Among the Tenders, the Fae stand apart, not just in height, but in the aura that clings to them. Their light is darker, more dangerous, flickering like smoke in sunlight. Solena watches me, wide-eyed and trembling, her hands twisted together. Behind her, Orios’s heavy hand steadies her shoulder, though his own eyes betray a flicker of uncertainty.
All of them watch me, searching.
And I wonder what they see.
Is itmethey recognize? Or something reborn, remade? Am I better now… or something far worse?
“Amara. Jewel.”
Erania’s voice cuts through the quiet. She surges forward, tears streaking her cheeks, and throws her arms around me. That single act breaks the spell. The dam bursts. The Tenders rush forward as one, falling to their knees, hands grasping for me, for proof that I am real. Fingers tangle in my hair, brush the hem of my robe, trembling as if afraid I might vanish again.
“Jewel,” they chant, voices trembling. “She has awoken!”
Awoken. Awakened.Two words, two meanings, yet in this moment, they are one.
Solena breaks through the crowd, her sobs shattering what little composure she has left. I reach for her, our fingers tangling as she presses herself close, clinging to me.
“Amara,” she whispers, her voice shaking. “You’re alive. You’rereallyalive.”
“Praise the Souls,” Erania cries. “Praise the Souls, for they have returned our Jewel!”
“Praise the Souls!”
The chant builds. Hands crowd closer, reverent but suffocating. I can barely breathe beneath their devotion. Barely feel anything but their suffering, even those who try to hide it.
“There is so much pain here.” The weight ripples through me.
Erania’s voice cuts through the murmurs. “You cannot heal it all, Amara.”
I lift my chin, ousting the weariness from my limbs. “Yes, I can.”
Time slips away. I do not count the minutes, only the pain I take. I move from Tender to Tender, from child to elder, pressing my palms to wounds both seen and unseen. Bones knit beneath my touch. Torn flesh seals. Fever fades. Each soul I mend leaves a weight within me, a shard of their hurt lodged deep beneath my ribs.
All the while, the Fae work on the other side of the village.
Zyphoro returns from the clearing, and she and Orios round up the remaining Legion, hunting them down, those too slow, too broken to flee. They’ve locked them in the underground den we built long ago, a sanctuary meant to protect the Tenders. Now it has become a cage.
I watch Daed huddled with the others, their heads bowed close in urgent conversation. There’s something different about him now. He is reborn, as I am, his magic changed, tempered, heavier. It hums beneath his skin, and yet, beneath that new power, I sense something fragile.
Every so often, he glances over his shoulder, as if my gaze tugs on the golden thread between us. When our eyes meet, he smiles, but only halfway. The kind of smile meant to reassure, though it never quite reaches his eyes. There is so much between us now, so many words left unsaid. But when in all this madness, will we find the time to speak them?
My thoughts scatter when a soft voice reaches me.
“Jewel?”
Malana, a young Tender mother, barely older than me, stands a few paces away, her arms wrapped around a small bundle. The baby inside coos, tiny hands reaching for the air, as if trying to grasp the sunlight itself. So pure. So untouched by all this pain.
“How can I help you or your child?” I ask, stepping closer.
Malana shakes her head quickly. “No, no, Jewel. We’re well. I only…” She hesitates, cheeks pinking as she shifts her weight. “I hoped you might just hold her? Perhaps bless her?”
The request startles me. “Bless her?”
She nods, embarrassed. “A blessing from the Jewel of the Grove for a prosperous life.”
“I don’t know how to do that,” I admit softly.
Her shoulders hunch. “Of course. Forgive me, Jewel. I didn’t mean to…”
