CHAPTER FOUR
Tears blurred my vision as I watched my brother's casket descend into the hollowed earth.
Each inch it sank felt like a part of me was being lowered with it—my breath, my strength, the future that still had him in it. The ropes creaked, a slow, agonizing protest in the silence.
Then came the sound that broke me, soil thudding softly against polished wood.
My hands trembled, no matter how tightly I clasped them together. Beside me, my mother finally collapsed into my father's chest, her sobs raw and unguarded, tearing through the heavy air.
His arms wrapped around her, rigid as stone, his jaw locked so tight I thought the bone might crack. His eyes were bloodshot but dry.
A king does not fall apart in front of his people. Not even when he buries his son.
The entire kingdom had come to witness the end of an era. Nobles dressed in black and blood-red crowded the hillside, their heads bowed in practiced or genuine sorrow.
Soldiers stood at attention, their gleaming armor draped in heavy mourning cloth, while the citizens filled the lower terraces—silent, shattered, and lost.
They weren't just grieving a prince. They were grieving the golden flame of Zymarra. The heir. The promise of our future.
Gone.
Ember stood on my left, her usual fire dampened to a smolder.
Maddy was on my right, her breathing hitching in time with mine.
Ryven hovered close behind, his arm firm and steady around my shoulders as if he thought I might actually tip forward into the grave.
We were a line of splintered ribs, barely holding the heart of our house together, pretending to be strong for a kingdom that was watching our every move.
Whispers drifted through the crowd—prayers, hollow condolences, and the sharp, jagged edge of disbelief. Even the most cynical nobles looked shaken.
Jax had never been just a title to them; he had been hope.
The sky darkened slowly, the clouds bruising into deep purples and grays as if the gods themselves were bowing their heads in mourning. Then the rain began.
It was soft at first, a gentle weeping, before turning relentless. It soaked through silk and velvet, plastered hair to skin, and turned the fresh soil into slick, dark mud around our polished boots.
Fitting.
One by one, the mourners retreated toward the reception hall, fleeing the storm beneath the safety of embroidered canopies.
But I stayed.
I watched until the last shovelful of earth sealed him away forever.
I watched until the mound rose where my brother had stood only days before—laughing, alive, burning so bright it hurt to look at him.
My friends lingered just long enough to squeeze my hands, their touch a fleeting anchor, before they slipped away to give me the space that grief demanded.
And when the silence finally settled, and I was truly alone in the downpour—
I broke.
I dropped to my knees in the mud, my palms sinking into the soaked, freezing earth as my hair plastered itself to my face.
Rain ran down my cheeks in relentless streams, a cold shroud that hid the tears I no longer had the strength to fight.
"How could you leave me?" I screamed into the belly of the storm, my voice breaking apart against the wind. The sound tore out of me—raw, desperate, and jagged.
Thunder cracked overhead, shaking the very foundations of the hillside. And when I finally lifted my head—I wasn't alone.
A figure stood only a few feet away, half-swallowed by the roiling grey shadows of the rain. He was tall, perfectly still, and watching.
Those eyes were cold, pale, and utterly unforgiving.
My breath hitched.
I pushed to my feet, my boots slipping in the slick mud as I tried to stumble backward, but he moved with me. Closer.
The darkness around him began to stir, thickening and rising from the saturated ground like black smoke from a dying fire. It breathed. It pulsed with a heartbeat that wasn't human.
And then it struck.
Shadows lashed toward me like whips, coiling tight around my wrists, my throat, and my waist.
They tightened with a crushing, absolute pressure, stealing the air from my lungs before I could even gasp. I clawed at them, my nails dragging through the void, but my fingers met nothing solid—only an ancient, biting cold.
I tried to scream Jax's name. Nothing came out.
The world blurred at the edges, the grey sky bleeding into black. The roar of the rain faded into a terrifying silence. All I could see were those icy eyes.
Watching. Unmoved. The shadows dragged me down, swallowing me whole into the abyss—
"Ava. Wake up!"
The bond hit like a strike of lightning.
I jolted upright with a violent gasp, air tearing into my lungs as if I'd been held underwater for an eternity. My heart hammered against my ribs, sweat slicked my skin, and hot tears were already trailing down my temples.
I couldn't breathe. Anxiety climbed my throat like a vine of thorns, tightening and squeezing until the air in my chest felt thin and useless.
Aether's heavy weight pressed against my legs, solid and grounding, his mental voice sharp with alarm.
"Ava. Breathe. You're safe. Wake up."
The door slammed open, the wood echoing against the stone.
"Oh my gods, Ava!" Ember rushed in, her auburn hair wild around her shoulders and tangled with sleep.
"Breathe, babe—it's okay. You're okay."
I was sitting bolt upright now, shaking uncontrollably. My chest heaved in shallow, broken pulls of air that never felt deep enough to reach my lungs.
Luna vaulted onto the bed, her warm body pressing against my side as her molten eyes widened with worry. She nudged my arm with a soft, urgent whimper.
I fisted the silk sheets, knuckles white, and squeezed my eyes shut to force my mind to focus.
Inhale. Exhale.
Like the sage had taught me. Slow breath in. Slower breath out.
"My herbs," I rasped, pointing weakly toward the drawer beside the bed.
Ember moved instantly, a blur of motion. She yanked the drawer open, grabbed the small tin, and pressed it into my trembling hands.
I tipped the dried blend onto my tongue—bitter, grounding—and chased it with a long draught of water from the nightstand.
As the blend dissolved, the jagged edge of the panic finally began to dull.
My heartbeat slowed from a frantic, tribal drum to something steadier, less violent. The tremor in my fingers faded, and the walls of the room finally stopped their dizzying spin.
Aether's rhythmic breathing softened against my ribs; he remained pressed against me like a living shield, refusing to shift even an inch.
I sat there for a long moment, doing nothing but existing, letting the world settle back into its proper place.
Finally, I lifted my head.
Ember's wide eyes were locked on mine. Her face was unusually pale in the moonlight, and her fingers still trembled where they rested on the silk duvet.
"I'm okay," I whispered, my voice sounding as though it had been scraped raw by stones. "I'm okay now."
She nodded, though the skepticism in her gaze remained, and set the abandoned glass gently on the nightstand before sliding onto the mattress beside me, sitting close enough that our shoulders brushed.
"Same dream?" she asked softly.
I nodded, my gaze fixed on a stray shadow in the corner. "Yeah. The funeral. I've been having it since the day we buried him."
Her expression didn't shift—she'd seen the aftermath of these nights too many times to be surprised by the haunting.
"But this time…" I swallowed, my throat feeling tight. "It was different, Em. Someone else was there."
She went perfectly still. "Who?"
"He didn't have a face," I said, the memory slithering back into my mind in cold, jagged pieces. "Just shadows. And eyes. Ice blue. Piercing. He was just standing there, watching me."
Ember's brows pulled together as she leaned in closer, her protective instincts flaring. "Watching how, Ava?"
"Like he knew me," I whispered, the chill of it still crawling over my skin. "Like he was waiting for me to fall."
A heavy silence stretched between us, filled only by the crackle of Luna's flickering fur.
"His shadows were choking me," I added, my voice losing its steadiness.
"Wrapping around my throat. My chest. Pulling me under. I couldn't breathe, Em. It felt real. Not like a nightmare. Like it was actually happening to my body."
Ember's jaw tightened, but her tone remained deliberately even, anchored in logic.
"You were attacked tonight. Zorian's boundling cut you off from Aether. Then Asher's shadows wrapped around Zorian in the courtyard right in front of you. Your mind is just replaying the trauma. Twisting the pieces together."
I nodded because it made sense. Because I desperately needed it to.
"Yeah," I murmured, my fingers tightening deep into Aether's thick fur.
The room felt lighter, the heavy dread of the nightmare finally dissipating under the weight of Ember's relentless energy. Her mouth curved into a grin, bright as sunlight breaking through a storm.
"Now," she said, grabbing a plush pillow and hurling it straight at my face, "can we please get ready for our first day already?"
I laughed—an actual, genuine laugh—and caught the pillow a mere inch from my nose.
"Fine! Let me get ready, you chaos demon."
I dressed slowly, the lingering haze of the dream making my movements heavy as I pulled on the official Lyr'n'dell Academy uniform.
The skirt was far too short for my comfort, barely brushing mid-thigh, and the crisp white button-up beneath the black blazer was tailored with a precision that revealed more than I preferred.
The blazer itself was stiff, trimmed in gold with the House Ignis sigil stitched over my heart: a crimson phoenix rising from the ashes of a stylized flame.
It looked powerful. Proud. It also felt like a walking display case, which was the last thing I wanted to be.
"I hate this," I muttered, tugging futilely at the hem of the skirt.
That was when Ember strode out of her room like she owned the entire continent.