67. Lora
Lora
Warmth seeped into me from every point where Zaivareth’s body touched mine—his chest at my back, his legs bracketing my hips, his breath in my hair.
“You’re doing so good.” His low murmur ghosted against my ear, urging me to keep healing whatever torn flesh or tendons I could sense.
My dull mind floated somewhere between confusion and indifference.
Erion was dead. The world would be devoured by monsters. Nothing I did mattered anymore.
Yet with the murmured praise in my ear, I kept the blue light flowing from my palm. His voice was a low rasp, soft and private, as if nothing existed beyond the circle of warmth he’d built around us.
Why was he doing this? He’d killed Erion. He’d extinguished our only hope and doomed us all. I hated him with every fiber of my being.
Yet my body refused to care about any of that. My head tipped back against his shoulder, drawn in by the steady heat radiating from him.
Nothing mattered anymore.
All hope of saving the world had died with Erion.
His confession echoed through my mind—how he’d taken the stones and caused the rift.
Just like the prophecy had warned.
With stolen stones, the ritual fails.
By snatching those stones, he’d absorbed the powers that twisted his essence, both sun and moon magic. He’d unleashed the blight but also transformed himself into the very thing that could seal it again.
And despite his struggles to control his powers, he’d come so far.
We’d crossed both domains, defeated a horde of monsters, uncovered hidden knowledge, and found the scattered artifacts. Only one task remained: uniting them beneath the eclipse.
The verse from the Queen’s Vault whispered through my mind.
A Dual Wielder seeks his fate
To scattered artifacts locate
If joined anew in full eclipse
The truth shall spill from bearer’s lips
I frowned.
Bearer?
The verse never specified that the Dual Wielder had to be the one to unite the artifacts. Just… a bearer. A bearer of the stones.
Something desperate flickered through my chest. Could someone else finish what Erion started? Could I?
If I joined the stones beneath the eclipse, maybe the truth about sealing the rift would reveal itself. And maybe whatever was required could be done without the Dual Wielder.
The thought churned in my mind as Zaivareth moved my palm to a cluster of nasty blisters on my chest. I sent a renewed wave of soothing glow through my fingers.
His hand covered mine, his arm enveloping me in a warm embrace. His other hand braced against the ground beside us, supporting his weight.
“That’s it,” he murmured, his words hoarse and weak. “There’s the unyielding moon girl I know. You’re going to make it through this. You’re a fighter. A warrior. The strongest I’ve ever met.”
His words seeped into me. Somewhere beneath my numb detachment, something soft and brittle stirred.
A bird trilled its morning song through the quiet forest.
I blinked at the canopy overhead where pale light filtered through the leaves. The entire night had slipped away while we’d worked on mending my injuries.
Burns still mottled my skin, and smaller wounds remained scattered across my arms and legs, but the worst damage had been healed.
After the blisters on my chest had subsided, the prince eased us down onto our sides in the moss. He wrapped his body around mine, forming a protective barrier between me and the world.
“You did so good,” he murmured into my hair. Exhaustion roughened his voice to a low rasp. “Now it’s time to rest.”
His soothing warmth withdrew from my body. I gasped as fatigue and pain flowed in to fill the void. My shoulder throbbed. My muscles ached. The skin on my legs stung from unhealed burns. Even my ribs protested each breath, bruised in ways I hadn’t registered until now.
Had he been bolstering me this entire time?
The realization crashed over me. It was never Erion. It was the prince.
A shudder wracked my frame. My body moved on instinct, burrowing deeper against his chest, seeking his warmth.
His arms tightened around me, drawing me flush against him, as if he feared the world might try to take me from him while he slept.
Despite everything, something frail and vulnerable bloomed in my heart. The way he wielded metal with brutal efficiency in battle—yet helped me heal myself with such tenderness and care—it stirred something warm beneath my numbing grief.
His spear piercing through Erion’s chest flashed through my mind, and that warmth flickered out.
He was the sun prince. My enemy. A ruthless murderer.
More importantly, I had a mission to complete, with or without the Dual Wielder. And certainly without the prince.
My eyes fluttered closed as exhaustion dragged me under, but grim determination settled into my bones.
The prophesied savior was dead, but by the deep, I refused to abandon our only hope. I’d failed to save Erion, but maybe I could still save the world.
I’d venture into Blightlands. I’d unite the stones beneath the eclipse. I’d find a way to seal the rift.
And maybe, just maybe, I’d finally make Mother proud.
The End