But Dario had always seen her differently. From the very beginning, he'd been one of the few who didn’t treat her like a spectacle, like some untouchable, unreachable symbol.
He offered her something few others ever had: respect.
When he looked at her, he sawher—the raw, flawed woman beneath it all. His gaze never lingered too long, never pried, but there was something in it, something that made her feelseen, understood in a way that stripped her down to the bare truth of her humanity. The others gawked, whispered, tried to decipher her like she was some celestial puzzle, but Dario... he justlooked. Saw her for who she was, not what she represented. There was something else in those glances as well, in the way his eyes softened every time they met hers. Affection. She’d felt it, too, ever since they’d met over a year ago.
So, that night, three months ago, Elara had finally crossed the line she’d been dancing on. She kissed him—recklessly—andwhen he kissed her back, gods, the intensity shattered her. The way he held her, as if she were something fragile, something precious, made it feel like he wanted to drown in her just as much as she wanted to lose herself in him.
They'd stayed like that, tangled together until the early morning light seeped through the cracks in the walls, but she had known even then that it couldn’t last. It had been a brief rebellion, a moment of selfishness, of letting herself feel something more than fear and pain. But it was dangerous. It was a line they shouldn’t have crossed.
Because letting it happen again... letting it consume them both would only end in ruin.
Osin’s gaze followed her everywhere—cold, possessive, calculating. If he ever discovered what had passed between her and Dario, there would be no hesitation, no mercy. Dario’s fate would be sealed in iron and blood. So she had distanced herself, pulled away, and Dario, in that quiet, steadfast way of his, had respected it.
But something had shifted between them since then—something unspoken but impossible to ignore. His eyes lingered just a second too long, his fingers brushed against hers when there was no need. It was subtle, so subtle that anyone else might have missed it entirely. But not her.
His watchfulness transcended his responsibilities. And somewhere within, a fragment of her took a guilty pleasure in his lingering attention.
Drawn by the ghosts of that stolen evening, or maybe just the cover the night provided, Elara found herself closing the distance between them. Rising on her tiptoes, she let her lips brush against his in a fleeting kiss. It was barely anything, a whisper of a touch, but it was enough to set her heart racing.
Tonight had broken something inside her, left her aching in a way she couldn’t put into words. And selfishly, she needed this.Needed a moment of warmth, in a life that felt perpetually cold... even if guilt would eat at her come dawn.
Chapter 5
“We are but vessels for the earth's energy,” Avis's voice floated to Elara as softly as the falling night. The full moon cast her delicate features in a soft, silver glow, her hair—a river of night—blending with the evening breeze.
Despite Avis's soothing tone, a chill wrapped around Elara, making her skin prickle. Moonlight cast a silvery path ahead, cutting through the darkness and leading them toward the Cillareen River.
In the heart of the meadow, where the starlight kissed the river’s crest, the spirit of the river awoke. It was a venerable presence that had dwelled within these waters long before the Druids or the kingdoms. Ethereal and fluid, it moved with a grace that belied its age, its form coiling and uncoiling in a silent dance like a ghostly serpent.
To witness the spirit of the river was to see the soul of the Cillareen itself—timeless and serene, guarding its sacred waters. It could appear as a whisper of mist over the river or a sudden surge in the current, reminding those who came near they were in the presence of something far greater than themselves—something eternal.
In Latheria, ancient spirits of the elements dwelled in hidden corners, and the southern Druidic Sect counted themselves fortunate enough to live near one such spirit. These ancients bore no names; they transcended such human trivialities. Theywerethe essence of the world itself. The river's flow, the mountain's rise, the wind's caress, the fire's dance.
Some ancients were hostile, others as mild as a summer breeze. However, this spirit's demeanor varied greatly. To most it might seem friendly, but with Elara, it revealed a completely different side—unpredictable and temperamental. Something about her presence seemed to unleash its true nature.
Around Elara, Elmweavers, Greenhearts, and a Soothsayer or two clustered, the air thrumming with their gentle incantations, their words floating on the breeze and playing with the loose strands of her hair.
“Close your eyes,” Avis whispered gently, “and let the river's touch wander through you. Last time, it gave such lovely gifts. Imagine what wonders await you tonight.”
Gifts.Elara almost laughed. Calling what the spirit revealed to her as "gifts" was being overly generous. Every time she gave it her breath, it reciprocated with "visions."
They were more like erratic flashes, disjointed and bizarre, pieced together like a fever dream. Yet, the Soothsayers never seemed discouraged. They obsessively dissected each fragment, trying to make sense of the chaos. They treated every vision, no matter how scrambled, as a puzzle to be solved, despite Elara’s warnings that the spirit was just playing its games.
But their faith was blind. Hers was not.
A shiver ran down Elara's spine as the cool night air brushed against her skin. She closed her eyes.Fen.
Her breath caught as tears quietly trailed down her face. She didn’t bother wiping them away. What was the point? New tears would only chase the old.
She tried to find calm, to escape to that quiet place in her mind, but each time she tried to step forward onto the path, the ground beneath would give way, fragmenting into pieces until there was nothing left to hold her.
This cleansing ritual called to something old and buried within her, a flicker of the child she once was—hopeful, open,wounded.
As a child, Elara had carried a deep ache in her chest, a yearning to connect with the earth. With the Mothers. Especially Aine, who had brought her to this place, who had gazed at her with eyes full of hope before abandoning her to a monster.Why? That question haunted her every breath. She needed to understand. So, she had sought the goddesses with a raw, bleeding fervor. But time and time again, that fervor was met with nothing but silence. And as the years piled up like layers of armor, Elara had let the tender parts of her heart harden, forming a bulwark against the quiet scorn of the gods.
The gods, if they ever returned, would find no purchase in the fortress she had become.
Unfortunately, this resolve didn't exempt her from the recurring cleansings.
