8.

  Elora

  I awoke to the gentle rumble of Spook’s snoring, the sound soft and oddly comforting. Sometime after I’d fallen asleep, he’d wormed his way into my tent and now lay draped across me like a cloak made of limbs and tangled dreams. His head was nestled in my hair, his breath warm against the nape of my neck. I exhaled quietly, the corners of my mouth twitching with a reluctant smile. Humans, they needed so much contact, so much warmth. But… there was something about his presence that made the night feel less sharp, less empty.

  I peeled myself from the cocoon of his arms with careful precision. Spook muttered incoherently and turned over, one arm flopping limply to the ground. Outside, the night had teeth. The air was cold and damp, nipping at my cheeks like playful spirits. Our fire had dwindled to a bed of glowing embers. Faelwen, Artemis and Ash remained bundled in their tent. I moved quietly toward the fire, arms wrapped around myself, when something peculiar etched into the earth caught my eye. A footprint.

  Not the worn, round press of a boot, nor the agile mark of an elf. It was… alien. Wide and splayed, amphibian, yet impossibly large. Almost humanoid as if a frog had learned to walk upright and grown to man-size.

  I barely had time to blink.

  Fingers, cold, slick and strong as a river’s current, seized my hair and yanked me backwards. A cry tore from my throat, but it never reached the air. I slammed into something wet and unyielding, muscle wrapped in riverweed, and a clammy hand clamped over my mouth. I trashed, kicked, but it was like fighting the tide. All I managed was a muffled shout: “Spook!”

  That was enough. A snarl tore through the camp. Artemis exploded from the tent, his growl echoing over the grassland. Spook followed, knives gleaming silver in the firelight, his eyes wild and searching. Then, the tent Artemis exploded from, seemed to exhale. Tendrils of dark red mist seeped out from within, curling like ancient sea serpents roused from slumber. A cold settled in my bones as Ash emerged from the shadows, his cloak snapping around him.

  “Drop her,” he hissed in Elvish, voice low and venomous. A shiver ran down my spine. Faelwen stepped out from behind him, palms raised in peace. Her voice, like wind over still water, flowed in the same tongue. “We mean no harm. We are not your enemies.”

  I hadn’t seen their faces yet, my captors, but Spook’s expression told me all I needed. Wide-eyed, muscles taut, he looked like he was staring down nightmares made flesh. The hand at my mouth trembled. Then it slipped away, and I stumbled forward, heart hammering. I turned to confront them, only to find myself stunned.

  They weren’t intruders. We were.

  “You trespass on sacred ground,” said one of them in Elvish, his voice deep, aquatic and oddly melodic.

  He stood at the forefront, clearly their leader. Broad shoulders, muscled arms slick with droplets that caught the firelight like tiny stars. His skin shimmered in hues of deep sea blue, and his eyes, piercing and crystalline, locked with Ash’s in an unspoken challenge.

  Water Nymphs.

  They were beautiful in the way oceans are beautiful: untamed, ancient, and not meant for human hands.

  Their hair rippled like riverweed in an unseen current, ranging from obsidian green to twilight blue. Their ears flared like miniature dragon wings, and thin membranes stretched between their long fingers and toes. They wore garments that shifted like water itself, patterned in browns, greens, and murky blues, as if woven from the current.

  “You’re right,” I said, raising my hands slowly, trying to still the storm. “We didn’t mean to trespass. We’re only travellers. We sought shelter, and when we found no sign of your city, we camped at the water’s edge. We only need a safe place to rest before continuing our journey.”

  He narrowed his eyes, gaze flicking between Ash and me. “Who are you?”

  “I am Elora,” I said clearly, letting the weight of my name settle in the air. “Daughter of Elandor, Lord of Caradsher?n.” I gestured to my companions, who stood poised yet cautious behind me. “These are my friends.”

  Spook reluctantly lowered his blades, and Ash let the red mist evaporate into the cold morning air. Faelwen laid a calming hand on Artemis head, mentally communicating with him. The nymph’s eyes lingered on me for a long, tense breath. Then he lowered his trident.

  “Show me your sigil, my lady,” he said. “Anyone can claim noble blood.”

  Ash bristled. He opened his mouth, but I raised a hand saying I’ve got this. With a resigned breath, I pulled back my sleeve and revealed the sigil inked into my upper arm, ancient and unmistakable. A mark burned into me before I could speak my own name, a tradition I had never cherished, but one I was suddenly grateful for.

  The nymph inclined his head and offered a deep, graceful curtsy. “Then I bid thee welcome, Lady Elora, to our hidden sanctuary beneath the waters.”

  He gestured toward the bright blue mirror of the lake.

  “If it pleases you, we will escort you to our city. Magic will be provided, so you may breathe as we do.”

  “The city is underwater?” I asked, eyebrows raised.

  He nodded solemnly. “For protection. It lies beneath the surface, wrapped in a dome of spell woven breath. There, you may rest in safety.”

  I turned to the others. Faelwen, Artemis, and Ash nodded without hesitation. Spook hesitated, looking at the lake like it might bite. He hadn’t understood a word spoken in Elvish. “It’s safe,” I told him gently. “They’ll use a spell that will help us breathe.”

  He swallowed hard but nodded. “If you say so.”

  I smiled faintly. “I do.”

  As the soft glow of dawn kissed the edges of the glade, we dismantled our camp, our movements hushed and reverent in the morning stillness. Packs were slung over shoulders, last embers of fire doused with a whisper of steam, and one by one, we turned towards the bright blue lake where the water nymphs waited, serene and shimmering in the morning light.

  But I lingered.

  I reached for Spook’s hand, fingers curling around his to anchor him. He paused, brow lifted in silent question.

  “Hey,” I whispered, the word barely audible over the rustle of the others moving towards the water nymphs. His eyes met mine, curious, searching.

  “Don’t worry,” I said, my voice soft as silk but certain as stone. “I’ll be there. Every step.”

  I gave his hand a gentle squeeze. He smiled then, not the quick grin he gave to charm the world, but something deeper. Warmer. And he squeezed back.

  The nymphs encircled us and started chanting. The spell took hold, cool and soft, like slipping into a dream. And we dived. We breathed water as easily as air, swam as though we had done so our whole lives. The journey was brief, touched by magic and lit from below by schools of bioluminescent fish trailing behind us like floating stars.

  And then we saw it.

  The city unfolded before us like a long-lost memory, vast and breathtaking in its quiet majesty. Towers curved like seashells reached up toward the sun-dappled surface above, their roofs a mosaic of blue and burnished orange, as if the sky had shattered and fallen upon them. We passed through a veil, thin as glass and pulsing with enchantment, and gravity gently reclaimed us. Air returned to our lungs. The water no longer clung to us, yet left a shimmer on our skin.

  The streets were alive with the hum of life. Time clung to buildings in the form of colourful mosses and coral skeletons, faded but proud. Archways draped in kelp-fringed curtains led into winding corridors, where soft lights danced and voices echoed like waves on stones. Nymphs bustled gracefully through the streets, laughter of children and whispered song weaving between them.

  We crossed a bridge etched with runes beneath which fish of every hue darted through lush underwater gardens. The lake glistened below, a world within a world.

  “We have no inns,” said the nymph at the head of our escort, his voice fluid and melodic. “Visitors are rare. But we’ll bring you to the Lady’s house. She keeps to herself, so I cannot promise a greeting, but she will grant you rest.”

  He paused, placing a hand to his heart. “I am Tasheed. First general to Lady Evanora.”

  “Well met,” I replied with a respectful nod. Tasheed guided us through meandering alleys that twisted like rivers, until we reached a sprawling house at the city’s edge. It looked as though it had grown from the coral itself, a summer palace etched in light and tranquillity. Wide-open rooms, sun-drenched and breezy, offered floor pillows in pools of silk and cotton-draped beds that swayed gently like sails on a calm sea.

  “You can tell the maids when you are ready to leave this place.” Tasheed bowed and left us in the hands of silent maids, who placed delicate platters of food beside us. A humble feast of crackers, glistening fruits, creamy tea, and spice-laced wine. We sat together, our weariness forgotten for a moment, dazed by the surreal beauty cradling us.

  “It does feel strange,” Faelwen murmured, curling into Ash’s arms. “To be in the Lady’s home without even a word from her.”

  “I agree,” I said, lifting a piece of fruit, “but not all elven lords and ladies are as… hospitable as mine. Solitude is her kingdom, and we’re guests in it. Best we enjoy the rest she offers.”

  The food was otherworldly, light, rich and comforting. We spoke little, letting the silence mend us. Then Spook stood, stretching with a soft groan and a grin.

  “I’m going to explore this palace. Or house. Or… whatever this is.”

  I rose too, the corners of my lips tugging upward. “I’ll come. We don’t want a repeat of Eryndalis, do we?” I tossed a glance at Ash, who chuckled in response. Spook who brought us into trouble twice in Eryndalis. Once with the help of Faelwen.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  We slipped out together. “Hey, wait up!” I called, hurrying after him. He turned, a smirk already blooming.

  “Are you here to guard me, or just craving some alone time, princess?” he teased, eyes dancing.

  I rolled mine, pinching his side in mock indignation. He yelped and lunged, but I already danced out of reach, laughing. And then I ran.

  Not far. Just enough to be chased. He followed instantly, his footsteps behind me like a beat I’d always known. I spun and darted down another corridor, laughter bubbling from me like spring water. In that moment, I wasn’t a daughter of noble blood or a bearer of heavy names, I was just me.

  With Spook, I didn’t have to behave. I didn’t have to be polished marble, quiet grace. I could run. I could tease and tumble and laugh. I could be wild. And he never once asked me to be less.

  He loved me because of it.

  Once outside, I turned sharply down a narrow corridor of coral-stone and glowing moss, my footsteps light and fleet. The laugher still danced in my lungs as I dashed over a delicate bridge carved with runes that shimmered faintly underfoot.

  The path led to a small outcropping at the edge of the city. A secluded perch that jutted over the glistening river winding beneath the sapphire domes and coral-spired towers. I could have lost him.

  Years of training had made me faster, stronger, ghostlike on my feet. I could’ve vanished into the winding streets without a trace. But I didn’t. I let him catch me.

  Arms wrapped around me from behind with a rush of warmth and breathless laughter. He spun me around, grounding me gently back onto the smooth stone, holding me as though I were something precious and fragile in a world of breaking things.

  “I caught you, princess,” he whispered against the curve of my ear, voice low, steady. “I will always catch you… no matter what.” A vow wrapped into playfulness.

  I turned in his arms, heart tightening. There was so much tenderness in his words. So much promise

  And that was the problem.

  His touch, his gaze, everything about him whispered safety and warmth. I wanted him there.

  I loved having him near me. But I could not love him freely. Not in the way he wanted. Not in the way he deserved. And he knew.

  “I know you will, Spook,” I said, my voice gentle but shaded with sorrow. He heard it. Of course he did.

  Something shifted in his eyes, and the smile that followed was practiced, too smooth. It didn’t touch the quiet ache that flickered behind his gaze. I nodded toward the bench nestled in the overlook’s curve, ivy curling around its arms like sleepy guardians. He followed silently, sitting close but not touching.

  Waiting.

  Always waiting, for a hope I might never be able to give him. I turned to face him, brushing my fingers against his cheek. A soft, affectionate gesture. My thumb traced the place just beneath his eye where shadows had started to settle. “Don’t say we have to stop this,” he whispered, his voice cracking like frost under morning light. The raw edge of pain in it struck something deep within me.

  “We don’t,” I whispered back, truth and lie tangled together. “But we do have to remember what we are. And what we’re not.”

  His brow furrowed.

  “You’re human, Spook. And one day, you’ll be gone. And I’ll still be here. But it’s not just that. I don’t get to choose who I give my heart to. My parents… they’ll decide who I marry. And…”

  I hesitated, searching his face.

  “…your heart doesn’t only beat for me.”

  He turned away, as if ashamed of something unspoken.

  “I don’t want it to be this way,” he said, voice barely audible over the gentle rush of the river below. I reached out, lifted his chin, made him meet me eye to eye.

  “I know. Neither do I,” I breathed. “But let’s not worry about the end. Not now. Not when the future is so uncertain. Let’s just… be here. Together. However long that lasts. For as long as we’re lucky enough to draw breath.”

  There was silence then. A stillness.

  Then, slowly, his familiar grin reemerged, a flicker of mischief tinged with melancholy. It was softer than usual, but real.

  I smiled too, and with a quiet intensity, I took his face in my hands and kissed him.

  Not like before. Not rushed or reckless.

  This kiss was something else entirely, slower, deeper. A confession without words. I felt him tremble beneath my touch, his hands sliding to my waist, tentative, reverent, as if he didn’t know whether to hold on tighter or let go.

  It wasn’t hunger that moved between us, it was yearning.

  It was the ache of two people dancing at the edge of fate, knowing the fall was coming.

  His lips parted. His breath hitched. My heart thundered as his mouth pressed to mine, not demanding, but asking. When his tongue brushed softly against me, and a quiet involuntary moan escaped his throat, I felt something dangerous stir deep within me.

  Warmth. Real, terrifying warmth.

  I tried to silence it. To bury it under duty and bloodlines and the cold weight of legacy.

  But for one stolen moment, there was only him. Only us. And I didn’t want to let go.

  ? ? ?

  Ash

  “What arcane mischief are you weaving now, my love?”

  Faelwen’s voice was a melody just behind me, her breath warm against my skin before her lips grazed the curve of my neck. I startled slightly, hastily snapping shut the leather-bound tome I’d smuggled from the depths of the library. It’s worn cover and black pages had become a constant companion these past few nights, hidden in the folds of my travel pack like a dangerous secret.

  It was a spellbook for necromancy.

  Dark, seductive and dammed. But I couldn’t stop. I wouldn’t stop. This spellbook, inked by the trembling hands of a Fiend Disciple like me long dead and possibly worse, promised impossible power. The kind of power that could turn tides in our war, that could save lives… or destroy them. It revealed the secrets of binding the essence of the departed, of draining the breath from your foe and gifting it to your allies.

  Dangerous.

  Rare.

  Beautiful.

  I’d been unravelling a particular spell that spoke of channelling a second magical source, either to amplify my own abilities or to become a conduit, lending my energy to another. I’d tried it once already, in desperation, during our battle with the Vexmaw. I had poured my strength into Faelwen, watched her incantation blaze brighter, deadlier.

  I realized I’d lingered too long in silence.

  “A spell,” I murmured, throat dry, “one that might protect us both.”

  She hummed low in her throat, a sound that danced over my skin like warm wind. Her kisses continued, trailing from the nape of my neck down to the slope of my shoulder, each one an unspoken promise. I turned to her, catching her waist in my arms, tugging her into my lap with a grin.

  “Trying to distract me with affection, little troublemaker?” I teased, fingers seeking the ticklish spot just beneath her ribs. She yelped and squirmed, laughter bubbling like a stream over stones.

  “Ash! Mercy!” she cried, breathless.

  I relented, letting her collapse in a heap across my lap, her cheeks flushed, her chest rising and falling against mine. My heart skipped a beat. I liked her this way. She gazed up at me, and I felt the breath catch in my lungs. Light and shadow played across her face, every line and curve etched into my memory as though carved into stone.

  “What?” she asked softly, fidgeting beneath my stare.

  “Can’t I admire perfection?” I whispered, smirking.

  She rolled her eyes, giggling as she rose to her feet and stretched like a satisfied cat. Her shirt rode up just enough to reveal a sliver of soft skin, and a flicker of heat stirred low within me.

  “I’d prefer you do more than look,” she said, casting me a glance over her shoulder as she turned around, playful and challenging. I arched a brow.

  “You recover fast. Has the bleeding stopped already?”

  Referring to the miscarriage of a day ago. The frivolity shattered like thin glass. Her smile vanished and she looked away. I flinched. An invisible wound beneath her skin, and I’d pressed too hard.

  “Not yet,” she said quietly, her voice a breeze rustling through brittle leaves. “But it’s less now. Maybe in a few more days.”

  I stood and crossed the space between us, wrapping my arms around her slender frame, pulling her gently against me. She fit perfectly beneath my chin, her presence grounding me like roots of an ancient tree.

  “Then we’ll wait,” I said into her hair, breathing her in. “I won’t risk your health. Not for desire. Not ever.”

  She nodded, her fingers curling into the fabric at my back. I kissed the top of her head. “We’ll have another chance,” I murmured. “The stars aren’t finished with us yet.”

  A long pause. Then her voice faint as starlight, “I know.” She pulled away with a ghost of a smile and turned toward the door.

  “Where are you going?” I asked, not ready for her absence yet.

  “To find Artemis. He went outside, I think.”

  I knew she needed to talk to him. Her oldest and most dearest friend. And then she was gone, her silhouette vanishing beyond the frame of the door like a fading dream. I sank back into my seat, hands dragging down my face.

  Grief. It was not a clean wound. It bled in silence. It left fingerprints on joy and wrapped itself around moments like snow covering the ground in winter. I didn’t know how to help her, only that I must.

  ? ? ?

  Faelwen

  It wasn’t difficult to find Artemis. He had an uncanny talent for seeking out comfort and serenity, like a compass drawn toward peace.

  I discovered him sprawled across a velvet-cushioned sofa in a vibrant, glass-enclosed veranda. The room was bathed in scarlet evening light, filtered through stained panes that cast jewel-toned shadows across the floor. A cascade of flowers spilled from hanging baskets. The air was rich with the scent of the flowers and something fishy.

  Near the far wall two doors opened towards the garden. A big pond glimmered with soft ripples, encircled by smooth stones and blooming lilies in hues I couldn’t name. Some of the flowers pulsed gently, as if breathing. Like tiny stars on water. I approached, drawn to the gentle hush of water, and stepped through the open doors that led to the garden. Or what I thought was the garden.

  A stone platform lay nestled beneath a twisted tree. Lanterns swaying lazily in a magical breeze. A seating area circled it, crafted from pale stone veined with silver, worn smooth by time and use.

  But it was the creature atop the platform that caught my breath mid-step. I blinked. Once. Twice. Trying to comprehend. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen. A blend of frog and fish, it sprawled lazily across the warm stone, its long, finned tail flicking with indolent grace. Four legs, webbed and oddly graceful, were splayed beneath it, and a crown of delicate, feathery appendages waved gently from the sides of its head. Its skin shimmered, a soft, opalescent pink that shifted to white or crimson depending on how the light touched its skin. It was no larger than a housecat, but carried itself with regal indifference of a beast that had never known predators.

  That’s an axolotl.

  Artemis’s voice, smooth and ever-so-lightly amused, whispered into my mind.

  They thrive in this place. The magic feeds them. Let’s them grow.

  I chuckled under my breath and made my way to the sofa where Artemis lay curled like a statue carved from midnight shadows. “It’s strange,” I murmured, settling beside him, “but oddly adorable.”

  My smile wavered, tugged downward by the weight still pressing behind my ribs. Artemis turned his head toward me, and without a word, nudged his cool, damp nose into my palm. The touch broke something in me, gentle and small, and I exhaled, leaning into the warmth of him. My fingers found the spot just behind his ear, and he closed his eyes, humming low in his throat. It was quiet for a moment. The kind of silence that says everything you can’t.

  After a moment, Artemis broke the silence.

  How are you feeling, Wen? After everything that happened?

  “I’m feeling a bit… sad,” I said softly, tears springing to my eyes. “But that’s okay. I’ll be alright, Buddy.”

  You don’t need to comfort me, little one.

  I looked up through tearstained eyes. Little one. He used to call me that when I was small, when my hands still fit inside his paw, and the world hadn’t yet fallen apart. It wasn’t just him, Barnabas used it too, and so did my mother. A name that wrapped around me like a warm shawl, that made me feel both cherished and fragile. Loved.

  I see your grief. He said, his voice quiet, fur speckled with greying hairs as he placed a paw gently on my lap. All the people you’ve lost. The fear that coils around your heart, the fear of losing anyone else.

  I swallowed hard.

  And I’m glad, he continued, his words echoing in my mind, that you’re acknowledging your pain. Because losing someone… it doesn't happen just once.

  No. You lose them over and over again. In the smallest things. In the way someone laughs. In the echo of a lullaby. In the smell of the forests. The silence where their voice used to be. Grief hurts. And nothing, no one, can truly replace the ones we love.

  “Will it ever get better?” I asked, barely breathing.

  The pain becomes less sharp, Artemis answered, but it can still sting. Even after years. Grief has no deadline, no straight path. It’s a cycle. Sometimes a storm, sometimes a breeze. It comes and goes. But… isn’t it something beautiful too? To have loved someone so deeply that even the memory of them makes your soul ache?

  He looked at me, golden eyes filled with something ancient and kind.

  Even your little baby, the one you never got to meet. Your love for them was already so real, so vast, that their absence still leaves a mark.

  I drew in a breath, broken and whole all at once.

  “The pain I feel… it’s a reminder of how much I loved them. My parents. Mira. Barnabas. Thalor. Gwen. My child.”

  Yes, little one, he said, his voice low and steady. And one day, when your time has come, you’ll see them all again. Every single one. And no more goodbyes.

  I smiled through my tears, pulling him closer to bury my face in his soft fur. And I’m here for you, Wen. For we are…

  “Pack.” I finish as I breath out letting go of that build up tension in my chest.