Chapter 27 #2
She knew their pain, shared their yearning for freedom—freedom that sang with the warmth of sunlight, that danced with the rustle of leaves, that murmured in the ripple of streams. They were kindred spirits, bound by chains not of their making, and she vowed then, with the fierce certainty of one who had known cages, that she would tear down theirs.
They deserved the world beyond these walls.
They deserved better than this.
Without waiting for a reply, Elara spun on her heel and dashed from the chamber, the distant echo of the Sidhe's shout trailing her like a ghost. She didn't stop, couldn't—the urgency was a wildfire in her veins, propelling her forward.
Minutes later, she skidded to a halt before the ancient stones.
The air around her crackled, thick with the weight of untamed power, sending a cascade of goosebumps across her skin.
Elara drew a deep breath, steadying her racing heart as she approached the stones with the methodical focus honed through years of study among Verdara’s scribes.
She cataloged each detail with care, noting the strange markings carved deep into their surface—patterns she didn’t recognize, spiraling inward like the rings of a tree but warped. Unnatural.
Some were so worn they looked as if they’d been scoured by centuries of wind, while others glowed faintly, like embers buried deep beneath the stone’s surface. There were four in total, standing at equal distances, all arranged in a near-perfect circle, each one standing at least twice her height.
She wished she had parchment, ink—anything—to record them properly, but her mind would have to serve as her scroll.
She mentally sectioned the stones off, one by one, committing each peculiar detail to memory, each symbol, each unnatural pulse, just in case she never got the chance to see them again.
After she'd observed everything she could from a distance, Elara hesitated. Her dream... could it have been a warning or a premonition? She couldn't be certain. All she knew was the feeling of dread coiling in her gut was not just fear—it was a prelude.
Gathering every shred of courage, she drew in a deep breath that did little to calm her fraying nerves, and stepped forward into the circle.
The shift was immediate. The air around her dropped, cold enough that her breath came out in visible puffs.
A shiver ran through her, and she instinctively wrapped her arms around herself.
The stones felt different from the inside—more aware.
She could see the markings up close now, strange glyphs that seemed to shift under her gaze like they were breathing.
Elara recorded them quickly in her mind.
But these markings were unlike anything she’d ever studied.
They meant something—she could feel it, like an itch at the back of her mind.
The longer she gazed upon the stones, the stronger their call grew, looping like a siren's song in her veins, whispering through the very marrow of the earth.
Elara’s heart stuttered, fear slicing through the allure—but she couldn’t resist. Her hand moved as if claimed by another will, stretching forward until her palm pressed flat against the stone.
White-hot light knifed through her skull, burying itself behind her eyes, splitting thought from thought. She tore her hands away, clutching her face as if that might stop what was already inside her. It didn’t. The pain only mounted.
The ground vanished. The room, the Pit—everything folded in on itself until only the storm remained.
Wind roared through her, alive and ravenous, stretching her thin, tearing at her from the inside.
She wasn’t falling—not quite. She was suspended, weightless, no longer flesh and bone but something fragile.
A thread, slowly unraveling.
Then—a hush.
Gradually, the world crept back in. The cold air slipped into her lungs, carrying the scent of pine needles crushed beneath fresh snow, the whisper of cold mountain streams untouched by time.
It tasted clean—so clean it almost hurt, as if her chest had never truly known what it was to breathe until now.
Elara blinked, lowering her hands from her face and what greeted her… it snatched away the breath she'd barely reclaimed.
Ethereal.
That was the only word her mind could grasp, but even that felt small compared to the boundless wonder stretching before her.
It wasn’t just breathtaking—it was unreal.
Perched on a mountain’s edge, Elara stared out at a landscape that looked like it had been shaped by the hands of gods. It unfolded before her like a sacred scroll, ancient and untouched, written in the language of wind and sky.
Islands of rock and earth floated above the clouds, suspended in the air as if the very sky held them up. They weren’t just hanging there—they were alive, tethered by twisted roots that spiraled down, like strings of some celestial harp, pulling them back to the earth below.
Each isle was its own world, a living, breathing ecosystem. Waterfalls poured upward, their streams vanishing into the clouds, while gardens heavy with mist held flowers that glowed from within, as if they held starlight in their petals.
These weren’t just mountains—they were ancient titans, towering and timeless, their crowns wrapped in lush forests that clung to their sides like sacred offerings. Fog clung to their slopes, swirling and twisting in the wind like restless spirits.
Above, the sky stretched endlessly, painted in twilight hues—mauve and soft gold, streaked with the pink of a sun that never fully set.
Impossibly tall spires of rock, softened by the distance, pierced the sky around her, each crowned with temples whose golden spires glinted like beacons under the pale light of twin moons.
It was a place poised in perfect balance, where the ground seemed a mere afterthought to the sprawling bridges that linked peak to peak, their stone pathways lined with fluttering banners. A kingdom of the air where the only law was the whispering wind.
Elara knew, without knowing how, that this place was not just foreign but fundamentally different—alive in a way that the human world could never be.
The air here felt strange, lighter somehow, yet charged with something she couldn’t quite place. It buzzed against her skin, delicate, like the whisper of wings brushing past.
It was a sound, Elara realized—a soft hum, gentle but ever-present, threaded with faint laughter. She turned, searching for where it came from, heart racing. But no one was there. She was alone, yet not.
She took a hesitant step forward, eyes on the fragile-looking bridge that stretched from her mountain to the next.
But the second her foot met the ground, the world twisted beneath her.
That blinding white light surged up again, devouring everything—her vision, her bearings, her very sense of self.
She flailed, helpless, the weightlessness disorienting as she spun through the vortex.
Terror gripped her, a scream dying in her throat as the Void yawned beneath her, that dark patch growing closer, faster—
Cold stone crashed into her like a battering ram, the force ripping the air from her lungs in a brutal whoosh.
Elara’s eyes flew open as she gasped for air, her chest tight and aching. No—something pressed against her sternum, rhythmic and steady, forcing breath back into her lungs.
“She’s back.”
Saria’s face swam into view, hovering over her. Her brow was pinched, eyes, wide and searching, darting over Elara’s face, her movements quick, almost frantic as one hand pressed against her chest, the other hovering by her neck, fingers trembling just slightly as they checked her pulse.
The Pit.
She was back in the Pit, lying within the circle of stones.
All at once, the pain hit her—a brutal wave crashing back into her body.
It radiated from where her hand had touched the stone, shooting up her arm, spreading like lighting down her spine, through every nerve.
Elara tried to scream, to move—but body wouldn’t obey, wouldn’t even tremble beneath the agony.
Broken. The word echoed in her mind. She was broken.
“Fucking hell, child,” Saria said, her breath shaky before she started casting enchantments into the air.
One after another, they floated above Elara, shimmering briefly before sinking into her skin.
Each spell sent a flicker through her, a faint pulse deep inside, like embers catching the barest breath of air, fighting to reignite a dying flame.
Dying...
A cold sweat broke out along Elara’s brow.
Three times now—three times she had nearly died, each encounter leaving something behind. Not visions, but memories. First, the encounter with the river spirit; next, when Osin's shadows had nearly snuffed her life out; and now—the stones.
Elara's chest constricted, pain lancing through her ribs as if her heart were being squeezed in a fist. Her gaze snapped to the stones, the pulse of their strange energy still lingering in the air.
Had they dragged her away, ripped her from the flow of time and tossed her into some forgotten realm? Or was it death murmuring secrets from the Void, whispering to her in the language of the lost?