Nytheris （Part 2）
Sunset crept through grimy stained-glass windows as the group wandered the abandoned elven ruin, their nerves stretched thin in Zephyrah's absence.
Dim light revealed the grandeur of what had once been a thriving communal haven: sweeping lounges and echoing dining halls melted into libraries choked with dust, the elegant furniture draped in cobwebs and neglect.
Upstairs, empty bedrooms and family suites sprawled, some joined by crumbling balconies, each space heavy with the silence of absence.
Years of dirt and dead leaves blanketed the floors, rendering most rooms uninhabitable, yet every detail whispered of lives paused mid-breath.
A chill pressed at their backs as they explored,
every footstep stirring ghosts of laughter and life.
The whole ruin was preserved as if frozen,
beds made,
tables set,
vases arranged with now-rotted flowers.
Yet shelves and cabinets remained empty, revealing nothing but dust.
Children's toys sprawled across the floors, marooned in perpetual playtime, while family portraits stared down from the walls, their painted smiles tinged with melancholy.
It felt as though the inhabitants had vanished in an instant, abandoning echoes of joy and sorrow alike.
Zephyrah returned only as the sun's last embers died behind the treetops. The group, who had been waiting restlessly, sprang to their feet when she appeared.
Her arms were laden with baskets brimming with fresh fruit, vegetables, nuts, olives, and wine, but the feast did little to soothe the tension crackling in the air.
Gareth broke the uneasy silence, voice tight as he shoveled food into his mouth.
"When do we leave this place?"
Zephyrah sighed, the exhaustion clear in her eyes. "As I said before, it's complicated. With the army returned, patrols now sweep the forest day and night. You wouldn't make it a mile. And the King now holds your relic. It's locked away, guarded. Even I couldn't take it."
Rowena's voice edged with frustration. "Why keep us here at all? Why not just let us go?"
"You made accusations at court no one could ignore. The council wants proof-if there's truly a threat at our borders, they think you hold the key."
"We know little about this enemy," Rowena insisted, her hands clenched tight in her lap.
"To them, that remains to be seen." Zephyrah's jaw tightened. "You need to know-I don't agree with the council. We can't trade your people's fate for ours. If you mean to retake Etheria, every hour counts."
Gareth narrowed his eyes. "Why risk everything for us? Why betray your own?"
Zephyrah's answer came swift, almost too quick: "Because it's the honorable thing to do."
Rowena wanted to believe her, but Zephyrah's eyes flickered, her words too rehearsed. There was something she wasn't saying.
The Dissolver, silent until now, finally spoke-the question burning in his mind since the trial could wait no longer.
He fixed Zephyrah with an intent stare. "How did you know about the weapon?"
Zephyrah's gaze softened, almost maternal. "I could feel it," she said, voice barely above a whisper.
He leaned forward, voice urgent. "But how?"
"The Ancient Power flows in everything that lives.
It's the root of life and the spark of magic-older than language, deeper than memory.
You don't need eyes to sense it any more than you need to see the sun to feel its warmth.
Even hidden, its presence is unmistakable.
" Her words lingered, quiet but unshakable.
Gareth shook his head. "That can't be true. If it was, magic wouldn't have just disappeared from the world."
Even Rowena, usually quick to dismiss Gareth's doubts, found herself wavering.
"It is true," Zephyrah insisted. "The Power may have retreated from the kingdoms of men, but it still slumbers beneath the surface. If you are alive, you're connected to it."
The Dissolver's eyes shone with sudden hope. "Could I learn to use it?"
Zephyrah offered a rueful smile. "It's not that simple. My knowledge is limited, but I know this: the Ancient Power is alive. You don't command it-you surrender to it. You must understand it, align with it. Those who try to force it are always broken in the attempt."
The Dissolver frowned, struggling to piece her meaning together. "I... I don't understand."
"Think of me. My mother was a healer, and so am I, but it wasn't something she taught or passed down.
I had to discover it for myself. I also have the gift of Sight-visions-she never possessed.
You don't learn to wield the Power; you yield to it.
The only magic you can channel is what's meant for you. The Ancient Power chooses, not us."
Rowena's eyes narrowed. "Then how do you explain the Great War? Osias wielded the Ancient Power-so what was the other force? Surely, The Ancient Power wouldn't turn against itself."
Zephyrah's voice dropped to a hush. "I've been asking myself that same question, of late. I only know what you do. My theory? The Ancient Power is life. The other was death-necromancy, corruption. Not a force, but a blight."
A surge of white-hot fear clawed up Rowena's chest as Zephyrah spoke. Images from their nightmare
the rot,
the darkness,
the destruction
flashed behind her eyes.
Her pulse thundered.
What did it all mean?
She caught Gareth's eye. He wore the same haunted look, though he tried to mask it.
They both knew
something terrible was coming.
Zephyrah rose abruptly, the weight of secrets pressing on her shoulders. "It's late. I should go."
"Wait!" Gareth blurted, panic etched in his voice. "That's it? No plan? What are we supposed to do?"
"For now, there's nothing to be done. You must be patient." Zephyrah's gaze swept the group, grave and unyielding. "Rest tonight. You'll need your strength."
With a final, unreadable glance, Zephyrah bowed and slipped into the growing dark, her silhouette swallowed by shadows. The silence she left behind vibrated with questions, and the chilling certainty that nothing about this night was safe.
The next morning, Gareth and The Dissolver awoke to the first light of dawn streaming through the delicate elven windows. Gareth blinked awake, the memory of yesterday's trial heavy in his chest.
He clung to the rare sense of peace, grateful for the elven beds' comfort, even as anxiety prickled beneath the surface. The Dissolver stirred beside him, momentarily soothed by the gentle warmth before the reality of their situation returned.
Noticing Rowena's bed was empty, Gareth and The Dissolver exchanged a look of concern.
They made their way to the lounge, where the scent of last night's meal still lingered. On the polished oak table rested a fresh spread of food and wine, and a neatly folded note in Zephyrah's elegant handwriting:
Meet me in the stone garden behind the healing grove.
Rowena's absence sent a jolt of unease through them. Had she gone ahead, or was something amiss?
They ate their breakfast quietly, the fresh nuts and sweet preserves doing little to settle their nerves. Gareth's eyes roamed warily as he finished the fragrant elven tea.
Gathering their belongings, they stepped outside into the cool, dew-laden air and made their way through winding garden paths. The ethereal beauty of the crumbling elven enclave surrounded them. Birdsong mingled with the distant rush of water, and the scent of blooming jasmine lingered in the air.
It would almost feel peaceful,
were it not for the armed guards following behind at a distance.
The stone garden spread out before them. Statues crumbled beneath twisting vines, and moss softened the harsh lines of weathered stone.
Zephyrah was there, seated at the base of a worn statue, her silver flute cradled in her hands. The melody she played drifted through the garden-haunting, ageless, threading between statues and tangles of ivy.
Zephyrah stopped playing as they approached, her eyes meeting theirs with a searching intensity. She rose with practiced grace, glancing beyond them as if expecting to see someone else step from the mist.
"You're alone," Zephyrah said quietly. "Where's Rowena?" There was a hint of worry in her voice, though she tried to keep it steady.
"We thought she'd be here with you," The Dissolver replied, glancing around the garden. "If you'd like, I can go back and look for her." Zephyrah shook her head, managing a small smile.
"I'm sure she'll be along soon," Zephyrah said, then drew an uneasy breath and continued,
"The King is hosting a festival today, to display the strength of our army.
It is an attempt to reassure the people after yesterday's revelations at the trial.
The soldiers will participate in games to test their strength and agility.
There will be music, food, and wine. The King has requested your presence. "
Gareth crossed his arms, his skepticism plain. "Why do I get the feeling the King's invitation is more about surrounding us with his army than celebration?"
A faint smile touched Zephyrah's lips. "Perhaps. But the King expects you to attend, regardless. His invitations aren't easily refused." She glanced toward the nearby guard.
Gareth let out a frustrated sigh, glancing warily at the armed guard stationed nearby.
The sense of being watched set his nerves on edge.
How much longer were they going to be kept here against their will?
He hoped Zephyrah might think of a way out before the King's patience wore thin-and before their time truly ran out.