Chapter 6 #4
Before either of them could respond, he melted into the shifting mass of bodies and mist.
Gone.
Seraphae watched him go, her eyes narrowing.
“That’s not normal,” she muttered.
Aldric glanced at her.
“Not normal how?”
She folded her arms.
“He never disappears like that unless…”
She trailed off.
“Unless?” he prompted.
Her lips twitched.
“…Unless there’s a woman involved.”
Aldric blinked.
Then snorted softly.
Of course.
She turned back to him, mischief flickering behind her golden eyes despite the tension lingering in the air.
“Come,” she said, threading her fingers through his again. “Let’s take a small break from this oracle hunt.”
He raised a brow.
“Why not try the upper tier for a change?” she added, her tone almost innocent.
Almost.
She tugged him gently toward a spiraling path of light that wound upward through the mist.
“Besides,” she added, glancing back at him with a knowing smile, “if anyone’s brave enough to face you, it’ll be up there.”
They climbed the narrow stone steps to the upper tier, passing only a handful of oracles along the way.
A dozen at most remained up here.
Quiet.
Watching.
Waiting.
And then Aldric understood why Mareth had been so secretive.
At the far edge of the platform stood a woman unlike any other in the hall.
Tall.
Graceful.
Onyx skin that seemed to drink in the light.
Piercing blue eyes, cool, luminous, almost unreal.
Wavy, pale hair woven into an intricate braid that fell over one shoulder.
Mareth stood before her.
And for the first time since Aldric had met him, he looked… uncertain. Almost nervous.
As Aldric and Seraphae approached, they caught the tail end of his words.
“Ravii… Let’s talk.”
She smiled at him.
There was warmth in it.
But also something heavier.
“You’ve changed,” she said softly. “It’s in your eyes. In your voice. I’ve done some soul-searching too… after that night.”
Mareth reached out, fingers brushing toward hers.
She didn’t pull away.
But she didn’t meet him halfway either.
“This… isn’t something we can force,” she said gently. “Some paths simply aren’t meant to cross again. I’m grateful that we met. Truly.”
Mareth’s jaw tightened.
He exhaled sharply, frustration creeping into his tone.
“Fate has nothing to do with it,” he insisted. “It’s about what we choose. And I choose you. I want to try again. No games. No running.”
For once—
He sounded serious.
Ravii fell silent.
For a long moment, she only studied him.
Then she stepped closer.
Her fingers rose gently to his cheek.
He stilled.
“My heart is heavy too, my flame,” she said softly. “Do not mistake this for indifference.” Her thumb brushed lightly along his jaw. “But sorrow is not the end of your story.”
Mareth’s jaw tightened.
“Part of me expected this, but hearing you say it… is just…” He let out a hollow chuckle.“You’re the only one who ever said no to me.”
A breath passed between them.
“You believe this is a loss,” she whispered gently. “But it is simply preparation.”
He frowned slightly.
“For what?”
“For a blessing that will descend upon you. It will not feel as such at first.” A faint, knowing smile touched her lips.
“At first you’ll fight it... you will be challenged.
Humbled...” Her fingers slipped from his cheek.
“But it will choose you. And this time… you will not be the one asking.” A pause.
“You will find the ocean to quench your flame.”
Her eyes shifted.
Past him.
Toward Aldric and Seraphae.
Mareth turned.
His eyes were glassy.
Unsteady.
Dull.
Seraphae didn’t tease him.
Didn’t smirk.
Didn’t say a word.
He sank down onto a nearby bench, burying his face in his hands.
She simply stepped closer and wrapped an arm around him.
Ravii’s attention returned to Aldric.
Her gaze sharpened.
Measured.
Intent clear.
“We should talk,” she said quietly.
Silence followed.
The air itself seemed to pause.
Aldric looked at Seraphae.
She met his eyes and gave a small nod.
“I’ll stay here with my brother.”
Aldric hesitated only a moment—
He followed her.
They entered a secluded alcove carved into the stone wall.
A narrow chamber.
Curtained by a shimmering veil of magic.
Private.
Incense burned in shallow bowls, filling the air with a soft, resinous haze.
Ravii turned to face him.
Aldric held his breath without realizing it.
“You care about her,” she said quietly.
He met those piercing blue eyes.
“Yes,” he answered without hesitation. “I do.”
A sad smile touched her lips.
Almost fond.
Almost resigned.
“Show me your brand.”
He pulled his tunic over his shoulder, exposing the markings.
Ravii leaned closer.
Her fingers hovered near the sigils, never quite touching.
And then—
Something changed.
The shifting symbols slowed.
Stilled.
Frozen in place.
Aldric stared at her.
“The sigils stopped,” he murmured. “You… you did something.”
“Only enough to see clearly.”
Her voice was tight.
Measured.
Heavy.
Aldric let out a sharp breath.
Frustration poured out of him.
“Please. Spare me the mystery. I know something is changing in me. I feel it every day. This hatred… this anger I barely manage to keep from consuming everything around me.” His voice lowered. “I need a goal.. Something to aim at. Tell me how to finish this cursed brand.”
Something shifted in her expression.
The distance softened.
And for a heartbeat, something warmer flickered there.
Respect.
“The brand you carry is of the Old Kingdom. We have not seen one like it in millennia.”
“I don’t care what it is as long as I can—”
“To complete it,” she interrupted, “you must undergo the Trial of ?thellé.”
His eyes lit faintly.
“Finally. Something straightforward. How do I—”
“You must let go. Let go of your past as a knight. As a warrior.”
“How do I do that?”
“No armor,” she cut in. “No weapons.”
He stared at her.
Her gaze was unwavering.
“For how long?” he asked carefully.
“Until you reach the Well of Light.”
“The… what?”
Her blue eyes searched his face.
“You know the place,” she said quietly. “Even if they never allowed you to walk its halls. In Isendor, they call it the Cleansing Light.” A pause. “Inquisitor Aldric… it would have suited you.”
Aldric went pale.
Memory surged.
The preparation.
The brutal selection.
Knights breaking.
His jaw tightened.
But the memory that rose most clearly was the infirmary.
The smell of iron and herbs.
Fractured leg, broken ribs.
Wounded knights lying side by side, voices low, hushed.
Whispers.
Who would be chosen.
Who would survive.
Who would become the next Inquisitor.
And then… the other whispers.