Chapter Thirty-Five
The water brushes along my back like melting ice, tracing my spine with delicate, freezing fingers. Yet my body feels numb to it—too rigid with fear to dare a single movement. Only my lungs seem brave enough to keep fighting, dragging in the thin, trembling air around us.
Judged by the water—as though it were a sentient thing—it creeps around me in shallow waves. Still, some part of me feels as if I’m sinking into an unseen depth.
“It seems death and destruction follow you…”
Lunaris’ voice ripples through the pool, sending shivers across the surface. My jaw locks tight; I couldn’t answer even if I tried. Perhaps the water has already chosen my fate and begun its paralysis.
“How could someone pure of heart cause such pain?”
The question drops into me like a stone hurled into black water, dragging my thoughts down with it.
Was I foolish to believe I could be the one to wield this power—the power of a God?
A dry, bitter laugh forces its way between my clenched teeth. Even the idea feels absurd now. I had been right all along. I’m not worthy.
No one is.
‘I’ve seen all I need to see.”
My chest jerks upward, as if an unseen ribbon cinched around my waist is yanking me upright.
Lunaris’s face is unreadable, carved from moonlight and shadow, but dread coils in my stomach.
She’s going to tell me I’m unworthy. That the world will fall, and I’ll be trapped here—petrified like the others.
She turns her back on me and begins walking toward her throne.
“Wait!”
My voice cracks through the whiteness. She pauses mid-stride, turning slowly. Amusement plays at the edges of her expression, like she’s watching a child attempt something impossible.
“I know I may not be pure of heart,” I say, swallowing against the tightness in my throat, “but I really need this gem. The whole world depends on it.”
‘Well,’ she murmurs, ‘colour me intrigued.’
“Nyxos—he’s escaping. There’s a part of him out there.” I point to where I imagine the outside world must be. “A Siphon. It’s draining the sun, and he has my friends. He won’t stop until he’s gathered enough energy to break Nyxos free and then—”
She raises a hand, stopping me, and steps closer. For the first time, true concern flickers in her eyes.
‘Is this true?’
“Yes. You’re a god—can’t you look through my memories or something?”
‘I could.’ She smiles, her features almost feline-like, and lifts her hand. ‘But if you’re lying to me, it could make your fate worse.’
Her eyes narrow a fraction, enough to make my heart skip a beat.
“I’m not. He’s back. You have to look.” I say studying the white and gold details on her fingernails; they circle my head before curling inward, as though she’s drawing something out of me.
Images bloom in her palm. The colourless sun. The empty school. The Siphon. My friends.
“See? I’m not lying.”
She reaches further back, pulling up memories of the Mountain—memories that make me shudder. Her eyes flick to mine in a sideways glance, as if she senses my unease, and then her hand closes.
‘It seems you’ve been through a lot,’ she says.
I nod, the motion stiff with pain.
She studies me for a long moment before retreating, returning to her throne. She sits, watching me still, her expression as unreadable as ever.
‘Are you just going to stand there,’ she asks, ‘or do you want to see your fate?’
I move toward her, hesitant. I still can’t tell if my words shifted anything inside her. Maybe she’s long stopped caring about Nyxos. Maybe she’s grown tired of existing in this empty, endless place.
I stop before the throne and nod.
Lunaris places her hand over my heart.
The energy erupts instantly—shocking through every nerve. My body lifts off the ground, suspended as power vibrates beneath my skin. My eyes roll back, my vision flooding with blinding colour. Then the force releases me, and I fall to my knees, water splashing around me as I gasp for breath.
I look down at my hands. My skin glows—a low, ethereal radiance humming around me. When I lift my gaze, Lunaris is smiling at me. Not mockingly. Not cruelly.
With adoration.
‘Your fate was decided long before you made your case, Asha Calloway,’ she says. She extends a hand, and I take it. She draws me gently to my feet.
‘The gem sees only intention. And yours—’ her smile deepens— ‘yours are pure.’
“Wait, does this mean?” I say, stunned.
‘Go and save your world.’ She says. “But just know the power within you remains protected. Just as its been given it can be taken away.’