Seren stares for a long moment. “It’s beautiful.” Her voice is soft, but I note the heaviness.
We dismount from the horses, Daelen cradling Ronyn’s limp body in his arms as Elyssara slowly climbs off, wrapping her arms around herself as if she can somehow shield herself from all this. Gods, I want to go to her. But not here. Not now.
We enter The Resting Place, torches line the slick rock walls, and Jax draws magic from Elyssara to light them. Elyssara doesn’t flinch—no acknowledgment that she’s even noticed.
Our shadows dance on the walls as we descend into the cave, the air thick with smoky incense after this morning’s blessings—a common practice in Zerynthia where honoring the dead is sacred. The cave opens into a vast chamber where the air feels cooler, damp with the breath of the earth. Linen-shrouded forms rest upon raised stone ledges carved into the walls, each wrapped with careful reverence, vines twined around their limbs as if the jungle itself refused to let them go. Above them, narrow shafts carved into the rock let in slivers of moonlight that pierce the dark like silver threads, falling across the bodies in thin, holy beams.
The floor is covered in a scatter of flowers, pale petals glowing faintly in the torchlight, a quiet offering left by kin who still come to whisper their goodbyes. The scent of smoke andresin lingers, clinging to the stone, heavy with the memory of prayers spoken here.
The silence isn’t empty—it hums, layered with centuries of breath offerings given and gone, a thousand last exhalations still clinging to the air. It is both suffocating and holy.
Daelen places Ronyn’s body on a cleared stone ledge I requested to be ready for our return.
“Elyssara, Seren,” I address the women, “it is tradition in Zerynthia to perform a breath offering. We share our final breath with our loved ones returned to the Stars, by leaning over and exhaling over the body; a final breath with them. But, Ronyn is your kin—it is your decision how you would like to say goodbye.”
Without consulting Seren, Elyssara says, “How do we do it?”
My heart lurches at the sound of her voice. The first time she’s spoken to me since Black Heart Belt.
Seren looks at her, indignant, but doesn’t push back, deciding now isn’t the time.
“Kneel beside him,” I instruct, letting softness imbue my words. “Lean over, expelling a gentle exhale over his frame, and recite the words, ‘Breath to remember, Earth to remain, Stars to return,’” I say, demonstrating.
Elyssara nods, though her eyes glisten with barely restrained tears. I lift my hand to comfort her, but think better of it. “Perhaps we’ll go first, and leave you both to have your final moments with him in peace,” I offer to her and Seren, not waiting for a reply.
One by one, the group performs the sacred rite, slowly retreating to the walls of The Resting Place.
Elyssara falls to her knees like her muscles refuse to support her any longer.
“How could you?” she gasps, and a sob escapes her, unbidden. “You selfish bastard. You promised you’d never leave me!” her voice cracks and breaks.
The words gut me faster and deeper than any blade ever could.
Seren’s hand finds a place on Elyssara’s lower back, rubbing slow, consoling circles, but she doesn’t offer words—only presence.
Elyssara shares her last breath with Ronyn, and his chest flares a vibrant orange. She sits bolt upright, eyes searching his body for other signs of life. She grabs his leg, squeezing. Gently taps his cheek. Presses her own palm into his, desperate for movement. But she’s met with unseeing eyes, and hands that will no longer wield a bow.
A broken roar tears from her throat, as she tips her head back to beseech the Stars. Or the gods. Or both.
But Seren’s frame moves over Ronyn’s, ignoring Elyssara’s plea, and she collapses over his chest. Her cheek presses to his flesh, salty tears roll freely from her eyes onto his tunic, spreading like ink on parchment.
She breathes her final words and peels the golden strands that have clung to her face as tightly as she clings to Ronyn.
Seren pushes to stand, her skirts billowing out behind her as she runs towards us, arms outstretched. She collides with Therion in a rush of grief, and he cradles her to his chest, hand smoothing her curls. He presses a gentle kiss to the top of her head, and she melts deeper into him, craving his touch and solace.
My heart twists, just like the knot in my stomach. Not for myself, but for the way Elyssara’s lips twist into something savage as she watches Seren seek comfort in Therion.
She drags herself to her feet, like it takes all of her strength, and stalks towards Seren, vicious tongue ready to lash out. “Ourbest friend is barely dead and all you can think about is running into the arms of the enemy? Where is your fucking loyalty, Seren?” The words come out a low, guttural bite, and Seren pulls back as if struck.
She sucks in a ragged, hurt breath, and for a moment, I don’t think she’ll say anything. But she unfolds herself from Therion’s arms, closing the distance between her and Elyssara like a beast on the hunt. Looking up at her through her curtain of hair, wild and unruly, Seren bites back. “Unlike you, El, I know comfort doesn’t live in the bottom of a bottle, or in the dreams you conjure with voidroot,” Seren snaps, intolerant and unrestrained. “You may think me naïve, but I know how you cope, Elyssara. You drink, smoke, and fuck your way through pain—destructive and selfish, just like you’ve always been. That’s what you are. You’re better than this, but you sure as Stars don’t act like it.”
Elyssara’s face is a mask of indifference, but I don’t miss the way her jaw feathers slightly, or her eyes grow glassy. Seren’s words sting.
Elyssara dons a face of defiance and sarcasm, refusing to break. “Well, if you’ll all excuse me, I’m going to find some things to drink, smoke, and fuck,” she quips, dropping into a low, mocking bow, before gesturing for Rubi to go with her.
Every word cuts—a jagged slice through my heart. My hands fist at my sides, useless against the ache. I know she’s hurting, but this is a path she can’t keep walking down. I want to reach for her, but she doesn’t want me anywhere near her.
Seren exhales a long, shaky breath as Elyssara walks away. She looks around the cave, searching our faces for something—anything. “I know that was harsh,” she defends, “but she needs another way. This path only leads to destruction, and whether she admits it or not, she’s still the Lightborne, and the prophecyis still in play—so is Maldrak, Thalmyr, the war. She can’t give up on herself.”
