Chapter 10 #2
The Temple’s grand entrance rises ahead, awakened stone parting at Eira’s approach.
We race through the entrance, and the past hits me like a shard of ice.
This is the chamber where Leira and I were bound, what now feels like a lifetime ago.
Her stormy gaze meeting mine across the sacred space.
Her blood mingling with mine in the ceremonial bowl.
Emberyn flaring to life between us. Now those eyes are closed, that vibrant spirit buried beneath broken flesh.
“Quickly,” Eira urges as we near the Flame room. At Eira’s approach, the door melts open, yielding to her presence.
In the center of the room, the Infinity Flame dances in its ancient basin, blue-gold light pulsing in hypnotic rhythm. Carved into the walls, spiraling from floor to ceiling, ancient text tells the story of our people, of bonds formed and broken, of threads woven through time.
Other injured are already here, warriors with burns, palace staff with broken limbs, all being tended by guardians and civilians with healing abilities. But unlike the chaos at the palace, here movement is orderly, purposeful. The Temple's rhythm remains unbroken despite disaster.
"Place her next to the Flame," Eira instructs, her voice dropping to reverent tones.
The Flame leaps higher as we enter, as if sensing Leira's presence. It reaches outward with tendrils of light that seem almost sentient, searching.
I move forward, carrying my broken mate toward the heart of my people's most sacred space. I silently pray to the Ancients I have long ignored to save her. Though our time together has been brief, losing her would leave a wound in me that eternity could never mend.
The irony does not escape me that I now carry a human into this sacred space, desperate to save her life when her kind once took what I held most dear. But Leira is not simply human anymore. She is my bloodmate. Mine to protect, and I have failed her.
I lay her body near the Flame, the sacred light dancing closer to her as if drawn by some ancient recognition.
The blue-gold tendrils reach toward her burns, not quite touching but hovering above her skin in curious examination.
I have never seen the Flame behave this way, almost tender, almost protective.
A small figure slips between the Temple Guardians, her lavender scales catching the Flame's light. Zara. The tiny seer moves with surprising authority.
"I saw Leira injured thus," she whispers, kneeling beside Leira's broken form. "The Flame showed me, but I could not determine when the event would occur."
Her small hands move with practiced precision, reaching for a clay pot a guardian passes to her.
The salve inside glistens with an opalescent sheen as Zara scoops it with three fingers.
With gentle, deliberate strokes, she begins applying it to Leira's angry burns, starting at the shoulder where blistered skin weeps clear fluid.
"The roots of ashpetal and cave-mint," Eira instructs from behind me, her ancient voice carrying quiet authority. "Apply it thickly where the burns are deepest.”
Zara nods, never looking up from her work. Her touch is featherlight yet unhesitating, as though she has performed this ritual countless times before. The Flame pulses in rhythm with her movements, its light intensifying where the salve meets damaged flesh.
"The oils next," Eira directs, passing a crystal vial to another guardian. "Three drops at each pulse point. The essence will help stabilize her life force.”
I watch, helpless, as they work over Leira's broken body. My warrior's hands, capable of crushing bones and wielding blade, are useless here. This battlefield requires different weapons than those I have mastered.
"Her leg," I say, voice rough with smoke and fear. "It is—"
"Be at ease, Prithas, we will set it," Eira assures me, her milky eyes meeting mine with surprising clarity. "But first we must address what threatens her most immediately. The burns drain her life force fastest."
Zara works in silence, her hands moving in rhythmic patterns across Leira's skin.
Where the salve touches, the angry red of the burns fades to a softer pink, the blisters shrinking visibly.
The Flame seems to work in concert with the medicine, its tendrils hovering over each treated area as if lending its own ancient power to the healing.
"She is strong," Zara murmurs, almost to herself. "Her fragile human body proves most resilient.”
"She is as stalwart as any warrior,” I reply, surprising myself with the fierce pride that underlies my words.
Zara's violet eyes flick to mine, knowing and ancient despite her youth. "She is Threadborn. And she chose this path willingly when she stepped forward in her sister's place."
“The Serpent Crown said as much.” I assumed he had witnessed talk of it through the OathCoil, but now I wonder if Zara told him.
Zara nods, never pausing in her methodical application of the healing salve. "Leira told me herself, but the Flame also showed me the past of how the diplomats intended to send the younger one, Serin. But Leira chose to take her place, to protect her from what she knew would be a difficult fate."
My chest tightens with a new ache as I look at Leira's burned form.
All this time, I believed she was simply fulfilling her duty as a diplomat's daughter.
I never considered she might have volunteered, might have sacrificed herself to protect someone she loved.
Just as I once failed to protect those I loved.
"Will she survive?" I ask, the question scraping my throat raw.
Eira moves beside me, her ancient scales whispering against stone. "That depends on many things, Prithas. The extent of her injuries. The strength of her will." Her gaze shifts to the serpent stone at Leira's throat, still pulsing with weak light. "And the depth of your bond."
"Our bond is ceremonial," I say automatically, the words hollow even to my own ears.
Zara makes a soft sound, dismissive sound. "Is it?" She reaches for another pot, this one filled with a viscous amber liquid that smells of honey and something sharper, more medicinal. "The Flame would disagree."
"What can I do?" I ask, the words torn from me. I, who have commanded armies, who have faced the worst of human aggression without flinching, am reduced to this, begging for a way to be useful while my mate hovers between life and death.
Eira's gaze softens. "Stay with her, Prithas. Let her feel your presence through your bond. Sometimes when the body fails, it is the thread between souls that guides one back from darkness."
I move closer, settling beside Leira's broken form. Hesitantly, I reach out, my clawed hand dwarfing hers as I take it gently between my mine. Her skin feels cold, too cold for a creature whose warmth I have come to expect like sunrise.
"Fight," I whisper, bending closer so only she might hear, if any part of her still listens. "Fight, little human. This is not how your thread ends."
I feel it first as a strange pressure behind my ribs, straining for release. My scales prickle against my flesh as heat stirs within me, radiating outward in fragile waves that make the air quiver around us.
The warmth inside me builds, hesitant, flickering like a forge coaxed to life after centuries of cold.
My scales glow faintly, a muted radiance, as if embers stir beneath them.
Then, all at once the spark flares, spilling down my arms like molten rivers seeking escape where I cling to Leira’s limp fingers.
Where our hands touch, the fire seeps into Leira, no blaze, just a luminous trickle.
Golden streams sketch tentative paths through her veins, tracing the dark, wounded places within her.
The sensation flutters sharp and unsteady, too raw to control yet too young to wield.
My blood feels warmer, thicker, molten in promise but not yet in truth.
“Let it flow, Prithas,” Eira urges from far away, as if across a gulf. “Do not fight what awakens.”
I could not even if I wished to. This power is too young to resist, too insistent to ignore. It courses haltingly down my arms, through my palms, into Leira’s frail human form. It is not pain nor pleasure, but a raw tether linking me to something older than blood or breath.
"The prophecy unfolds," Eira breathes, her voice barely disturbing the air.
"Her breathing stabilizes," Zara observes, pausing in her ministrations to watch Leira's chest rise and fall with regularity.
Leira's eyelids flutter, once, twice, before parting to reveal irises still clouded with pain but unmistakably alive.
Her ashen pallor recedes, replaced by a flush that spreads across her cheeks.
I watch as the angry red welts along her exposed arms begin to soften, the blackened edges of her burns lightening to pink.
The transformation happens slowly enough that I can track its progress, yet quickly enough that it defies nature's laws.
Flesh knitting itself together under the influence of something other than ancient medicines.
Her gaze finds mine, unfocused at first, then sharpening with recognition.
"Varok?" Her voice is barely a whisper, cracked and raw from smoke and heat. "What...happened?"
"The great hall was attacked. An explosion." I lean closer, relief flooding through me so powerfully my scales ripple with it. "You were injured."
She tries to sit up, but I gently press her back with a scaled hand.
"Be still," I say, gently. “Your body needs time to heal."
Her eyes dart around, taking in the Flame room, the Guardians moving among the injured, Zara's small form beside her. Confusion clouds her gaze before understanding dawns.
"The explosion..." she whispers, wincing as she shifts. "Was anyone else hurt? The Serpent Crown—"
"Perhaps," I say, though I have yet to confirm this with my own eyes. "Others were not so fortunate."
She swallows with difficulty, her throat working against the dryness. "Water?"