Islands of rock and earth floated above the clouds, suspended in the air as if the very sky held them up. They weren’t just hanging there—they were alive, tethered by twisted roots that spiraled down, like strings of some celestial harp, pulling them back to the earth below.
Each isle was its own world, a living, breathing ecosystem. Waterfalls poured upward, their streams vanishing into the clouds, while gardens heavy with mist held flowers that glowed from within, as if they held starlight in their petals.
These weren’t just mountains—they were ancient titans, towering and timeless, their crowns wrapped in lush forests that clung to their sides like sacred offerings. Fog clung to their slopes, swirling and twisting in the wind like restless spirits.
Above, the sky stretched endlessly, painted in twilight hues—mauve and soft gold, streaked with the pink of a sun that never fully set. Impossibly tall spires of rock, softened by the distance, pierced the sky around her, each crowned with temples whose golden spires glinted like beacons under the pale light of twin moons.
It was a place poised in perfect balance, where the ground seemed a mere afterthought to the sprawling bridges that linked peak to peak, their stone pathways lined with fluttering banners. A kingdom of the air where the only law was the whispering wind.
Elara knew, without knowing how, that this place was not just foreign butfundamentallydifferent—alive in a way that the human world could never be.
The air here felt strange, lighter somehow, yet charged with something she couldn’t quite place. It buzzed against her skin, delicate, like the whisper of wings brushing past.
It was a sound, Elara realized—a soft hum, gentle but ever-present, threaded with faint laughter. She turned, searching for where it came from, heart racing. But no one was there. She was alone, yet not.
She took a hesitant step forward, eyes on the fragile-looking bridge that stretched from her mountain to the next. But the second her foot met the ground, the world twisted beneath her. That blinding white light surged up again, devouring everything—her vision, her bearings, her very sense of self. She flailed, helpless, the weightlessness disorienting as she spun through the vortex.
Terror gripped her, a scream dying in her throat as the Void yawned beneath her, that dark patch growing closer, faster?—
Cold stone crashed into her like a battering ram, the force ripping the air from her lungs in a brutal whoosh.
Elara’s eyes flew open as she gasped for air, her chest tight and aching. No—something pressed against her sternum, rhythmic and steady, forcing breath back into her lungs.
“She’s back.”
Saria’s face swam into view, hovering over her. Her brow was pinched, eyes, wide and searching, darting over Elara’s face, her movements quick, almost frantic as one hand pressed against her chest, the other hovering by her neck, fingers trembling just slightly as they checked her pulse.
The Pit.
She was back in the Pit, lying within the circle of stones.
All at once, the pain hit her—a brutal wave crashing back into her body. It radiated from where her hand had touched the stone, shooting up her arm, spreading like lighting down her spine, through every nerve. Elara tried to scream, to move—but body wouldn’t obey, wouldn’t even tremble beneath the agony.Broken. The word echoed in her mind. She was broken.
“Fucking hell, child,” Saria said, her breath shaky before she started casting enchantments into the air. One after another, they floated above Elara, shimmering briefly before sinking into her skin. Each spell sent a flicker through her, a faint pulse deep inside, like embers catching the barest breath of air, fighting to reignite a dying flame.
Dying...
A cold sweat broke out along Elara’s brow.
Three times now—threetimes she had nearly died,each encounter leaving something behind. Not visions, butmemories. First, the encounter with the river spirit; next, whenOsin's shadows had nearly snuffed her life out; and now—the stones.
Elara's chest constricted, pain lancing through her ribs as if her heart were being squeezed in a fist. Her gaze snapped to the stones, the pulse of their strange energy still lingering in the air.
Had they dragged her away, ripped her from the flow of time and tossed her into some forgotten realm? Or was it death murmuring secrets from the Void, whispering to her in the language of the lost?
Chapter 28
Elara spent five days in the infirmary. Five endless days, smothered by the constant presence of guards at the door and the swarm of healers fussing over every flicker of discomfort. There was always something new to swallow, something meant to soothe or mend, though the constant barrage of it all felt more exhausting than her injuries.
Saria, in particular, was relentless. Always at her worktable, grinding herbs and murmuring incantations under her breath, breaking apart old spells, and weaving them into something new in an effort to speed Elara’s recovery. Her fingers moved with an almost frantic precision, crafting tonics meant to either stitch Elara back together or plunge her into that dreamless dark where even her thoughts couldn’t reach her. And sometimes, Elara wished she could stay there, in that quiet emptiness, far from the ache of consciousness and the reality of everything waiting beyond the infirmary walls.
But even through that dreamless abyss, Elara had felt somethingelse. A presence—soothing, steady, a balm against the overwhelming pain. The potions blurred her memory, but she could still recall it—soft hands, featherlight on her face, and a voice, warm and low, calling her back from the dark.
"You died,"Saria had whispered that first night, her voice barely cutting through the fog of potions and pain."Halfway to the Otherworld before I dragged you back."
If that brief brush with oblivion had indeed been death, then truly, Elara grieved her return to the living.
Since coming back, everything felt off. It wasn’t just the pain—though that constant throb beneath her skin had become something she could almost ignore. No, it was worse than that—like she wasn’t supposed to be here anymore. Like she’d crossed a line, left something behind on the other side, and now being dragged back felt more like a punishment than salvation.
