Chapter 19 A New Road, A Heavy Cross
A NEW ROAD, A HEAVY CROSS
“One day, our Noel will begin her path where the veil is thinnest . . . and in that sacred place, her soul will bind not only to him, but to something far older than this world.”
—Eyleen ársa
Noel
Moonlight and shadows blur around us, and Theron’s coat rubs between my thighs with his every stride toward ávera. I grip his fur tight, trying to steady myself by focusing on the rhythm of his paws pounding the earth.
Sometimes it seems like he slows and steals glances at me, as if he senses it too.
I squeeze my eyes shut, my face burning.
Despite my attempts to push the thought aside, it stays, quickening my pulse even more.
Theron said he could pick up even the faintest scents, which means .
. . he can likely sense me now. Goddesses.
I need to put a piece of cloth in at some point. I can’t enter vólkin land with so much wetness between my legs. I don’t understand any of this.
Every few hours, Theron would pause, letting me stretch and shake the ache from my muscles.
Without a word, he’d hand me small bundles of fruits he’d gathered along the way.
Even when I insisted I wasn’t hungry, he’d hold them out, worry clear in his eyes as he muttered about needing strength for the long day ahead.
It was strange, this attention, and unexpected from someone like him, a vólkin warrior.
Each time he did it, I couldn’t help but think how thoughtful he was.
He was trying, really trying to make this journey easier, even with everything stacked against me.
Who would’ve thought a vólkin could be so . . . human?
When I first told him I needed . . . relief, I could barely get the words out, mumbling and stumbling, unsure how to say it.
Theron only tilted his head, asking if my stomach hurt, and I wanted to sink into the ground from embarrassment.
I tried to explain without saying the word, and eventually, his eyes lit up.
“You need to urinate?” he asked, as straightforward as a child.
Goddesses, I just nodded, feeling my face heat even more as he took a few steps back, gestured for me to go ahead, and promised he’d keep me safe.
I had to tell him to turn away, and he only looked at me in confusion, his head tilting like a puzzled pup.
I told him it was like when I didn’t want him to watch me bathe, and he let out a soft “Oh!” and nodded.
It strikes me how primal he is, how even with all his tenderness, he is still a beast. Somehow, though, I almost find it . . . adorable.
Except for the part where he pissed right on my own puddle after I was done. He said that since we aren’t fully bonded yet, he needs to have his scent on me at all times. To be honest, I’m too exhausted to argue. It is probably a vólkin thing, and I just . . . I can’t.
So, what have I learned so far?
He wags his tail when happy, tilts his head when confused, and pisses on my piss so it smells of him. And all of that with so much confidence, as if everything is normal, like that is simply how things work for him.
For me? I don’t know what I think about it. Interesting? Weird? I still can’t believe he made me some sort of coat from his fur.
“Theron,” I finally say. “Could you let me down?”
He slows, lowering himself with that natural grace of his, his muscles moving beneath his fur like a river in motion.
The moment my boots meet the earth, my legs wobble, unsteady from hours of holding on to him.
I used to ride horses back in Tárnov, but never for so long. A full day of riding, even with breaks, has left me aching. And this was no ordinary ride. Theron is much wider than a horse.
“You alright?” His voice rumbles beside me.
I look up, and he holds my gaze as he rises to his full stature. He is definitely at least twice my height.
I nod, rolling out the tightness in my legs. “Yes, just . . . not used to traveling like this.” Or traveling at all, really. The sight of the world sprawling out before me still leaves me in awe—the endless trees, the sky, the shadows over everything.
I expect him to make fun of my inexperience.
What warrior would say they’re not used to traveling?
But he doesn’t. He just watches me. Studies me in a way that doesn’t make me feel small or weak.
If anything, he makes me feel seen, like I’m a person, not a duty or a burden.
For all his strength and wildness, there’s a gentleness in him that surprises me every time we have the smallest interaction.
He walks beside me, positioning himself just slightly ahead. With every step, he surveys the path, his ears twitching in response to even the quietest sounds around us. I catch myself glancing at him more often than I mean to.
When I breathe in, I taste the crisp night air as my gaze drifts to the horizon, a line of shadowed mystery stretching endlessly before us. “How much farther?” I murmur, half to myself.
“Not long now.” Theron’s reply is low. “We’ll be there soon.”
As we walk, my eyes move over the powerful lines of his back and shoulders before lingering on his thick tail swaying with each step.
It’s funny how he jerked away when I traced my fingers over it.
He’s surprisingly ticklish for someone so scary, and there’s something charming about that tail of his.
I stifle a chuckle. How can someone as fierce as Theron have such a fluffy tail?
The forest around us changes as we walk.
The trees stretch taller, their trunks twisted and gnarled.
They look ancient, as if they’ve stood here for centuries.
Their bark is dark and rough, with tendrils of mist clinging to their roots.
The leaves above us glow with the moonlight, and their shadows shift and sway.
Along the path, colorful flowers bloom. Their petals glisten, yet the colors are robust, reds like blood, purples like bruises, and blacks as dark as the night. They’re beautiful and haunting all at once, as though they were grown in both light and shadow.
Small, luminous orbs flit around. They leave trails of light that fade into the darkness behind them.
This place is unreal.
I feel like an outsider. How could someone like me be destined for something so grand?
Theron’s presence beside me keeps my nerves in check. For now.
“We’re almost there,” he says. “Just beyond these trees.”
As we make our way through the dense forest, the trees gradually part, revealing the entrance to ávera, and my breath catches in my throat.
Towering, timeless trees, their trunks as wide as houses, stand like guardians around the village.
Their branches weave together high above, creating arches adorned with shining flowers and creeping vines that pulse with light.
Streams of crystal-clear water wind through the earth, reflecting the moon’s silvery sheen.
The homes, nestled high within the colossal trees, appear to have grown from the wood itself, as if the trees and structures are one and the same.
Water flows down from every dwelling, and vines coil around the trunks, creating stairways that spiral upward, leading to platforms and terraces that seem to float among the branches.
Clusters of glowing flowers illuminate the pathways with a pale radiance that lights up the faces of those passing by. Of vólkins passing by.
The place is a perfect harmony of nature and architecture, where the boundaries between the living forest and the crafted homes blur into one. I try to hold in my countless gasps.
Bridges woven from leaves and vines as wide as carriages stretch between the trees, their surfaces strong, allowing the giant vólkins to move easily between the different levels.
“Theron,” I call.
“Yes, little dove.”
“I have never seen such beauty,” I whisper. The wind flows through my hair, and I turn to him. “This is unbelievable.”
“Welcome to ávera.”
A hush falls over the village as we approach, and curious faces turn our way.
Vólkins of all ages pause in their activities, their gazes fixed on me.
Small vólkin children peek from behind their parents, their wide eyes following my every move as if I were something mythical stepping into their world.
A group of vólkins approaches, their expressions kind and welcoming. A relief, really. If I hadn’t met Theron first, I’d probably be running for my life at the sight of them. They’re all so large and imposing, covered in thick fur, and their presence makes me want to retreat.
The one leading them comes forward, bowing with the others. “Your Majesty, welcome home,” he says, his tone respectful, though, is he holding back a grin?
Golden-brown fur covers him completely, and he has white crystals on his forehead, shaped in a V just like Theron’s.
He’s tall and lean, his build more athletic than Theron’s bulk, with a line of fur along the top of his head that stands up slightly.
Do all vólkins style their . . . fur? Hair? Theron’s looks styled too.
He studies me with icy-blue eyes, a color I’ve never seen in any human.
“I am Kael, one of the warriors of ávera. We’ve been expecting you, Your Majesty.”
Will I ever get used to being called Your Majesty?
The goddess called me Ethereal Leader, and Theron agreed without hesitation.
And now, hearing it from Kael, it’s clear they all know.
They don’t look the least bit surprised by the title.
But what unsettles me is the way they’re looking at me.
Back in Tárnov, my soldiers look at me because they’re afraid to look away.
But these vólkins . . . they’re curious.
Of course they wouldn’t be afraid of me.
Between us, I’d be the first to run. But still, it makes me uneasy.
Their eyes studying every part of my existence.
I clear my throat and turn my gaze back to this Kael vólkin. “It’s an honor meeting you, Kael, and everyone else. My name is Noel.”