Page 90 of Wrath Bonded


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“But I will also not leave as though I have done something shameful by surviving.”

The distinction hangs in the air.

“I am not accepting exile.”

Ravik frowns.

“What does that even mean?”

“It means I am leaving because I choose to leave,” I answer quietly.

The bond warms slightly behind me as Threxian’s quiet pride brushes my thoughts.

“I will not walk away from Briarthorn like a criminal driven out by torches and fear.”

The villagers shift uneasily.

“I will leave because my path no longer belongs here.”

The wind moves through the trees, carrying the smell of smoke that still clings to the valley below.

I see the exhaustion written across their faces now. Bandaged arms. Soot-streaked skin. One man stands with his sleeve pinned empty where his hand should be. Another woman clutches a child who has not stopped crying since the night before.

They did not leave Briarthorn untouched. They left it with nothing. And it's my turn to let them be peaceful.

For several seconds no one speaks. Then a soft voice breaks the silence.

“Elowen.”

The sound of my name carries gently across the clearing. I turn toward it immediately. Sister Amelithe steps forward.

I had not noticed her standing among them until now. Her gray robes move through the grass as she approaches, the morning sunlight catching in the silver strands of her hair as she walks toward me with the calm composure that has always defined her presence.

The villagers hesitate as she moves forward.

Someone mutters a protest behind her. Another man shifts his grip on a spear as though unsure whether to stop her.

But no one does.

Even Ravik lowers his gaze as she reaches the center of the clearing..

“Elowen Virel,” she says softly.

Her eyes move briefly toward Threxian before returning to me.

“You speak of leaving.”

“Yes.”

She studies my face carefully.

“And you believe that will bring peace to this place?”

“I believe Briarthorn deserves the chance to rebuild without fear of the power that destroyed it,” I answer.

The words carry no bitterness. Amelithe nods slowly.

“That is a wise understanding.”