It was fuel. Fuel to recharge the rings, to prolong the Sidhe's torment, forcing them back, again and again, into another brutal, endless cycle.
Her stomach turned violently and she retched again. The sound that escaped her was torn, a noise she barely recognized.
Reynnar.
She had to get back to him. To all of them. She had to stop this.
“Please. Let me go.Please, I need to find my friend.”
But the Void only shifted around her, the currents bending and twisting until a new memory took shape. Through the shadows a delicate figure emerged—a child, radiant and no older than seven. Silver strands, reminiscent of moonlit tides, cascaded down her back, kissed by the starlight's gleam. She twirled, lost in her own dance. Every delicate spin she took caused her gossamer gown to ripple and gleam like the flutter of butterflies taking flight in the summer’s breeze.
The scene expanded, revealing a vast ballroom, its boundaries seemingly as endless as the sky itself. High ceilings billowed like clouds, shimmering with an iridescence that mirrored the early morning horizon. Gliding effortlessly across the room were figures with eyes deep and limitless as the blueyonder, hair flowing weightlessly, like wisps of cirrus clouds. On some of their backs, gossamer wings, delicate as spider silk, caught the ambient light, scattering prismatic patterns across the walls.
Laughter carried across the room. As she took it all in, she realized that the laws of nature seemed optional here; the beings occasionally lifting off the floor in graceful arcs, their steps more akin to floating than actual dancing.
A shiver of awe prickled her skin—the enchanting realm before her could only beTír na nÓg.
Her eyes darted, trying to capture the details, each sight vying for her attention, overwhelming her senses. Among the revelry, a boy, slightly older yet sharing the same features of the moon-haired girl, stepped forward. His bow, laden with mischief, drew every gaze, and as he took the girl's hand, leading her in a mesmerizing waltz, time itself seemed to pause.
The collective muttered softly, resounding in her heart:Brother.
“Why are you showing me this?”
Her voice barely made a sound, more a breath to herself than a question to the Void.
Then, the boy looked up from his sister, his gaze shifting, locking directly onto her. His eyes were a piercing shade of silver, flecked with shadows like fractured starlight. A shiver ran through her, a deep, haunting note striking something within her.
Raijin.
The name rose in her mind unbidden, filling her with a strange, undeniable certainty. It was him—the person she’d been searching for before she lost her memories.
But then, as if the Void was impatient to tell another tale, the scene morphed again.
A moonlit forest came into view.
The same young girl appeared, her wide eyes shimmering with fear as she darted through the twisted trunks.
The trees groaned, their skeletal limbs bending low as if to snatch her, while the earth beneath pulsed, vines twisting and snapping at her heels. Each ragged breath the girl drew seemed to resonate in Elara’s chest, the girl’s desperation bleeding into her veins.
Elara’s fingers tightened around the Wound of Light, her pulse a steady roar in her ears as she watched the girl unleash a fierce burst ofDraoth, folding herself seamlessly into the trunk of a nearby tree.
But her haven was short-lived.
A woman with auburn hair trailing down her back, and a lean, fragile-looking young man moved toward the young girl.
Aine and Osin.
Elara’s throat tightened, her nails digging into her palms as she watched the pair drag the young girl from within the tree, slice open her wrists and drink from her blood.
Aine’s fingers, wreathed in shadow, sent tendrils of darkness snaking around the girl, pulling her spirit into submission. Slowly—heartbreakingly—the girl’s radiant, moonlit hair darkened, the light fading as it absorbed the creeping shadows, fading to the hue of a starless night.
Elara’s pulse slowed, each thud dragging longer, stretching thinner.
The shadows shifted, casting the girl’s face in a harsh, unholy glow. Those delicate cheekbones, that familiar curve of her lips, even the way the girl’s hair coiled around her face...
Her breath caught, jagged shards slicing her throat.
It was her.
