The Festival of Reverence—another excuse for Osin to bleed her dry, a “ceremony” dressed as a blessing of the elements. Loyalists from across the realm flocked to the capital, praising his leadership and thanking the Mothers for their mercy. To them, Osin was the bridge between mortal and divine. She’d never seen it herself; she wasn’t allowed to. All she knew were whispers of endless feasts and gilded masks, extravagant parties culminating in the solstice spectacle when the capital became a shrine to Osin.
Most believed his pleas had swayed the Mothers to spare the world, crediting him with their salvation. But Luminaliawas more than deliverance—it marked a miracle: the day the Goddess Aine appeared for the first time in nearly two millennia, ending the Great Divide’s long silence.
Elara had come with Aine, a divine gift to purify the world. She’d been eleven, not an infant, when the goddess presented her. Only years later did she realize how strange that was and pressed Edgar for answers. His answer had been unsettlingly simple: the goddess had created her as a young woman from the outset; she had never been a babe. A revelation that had disturbed her deeply.
During her first year in Latheria, Elara stayed in Arinthel under Osin's watchful eye. However, after Thane's attempt on her life, Osin deemed it necessary to shield her from the world. So, he sent her away, exiled her to the Verdara Sanct, deep within the southern province.
A decade passed, and to Elara, it seemed that the people of Latheria had allowed her to fade into the background of their history. They had forgotten—or perhaps chosen to ignore—that her arrival marked the return of ether.
But maybe… maybe Fenlin and Godfrey had seen through the spectacle, glimpsed the truth beneath the pageantry. What if they were trying to twist it, to make her blood a true offering to the Mothers?
It made sense; after all, most people wholeheartedly revered and believed in it.
“Of coursehe is,” Edgar said, his voice taut.
Elara kept her gaze steady and stayed resolutely silent. She’d learned something useful over the years: if she waited him out, the silence would press in, prodding him to fill it, often with more than he intended. She almost smiled when he let out a weary sigh and settled back into his seat.
“You want to knowwhytraitors turn against their own? Because they crave power. They plot and scheme, desperate toseize it for themselves, hoping to wield it against those of us who uphold the sacred plans of the Mothers. If the goddesses deemed them worthy, they would have been chosen. But they weren't. So, it falls to us to protect what’s sacred. To protectyou.”
He gave her shoulder a single, reassuring squeeze before resuming his meal, and Elara couldn't help but feel dulled, like a blade that had lost its edge. Could the drive that fueled Fenlin and Godfrey be so simple, so painfully mundane, as mere lust for power? The thought of it scraped uncomfortably against her insides.
It was too neat, too convenient. There had to be more...
Her gaze trailed upward, locking onto Edgar as he sat across from her, a forkful of something unremarkable halfway to his mouth. There was a certain... artifice in his casual demeanor, a carefully constructed facade he wore as easily as his well-tailored clothes. It was a feeling that surged within her, a knowing without words.He was masking something.
His eyes flicked to hers, as if her sudden insight had summoned his gaze, and something stirred within her—subtle and undeniable. But when his hand closed over hers, a creeping numbness bled into her skin, crawling up her arm and flooding her veins. Her thoughts dulled, corners blunted, as if her mind were wading through heavy water. Blinking felt like dragging stone lids over her eyes, and the vibrant colors around her leeched into a wash of gray.
Chapter 8
A crisp breeze nipped at Elara's cheeks as she stepped beyond the citadel and into the garden. The sensation felt distant; her awareness cocooned in a fog that even the sharp bite of the coming winter could not pierce.
One hour—that was all the freedom Edgar granted her before she was expected to retire for the night. At least he had allowed her that much.
After dinner, he calmly informed her that the freedom she once took for granted would now be a luxury, doled out sparingly, and under strict conditions—for her safety, he claimed. Her deeds at the capitol, he had reminded her, were not without their repercussions.
As she wandered, she found herself measuring each breath, each heartbeat, each second slipping away like grains of sand in an hourglass. She sighed, trying to savor the gardens while she could, but everything around her seemed muted.The flowers aren’t singing today, she thought, swaying with the breeze.
“Elara!”
Her name sliced through the quiet dusk, snapping her out of her thoughts. She turned, her heart skipping a beat at the sight of Avis.
“Come with me,” Avis whispered, taking her hand and leading her down a rocky path, their shadows merging in the fading light. Everything around her seemed to blur, the lilac bushes speeding past as Avis guided her to a hidden glade. Here, the only sounds were the occasional chirp of a bird and the soft flicker of fireflies. In the center stood a weathered stone bench where Avis settled down, and Elara, with a trace of anxiety in her steps, sat beside her.
Warm hands cradled her face, and she closed her eyes, savoring the touch.
“That wicked man,” Avis murmured, her voice a blend of anger and concern.
Then, Avis began to sing—a song Elara had never heard, in a language she didn't recognize. She furrowed her brow, trying to decipher the words, but the rhythm of Avis's song, its haunting melody, gradually pulled her deeper into the comfort of the Druid's hands.
Before she knew it, Elara couldn't even remember what had seemed so strange about the song in the first place.
“Here, chew on this.”
The gentle command pulled her back. Her eyes blinked open to a small mushroom in her hand. Its cap was thick and densely layered, a cascade of soft, creamy white tendrils that gave it an almost fluffy appearance.
“What is it?”
“Lion's mane,” Avis said, her voice steady as she carefully brought Elara's hand to her lips. “Eat.”
