chapter sixteen
I SCURRY THROUGH THE PRISTINE white gallery of the Arc, the silence broken only by the soft echo of my own footsteps.
Cool air carrying the scent of honeysuckle and damp earth seeps in through the open archways lining the overhanging loggia.
I nod to the Accepted as they hurry past me down the hall on their way to one of their morning chores, their slipper-clad feet soundless.
It’s still dark when I step out onto the large open balcony, the only sound that of the running water from the five streams. Tilting my head back, I stare at the sky.
Noticing the moons, I smile. After three days of dark night skies, I admit it’s good to see them again, if only as five sliver crescents.
I’ve gotten used to their comforting light, and their absence left me feeling unusually empty.
After inhaling deeply, I let out a sigh.
Such profound tranquility. My stories have never painted a picture as vivid as this, so breathtaking, so utterly beyond compare to Bronich.
Then why do I still feel as if something is missing?
I’ve always felt hollow. Lost. Longing for a place I don’t even know exists.
But I expected it to get better after striking that deal with Llyr, not worse.
I stifle a yawn. It’s early, but it’s not the sole reason I’m tired. For some time after Seniia's healing, the anxiety was manageable. But it has crept back over the weeks, and somehow it’s even heavier than before.
Every evening, as soon as the lights go out, a relentless cacophony of thoughts—a whirlwind of anxieties and half-formed assumptions—keeps me awake.
I can be calm and composed all day long, but the moment it's dark, my mind riots. Maybe I should have asked Seniia for another healing, but she’s busy and I don’t want to be a burden.
I grit my teeth. The sheer weight of it leaves me bone-tired. Add the relentless sparring practice Llyr forces me to attend, and it’s a miracle I’m standing at all. All logic says I should fall into bed, exhausted as soon as the sun sets. But no. Besides, if I do fall asleep, he is there.
With every night spent at the Arc, the lifelike dreams about Astēr and Nana have become more and more frequent, and more and more vivid.
With each passing night, I find myself drawn deeper into their world.
My cheeks heat. The way he looks at her, touches her—it affects me in ways I can’t explain.
This morning, it took me several minutes to shake off the lingering emotions from the dream, and the sensation was incredibly unsettling.
But the worst part is the isolating silence, the feeling of utter solitude as I wake in my cold, empty bed. Alone.
I push both Astēr and Nana firmly out of my head. I don’t know why I’m dreaming of her, but I do know she’s dead, and it makes it all the more disturbing that it seems so . . . real.
A palpable hum fills the courtyard as the ashina, her keeper, and what must be four immensely powerful Reāns enter, the air crackling with barely contained energy.
A tall, handsome male with similar coloring as Vilder and a falcon on his shoulder turns his head toward where I stand.
He raises his hand in greeting. I glance behind me, but there’s nothing but shadows.
Is he waving at me? I offer him a weak wave in return, unsure of what else to do, but he’s no longer looking at me.
The soul stars blink their goodbyes one after another, and a symphony of chirping birds fills the air as the sun creeps above the horizon in the west. Settling into a cross-legged position on top of the wide railing, I pull out my sketchbook and do a quick sketch of the ceremonial setup, with the ashina and her pristine white wolf at its center.
I’ve sketched more since arriving here than in my entire life in Bronich—so much novelty, so much beauty.
And it helps keep other thoughts at bay.
The keeper stands vigil beside the western archway, while the four others assume their positions at the cardinal points of a circle drawn around the ashina.
The male who bears the striking resemblance to an older Vilder holds his hands before him, palms upward.
From his hands, white smoke rises in a slow, graceful spiral, undisturbed by the gentle breeze rustling through the courtyard.
East of him, the female with wavy pale blue hair cascading down her back performs a mirrored ritual. As she cups her hands, they overflow with a continuous stream of water that cascades over her bare feet, splashing gently on the cool, smooth heartstone floor.
To the south, a pale female with fiery red hair and irises the color of a flame’s heart holds a small contained fire in her cupped hands.
Finally, to the north, the one with rich brown skin and eyes like the forest floor cradles a handful of soil. I suck in a breath as the soil transforms into a hundred vibrant wildflowers blooming between her palms.
The keeper stomps his scepter five times, and my attention is drawn toward the western archway and the group of seekers entering in silence.
They’re blindfolded and wearing hooded white robes.
My heart lifts when I recognize Seniia’s graceful movements and Vilder’s broad shoulders among them.
There is another stomp from the keeper’s scepter, and the seekers kneel as one behind the male in the west, pressing their foreheads to the stone.
The ashina turns toward him. “Xepher.” She bows her head in acknowledgment. “Let the dawn’s inspiration shine upon those who seek the elēn. May they receive the wisdom of your wind and the blessing of the element of air.”
Xepher, the male, kneels, head bowed, hands cupped in offering above his head. “It is so.”
Xepher? Could it be . . . ? My suspicion is confirmed when the ashina turns toward the south.
“Cyra.” She bows. “Let the noon rays’ vitality invigorate those who seek the elēn. May they be transformed by your flame and be blessed by the element of fire.”
Following suit, Cyra kneels, her fiery red hair falling forward, covering her face as she bows her head. With a graceful gesture, she lifts her hands, flames leaping from her cupped palms, vibrant and hot yet miraculously leaving her pale skin unharmed.
“It is so.” Although her tone is hushed, it carries all the way to where I sit.
The ashina turns east to face the female with golden skin and pale blue hair, who must be Briah. Her long, flowy dress shows off the many golden glyphs covering her arms and upper chest and back.
“Briah.” The ashina bows her head. “Let the quiet dusk bring peace to all who find their way to the elēn. May they be healed by your streams and be blessed of the element of water.”
Briah kneels, her sea-green gown pooling around her, while water pours from her cupped hands as she bows her head and lifts her arms to the sky. “It is so.”
The ashina finally turns toward the north. “Tiran. Let the heart of the night gift deep roots to those who seek the elēn. May they become masters of cultivation and receive the blessing of the element of earth.”
Tiran kneels. “It is so.”
The ashina takes a step outside of the drawn circle, then, extending her left pointer finger, proceeds to walk sunwise around the circle—west, south, east, north—until she is back in the north again.
There is now a new golden circle drawn on the heartstone, one that includes the kneeling seekers inside.
Back in the center, she faces the seekers in the west. “Dawn has broken. You may rise.”
They rise as one.
“Enter this day as you entered the day you were born.”
My breath catches in my throat as they gracefully discard their capes, dropping them at their feet.
Before me are twenty-one males and females in all their natural beauty, their golden glyphs glittering in the sun, their blindfolds the only piece of clothing left on them.
Seniia and Vilder’s glyphs are among the most numerous, though a handful of seekers rival theirs.
One of them is a beautiful female with the same rich brown skin as Tiran.
Her long hair is made up of hundreds of tightly coiled and twisted strands of hair adorned with threads of gold throughout, and there’s a lethal grace to her bearing.
“Today you are reborn.” The ashina’s voice is firm.
The keeper thumps his scepter three times, punctuating her words.
It must also be a sign for the seekers, for they form a line and enter the inner circle one after another.
Somehow, despite being blindfolded, they know where to go.
Entering from the west, they, too, walk sunwise, circling the ashina, who stands at its center, three times before they stop and face her.
The keeper slams his scepter again. One time, Xepher rises. Two. Cyra follows. Three. Briah. Four. Tiran.
“Facing the heart of the sacred circle—where elements unite and the spirit of Niia resides—may Niia bless you with the gift of elēn.”
A vibrant swirling glow of light spreads from the center, then swishes around the circle, touching the heart of each seeker.
“May the light of the elēn illuminate your soul and the souls of all your brothers and sisters.”
“It is so.” The words of the four gods and goddesses ring through the square in unison, followed by a deep hum—a resonant sound of four different elements vibrating through the air. Then a fifth sacral tone weaves into it.
“You are hereby called to choose the patron or patroness of your journey.”
Seniia is first in line, and after circling one time, she steps to the side next to Briah.
The goddess whispers something to her, and from the smile on Seniia’s face and how Briah touches her shoulder in a familiar way, it is clear they know each other.
She goes on to kneel behind Briah, forehead to the ground once more.