Chapter 28
THE STARLIT CHAMBER
TWENTY-EIGHT
AMARA
The worm creature is close behind us, its massive body grinding against the passage walls, its teeth clicking together in a nightmarish rhythm. The tunnels twist and turn—endless. The air is thick with dust and damp earth.
We don’t stop. We can’t stop.
The ground shudders. I can feel it—something old. Relentless. Born in the dark. Survived in it for centuries.
Thane runs ahead, his grip firm on my wrist, guiding me through the shifting maze. The bond tugs at both of us, leading us left at the next fork. We veer sharply, dodging low-hanging roots and jagged walls. The flying orbs keep pace, firelight casting shifting shadows as we move deeper.
Panic claws at my chest, but I can’t look back for Lyra—Thane won’t let me. His grip is unyielding, his pace relentless as he leads me forward, as if he knows that if I stop—if I see her like that again—I won’t be able to keep going.
The tunnel narrows. The air cools. The walls become smoother, more structured—less like natural caves, more like something deliberately carved.
The creature behind us lets out a frustrated, bone-rattling screech as the tunnel tightens around it. Then—thank the gods—it slows.
Garrick glances over his shoulder, breathless. “I think it’s—”
A roar cuts him off. Violent. The sound vibrates in my chest.
Jarek curses. “It’s trying to force its way through!”
I don’t look back. We keep moving. The tunnel slopes steeper now, angling downward, forcing us deeper underground.
Thane calls out to those behind us, “The passage ahead widens!”
The passage opens suddenly—into a cavern. We stagger to a stop. The weight of the chase drops away.
But I can’t take any of it in. Garrick is lowering Lyra onto the stone floor and she isn’t moving.
My chest clenches, fear tightening like a vice around my ribs. Before Valen can reach her, before anyone can think, I’m already there.
“Lyra.” I drop to my knees beside her, my hands shaking as I reach for her.
She’s too still.
I press my fingers to her arm. Her shoulder. Her neck—searching, desperate.
Too cold.
Too limp.
I feel wetness under my fingertips. I lift my hand, and in the dim glow of the chamber, I see it—blood.
Her blood.
No. No, no, no!
I scream her name. My voice breaks. My vision blurs.
I don’t hear them. I don’t feel anything.
Just Lyra—and a future I can’t survive.
Something snaps inside me. A surge of warmth erupts in my chest, rushing outward, igniting like fire but feeling nothing like it. It’s not heat. It’s not flame. It’s light.
The grief wants to take me. I refuse.
Something inside me splits wide—pain, love, fury—pouring out.
A pulse of raw, shimmering energy bursts from within me, expanding outward like ripples in a still lake.
The glow spills over my arms, spreading down my fingers, cascading like liquid gold and silver, but weightless—dancing like threads of starlight caught in an unseen current.
The air hums with power, a quiet vibration that grows, gathers, spirals.
Valen steps forward, his voice urgent. “Amara—get back. Let me help her.”
I won’t. I can’t. I cling to Lyra’s still form, my breath coming in gasps. She’s my friend. My sister. I wouldn’t be here without her.
I press my hands to her chest, her arm—searching for anything.
But she’s too still.
Too quiet.
My chest tightens. Vision blurs. My whole body trembles under the force building inside me. I can’t keep going without her.
Thane moves beside me, his voice low but firm. “Amara, let Valen work. You need to step back—”
“No! His healing power isn’t strong enough!” I sob.
Thane reaches for me anyway. His fingers graze my arm—then a violent spark erupts. Thane jerks back, cursing, hand snapping away like he’s been burned.
His breath hitches, and when I look at him—his fingers are curled inward, like he just touched a live flame.
My magics are unraveling—spilling out, expanding in luminous waves.
The chamber glows brighter, the swirling light lifting, rising, cascading in tendrils of luminous gold and silver, woven with streaks of deep indigo and soft violet. Like a constellation coming to life.
Like the stars themselves answering.
I squeeze my eyes shut, grab her shoulders, pull her close. Willing. Pleading. Then—
I feel it.
Not just the warmth of my magics, not just the pulse of energy unraveling from within me, but her. Her pain.
It floods through me—sharp, visceral. I know where she’s hurt. Feel the swelling. The bruise. The break.
And then I see it.
Not with my eyes. With something else.
The fracture. The crack in her skull. The place her head struck stone.
I gasp. My body rocks with the weight of it, with the sheer knowing. It’s like I’ve been pushed inside her wounds. Like they’re mine.
I don’t know what’s happening. I only know one thing. I won’t lose her.
A sharp hiss escapes my lips, my body locking up as the pain rushes through me—Lyra’s pain. It’s not just a vague awareness anymore. I feel it. The pounding, swelling ache in her skull, the way the pressure builds with every beat of her heart.
Every slowing beat. Too slow. Too weak.
She’s bleeding. Inside. The fracture’s too deep. Her body can’t keep up. And with every sluggish, uneven thrum of her heartbeat, I know, she’s slipping away.
The magics around me don’t stop. They swirl, glittering, cascading, weaving through the air like liquid starlight.
A presence beside me—Valen, wide-eyed, his breath catching. “My gods,” he murmurs, his voice hushed, reverent. “She’s healing her.”
And somewhere—far away, almost out of reach—I hear a single, broken sob. Soft. Choked. Garrick.
My fingers tighten against Lyra’s skin. Heat rushes through me—stronger, fiercer, brighter. The power isn’t wild. It’s mine.
And with a certainty that settles deep in my bones, I lift my head and lock eyes with Garrick. I hold his gaze—unwavering, unshaken.
My voice is steady. Final. Unbreakable. “No. Not today.”
A searing pain rips through me. Not just Lyra’s anymore—mine. It consumes me, burns through my veins, crashes into my skull like a hammer striking bone. My head feels like it’s splitting open, like the force of her wound has become my own.
I scream. Raw. Ripped from the core of me.
But the magics don’t stop. They surge, swirl, grow. Tendrils of luminous gold and silver, woven with streaks of deep indigo and soft violet, spiral around me, rising higher and higher. The energy spins faster, stretching toward the cavern ceiling, pulsing like a living thing.
Too much. It’s becoming too much.
“Amara, pull back!” Valen’s voice is urgent, edged with worry. “You’re too deep!”
He’s afraid—afraid I don’t know what I’m doing. Afraid I’m going to lose control. But I won’t. I refuse. I will not lose her.
The bond inside me hammers. And suddenly I feel him. Thane. His fear crashes into me like a wave, sharp and raw, curling in my chest as if it’s my own.
He’s afraid for me. Afraid I won’t come back. Afraid I’ll be the one slipping away this time.
But I can’t stop. Lyra is dying. And I will not let her go.
The pain is unbearable. It claws through me, searing, blinding, as if my very bones are being torn apart and stitched back together at the same time. The fractured bone mending itself, piece by piece, knitting together with agonizing precision.
Gods, it hurts.
I choke on a sob. My hands tremble against Lyra’s skin. But I don’t let go. I won’t.
The magics moves faster, spiraling, surging, weaving through her body. I can feel every place she’s broken—every bruise, every torn muscle, every part of her that is failing.
And then—healing.
The swelling recedes, the fractures seal, the wounds fade. The magics are furious, relentless, unyielding. The golden and silver tendrils whip through the cavern, streaked with indigo and violet, climbing higher, faster—powerful. Uncontainable.
I scream again, because it’s happening inside me, too. I am being unmade and rebuilt at the same time.
“Amara!” Thane’s voice cuts through the chaos, raw, desperate—a plea.
The pulse beats, a violent rhythm, harder and harder, like it will burst out of me. I hear movement. Thane—coming toward me. I know the sound—his boots scraping stone, urgency in every step.
But then another sound. A scuffle. Bodies shifting.
“No—” Thane’s voice is sharp, furious, but he doesn’t reach me. Rian and Jarek hold him back. I don’t look. I can’t. Lyra is still here. Still broken. Still bleeding.
I will not stop. Not until she comes back to me.
The healing is working. The pain is still there, blinding, unbearable, but beneath it . . . something else. A shift. A change.
I feel it first in Lyra’s heart. The slow, fading beat I had clung to now grows stronger, steadier, like the rhythm of a war drum returning to life.
Then her breath deepens. One slow inhale. Then another. Her chest rising and falling for all to see. The rasping struggle is gone, replaced by something steady, strong. Alive.
She’s coming back.
The magics around me doesn’t slow—it pulses, glows brighter, swirling in shimmering waves, wrapping around me, around Lyra.
The tendrils of gold and silver weave together, streaked with indigo and violet, cascading in the air like celestial ribbons.
It feels endless, unstoppable, the raw power of it flowing through me, through her, through everything.
The cavern hums, the walls seem to glow in response, as if the very space around us is bearing witness to this moment. To this life returning.
But I don’t let go. Not yet. Not until she opens her eyes.
Valen exhales sharply, stepping forward, wide-eyed, his voice barely a whisper. “By all the Elemental gods . . . ”
Rian takes a half step back, his grip still firm on Thane’s arm, holding him back. I can hear Thane struggling against him, his breathing ragged. “Let me go, Rian.”
But Rian doesn’t. His gaze is locked on the swirling magics, his fingers tight around Thane’s arm as if he’s afraid of what will happen if Thane gets too close.