I walk towards the Astrals. “We’d like our wish now, please.”
The monocled man tilts his chin up, the faintest glimmer of intrigue written across his face. Beside him, the woman in green steps forward, turning towards the tree at the centre of the temple. As her eyes land upon it,the roots, which stretch like veins across the floor, start to pulse with a faint orange glow.
I follow her gaze to the statue of Aether. Their stone face is calm and eternal, as if they’ve seen countless mortals stand where I am now, waiting for their moment.
The amulet around their neck pulses in time with the roots of the tree, each throb of light drawing me closer. A fractured breath curls into my lungs. This is it. There’s no turning back now.
The Astral in blue steps forward, her dress shimmering like sapphire flames. She lifts her arms, palms upturned towards the starry ceiling. “In recognition of your perseverance, courage and strength” – her voice is melodic, almost hypnotic – “we now bestow upon you the blessing of the Ancient Spirits. A single wish to do with as you please.”
My pulse stutters. The wish. The one thing that drove me here. Through jungles and monsters and trials that have scraped me raw.
I glance at Taron, but he’s staring straight ahead. He remains unreadable.
“Please approach the statue of Aether together,” says the monocled man. “Carefully take the amulet into both your palms and make your wish. Keep in mind, without unanimity, it won’t take effect.”
My heart thuds louder in my chest.Without unanimity.Taron shifts beside me, and I wonder if he’s pondering the statement, too – if there’s a battle waging inside him, or if he’s accepted his fate in this game.
I swallow hard, resisting the urge to reach for his fingers and intertwine them with my own. It wasn’t fair of me to say those things. To effectively call him a puppet. But I can’t take any of it back now. One day, I will apologize.
“When you’re ready,” adds the monocled man, as if spurring us on.
The air is still, save for the faintest whisper of water trickling and the mournful cry of a bird echoing from somewhere within the branches of the ancient tree.
Taron moves closer, his expression still unreadable. It hits me like a cold wash of water – for the first time, he’s not suppressing his emotions.
They’re radiating off him in waves. The sour stench of fear. The dry, choking taste of despair. It throttles me, and I struggle not to choke on it. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want Madame Vera to have the wish. And yet, he’s the first of us two to move forward.
The first of us two to voice our desire.
“We’ve decided,” he says, “to give our wish to someone else.”
His request echoes with finality, and a cold pulse radiates from my core. I see the price he’s paying. Taron is suffering, and it hurts to watch. He deserves to be freed from that woman’s evil clutches. I had the chance to free him, and I chose not to.
The Astral in blue raises her head slightly, the briefest flicker of surprise in her crystalline eyes. “Are you certain?” Her question isn’t accusatory, but there’s aweight behind it, a subtle challenge. “To whom do you wish to give it?”
I swallow hard and look at Taron. He must see the agony in my expression, because his hand finds mine.
“I want you to be happy,” he whispers, and tears burn in my eyes. I can’t speak, don’t know what I could possibly say. He rolls back his shoulders and declares, “Vera Halo. We’ve decided to give our wish to Vera Halo.”
The Astrals exchange glances, a wordless conversation passing between them. Their faces betray nothing, but I can sense a shift, something like surprise or caution.
The moment feels suspended. My heart throbs in my ears, still heavy from the weight of our decision. The light from the amulet flickers like a pulse, as though the wish is waiting, poised on the edge of becoming reality.
The Astral in blue is the first one to speak again. “Vera Halo?”
“Impossible,” says the monocled man.
“We can’t allow it,” adds the Astral in green.
Then a voice cuts through the stillness. Sharp. Sly.
“And yet, you’re compelled to. You’re bound to the rules of the Reckoning, after all, which dictate that the victors are allowed to gift their wish to anyone they choose. It is rightfully mine and I’ve come to claim it.”
I freeze, every muscle in my body knotting. That voice. Those heels, clicking rhythmically on the uneven stone floor.
A figure steps into the light, emerging from the tunnelleading to the temple’s entrance. She wears an orange coat, furred and extravagant. Its cuffs lick her wrists like playful flames, and its collar flamboyantly flares up her neck. She saunters towards us. Her lips curl into a thin smile, her reddish-brown eyes gleaming with amusement and something far darker.
Madame Vera. Ever so graceful and unnervingly calm.
