Chapter 26
When sky is torn and bonds unmade, the unity flame shall walk the shade. One hand to heal, one hand to burn—To choose the star that does not turn.
Holy prophecy of the Tredecim, Zealot sect of The Shardborne nomads
THE MORNING MISTS SETTLED AROUND Orion’s hooves as Astraia rechecked her newly restrung bow before she slung it onto her back, right next to her replenished quiver.
She placed her foot in the stirrup and swung her other leg over the saddle, hoisting herself up until she was firmly seated on Orion’s back.
Pulling the hood of her cloak up over her head, she glanced around at the party of guards readying their own steeds.
The men wore Empyrean leather armor coated in stardust as well as Empyrean blades endued with stardust. The deadly combination made them faster with the blade and more difficult to kill.
Astraia glanced sideways, watching as Caelan mounted his own horse and turned to face the four men. He wore the same leather armor, except a series of white dots had been marked on his arm panel—the constellation Vulpecula the fox and steward of Desire. He straightened in his saddle.
“Empyrean, today we set out to find the demons who plague our lands and threaten Virellians,” he boomed, all eyes trained on him as he spoke.
“Your orders are to scout out these wraiths, but do not engage unless they attack first. We are to gather information and return to Volpes. Remain vigilant, and do not attract unwanted attention. Am I clear?”
“Yes, sir!” four voices roared back.
Caelan nodded at them. “Move out,” he ordered, waiting for Astraia to trot up next to him before setting out from Volpes.
The air was hazy, the sun just starting to rise over the rolling hills of Virellia as they rode north. The dew on the grass sparkled in the morning light, giving the illusion of stars sprinkled on the ground. She scoffed at the poetic irony.
“Where are we starting the search?” she asked, glancing sideways at Caelan, his face unusually stoic.
“Near ásynjur, the fortified outpost outside Skyforge Peaks. It is closest to where the Drengr last spotted the wraith horde.”
Astraia nodded, noting the edge in Caelan’s voice, command mixed with dread.
She did not mock him. The glowing red eyes of the wraith she encountered outside Volpes still haunted her nightmares.
The ancient heathen language it had spoken whispered in the dark corners of her thoughts.
It was no mere enemy; it was a demon of Dominion.
Any advancing numbers of wraiths could only mean the death of innocents.
The party of Empyrean marched onward, careful to stick close together and follow the main roads through the countryside of Virellia.
By late afternoon, they had crossed halfway to the Njord River in the north that created the northern border between the Skyforge Peaks and Virellia.
Truthfully, it was an extension of the eastern fork of the Hydraneas River, but the fearsome people of the Peaks renamed this portion of the river decades ago after a fallen king.
No one dared challenge them, thus the name remained.
Better redrawn maps than angered mountain warriors.
As the sun lowered over Virellia, the band of guards made camp for the night, making quick work of setting up bedrolls and starting a fire. Astraia tended to the horses, making sure they were fed and had easy access to a nearby stream before she sat down next to Caelan by the campfire.
His brows furrowed as he placed a hand on his forehead and sighed. There had been no sign of the wraiths, which was reassuring but also built anticipation of what awaited them the next day.
“Eat.” Astraia shoved a plate of stew in front of him, forcing him to look up at her.
His green eyes danced in the firelight, like the leaves of summer trees painting themselves orange and red for autumn. “Thank you.” He smiled, taking the plate from her.
“What troubles you?” she asked, spooning stew onto her own plate.
“How am I supposed to lead men against demons, Astraia?” His voice was hushed, masked by the sounds of the men talking and laughing around the fire, drowning out their own anxieties with revelry. He gazed absently into the flames, lost in the sea of fire and smoke.
“These are no mere men, Caelan. These are Empyrean. Guards you have trained with, fought with, bled with. They would lay down their lives for you as I know you would for them.” She placed a hand on his, squeezing to let him know she was here. She would weather this storm with him.
“These are no mere men. These are wraiths. Stewards of death. You yourself almost burned out from facing just one of them.” His paused, turning his face to her. “I have only one bond. What good am I against a horde?”
Astraia took a deep breath, smiling as she thought back to a night similar to this, when she feared herself more than anyone. A certain insufferable bounty hunter had broken her in more ways than one under the starless sky, allowing her to breathe through her grief for the first time in years.
“Someone once told me that you are stronger than your bonds. Your bonds do not define you. You are a strong and courageous leader who loves your people. Your men need that right now. Not a Starborne, but the Lord of Volpes and Captain of the Empyrean Guard.” She smiled, rubbing her thumb across the top of his hand.
He beamed at her, raising her hand to his lips. “Thank you.”
Blushing, she broke his stare, tilting her head upward. A small shard of the moon was visible, nearly swallowed whole by the starless expanse. Closing her eyes, she exhaled and dove deep into the murky depths of her mind.
Waves rose and fell around her as she floated through the waters, weightless and without direction.
She plunged her hands into the inky blackness, reaching for her tether, beckoning it from the void.
Her fingers danced across a thin but sturdy strand, and she grabbed hold, tugging on the thread.
It strengthened, firming in her fingers, then a golden glow broke through the blackness.
It stretched before her, extending beyond the surface and shooting to the horizon.
Twinkling in the distance, as her anchor, were the Stars. Her Stars. Power and Sacrifice, woven into the tapestry of her soul.
She waited, still in disbelief they survived. In another breath, she sent her thoughts down the tether, all her fears of the unknown and for the fate of Astradeon.
Please, guide me. Help me protect Astradeon.
It was a prayer, a whisper in the darkness to the Stars who defied death.
The Stars answered, “Hold fast, Starlight. You are not forsaken.”
***
For the first time in many nights, Astraia dreamed. It started much the same as it had for five years. In a room she wished to forget, and the flare she yearned to take back.
She stood in the corner of the room, her back to the door as she watched her father and brother argue.
Elion rolled his eyes, ignoring their father’s rebukes.
Shouting, their father’s face turned blood-red.
His chair crashed onto the stone floor as he jolted from his desk.
He gestured to Astraia, then pointed his finger at Elion, bellowing his commands.
Elion jumped to his feet, cursing him, flinging a hand outward in front of Astraia as if to shield her.
No sound came from their mouths, only muffled roars. She tried to yell back, but it was always in vain. Her mother emerged from the shadows, her eyes narrowed on Astraia.
Then the thunderous shaking of the room.
The brilliant white light.
Astraia stretched out her hand for Elion, as she had thousands of times before, still fighting the dream—fighting against memory and fate. Only this time, her hand met another’s.
A warm, rough hand grasped hers through the blinding light, pulling her through the colorless oblivion.
Weightless, she was guided through time, through her memories, through sorrow and pain and repentance.
Every regret and offense was laid bare before her in the white radiance, but she was not allowed to dwell on the marks on her soul.
The hand pulled her, forbidding her to linger.
Years of her life, all over in the blink of an eye—then time stopped.
Her feet found solid footing, though the blank canvas remained, surrounding her.
Peering down, she saw a familiar scarred and tattooed hand intertwined with hers.
Pine and smoke consumed her, melting away all uncertainty and fear.
She raised her head to find a familiar figure standing in front of her.
Draven.
He was here.
He was resplendent. His golden hair tied back, rough stubble clean-shaven.
He was wearing the white tunic he had given her to sleep in—the one she still slept in every night.
A familiar half-grin pulled at the corner of his mouth.
And his amber eyes, they were ablaze, a ring of fire dancing in his gaze.
“There you are, Starborne.” His voice was low, rough, claiming.
“How are you here?” she asked, glancing around the vacuum of her dream.
“You tell me.” He smirked, stepping closer to her, holding both of her hands in his.
A spark jolted through her body as their skin touched.
Astraia paused, trying to remember how her thoughts had turned to him and why. There had never been a time when her nightmare was left fragmented, unfinished. She gazed up into the glowing pools of molten fire, letting them consume her entirely, body and soul.
“I knew you would come. You always do.” Her voice trembled. “You have saved me in more ways than you know. You made me want to live again. And I knew on my darkest day, you would be my light.” Tears streamed down her face with her confession. She gripped the bounty hunter’s hands tighter.