. They always did work well together.” “Yes. Zaren has the skill and knowledge to track him, and perhaps more importantly, Garridan trusts him. You’ve seen them together. You know how rare that trust is for someone in Garridan’s position.” Aliason pulled something from a hidden pocket in her cloak—a small bronze sigil of what looked like a musical note, worn smooth with age except for an intricate pattern etched into its surface. “This was Garridan’s badge of office, a fabrication that once protected him from those who would do him harm. He left it behind when he vanished. Deliberately, I think. With your Blade abilities, you should be able to use it to track residual energy signatures, find places he’s been recently.” Ellie took the badge, which pulsed coldly in her hand. The sensation was strange and unsettling, like touching something that had witnessed terrible things. Through her Blade sensitivity, she could feel layers of power woven into its structure—fabrication work certainly, but old, complex, and layered with protections and hidden purposes she couldn’t fully understand. “Do you have any idea where to start looking for Zaren?” “The last confirmed sighting was near Thornwatch, three months ago. That’s where you should start.” Aliason’s hands began to tremble. “I need to leave soon, but there’s more you need to know.” She moved closer, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. “The Quell’s servants have already begun crossing through the fractures. Not in great numbers yet, but enough to establish footholds in your world. And there’s one more thing. The corruption in your body, Ellie—it’s not just marking you. It’s changing you, preparing you for something. Be careful. The Quell called you ‘bridge-between’ for a reason. Your power—wielding both Blade and Kindling abilities together—it’s never been seen before.” “What reason?” Ellie said, but Aliason was already backing toward the door. “Find Zaren. He knows things about the seal network that were never written down, never recorded even in the most secret archives. Together, you might find Garridan. And together, all of us—you, Zaren, Garridan, the Arbiters, the fae who remain in this realm—we might find a way to seal the Quell away permanently. Not just reinforce the barriers but create something new, something it cannot corrupt or break.” She paused at the warehouse entrance. “The Quell grows stronger with each passing hour,” Aliason said, her voice carrying with her attempt at the song. “We need to act quickly, before it gains enough strength to manifest directly in this realm. If that happens…” She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t need to. “How long do we have?” Ellie asked. “Days, maybe weeks if we’re fortunate. The fractures are multiplying faster than expected. Soon they’ll be large enough for more than just Servants to pass through. Find them, Ellie. Find them both. Or everything we’ve fought to protect will be consumed.” With that, she walked out into the morning light. Within moments, she was lost among the crowd, indistinguishable from any other person going about their daily business. But Ellie could still feel the echo of that otherworldly presence, like the lingering note of a song that shouldn’t exist. Ellie stared at the sigil in her hand, its bronze surface cold despite the warming morning air. Finding Zaren seemed impossible. He’d vanished so completely that even the Arbiters, with all their resources and connections, couldn’t track him. She’d tried to find him herself in those first years after he’d left, had followed every lead and rumor, but he’d simply disappeared. And now they needed to find not just him but also the legendary head of the Assassins’ Guild—a man even the Quell feared. “Thornwatch is on our route to Busal,” Ralen said quietly, breaking into her thoughts. “We could stop there, investigate without losing too much time.” “My father won’t approve of the detour,” Ellie replied, though she was already calculating travel times in her head. “Then we don’t tell him the real reason. We say we’re checking on the Arbiter outpost for strategic intelligence about the seal situation.” He met her eyes, and she saw her own concerns reflected in his. “We both know something’s wrong there. I haven’t been able to contact them for days. The communication fabrications just… echo. Like there’s no one on the other end.” Through her connection to the seals, Ellie felt another pulse of wrongness—something in the network shifting, weakening further. One of the eastern seals flickered, its signature wavering like a candle about to go out. She reinforced it automatically, sending a thread of her diminished Kindling across the vast distance, but she knew it was like trying to bail out a sinking ship with her bare hands. Time was running short, and they had too many problems and not enough solutions. “We’ll stop at Thornwatch,” she decided, closing her hand around the badge Aliason had given her. “And hope we find answers instead of more questions.” The badge pulsed once, as if in agreement, and for just a moment she could have sworn she felt two presences—distant but unmistakable. One that reminded her of the echo of Zaren’s energy, familiar from years of training. The other was darker, more complex, carrying weight that made her stomach turn. If that was Garridan’s signature… She understood why the Quell might fear him. They had to find them both before the seals failed completely. Before the Quell grew strong enough to tear through the boundaries entirely. Before the bridge-between—whatever that meant—was complete. ...