22. A Long Way to Go
Chapter twenty-two
A Long Way to Go
The air around us hums with energy.
Ash stands a few steps ahead, his hands weaving intricate patterns in the air as the shimmering wormhole takes shape before us. The swirling light is mesmerizing, yet daunting. My stare remains fixed on it, heart racing as the portal pulsates with an otherworldly pull.
I have already ventured through them twice, but even still, the idea puts my nerves on high alert. My breath hitches as I watch the swirling colors, the faint outlines of distant lands flickering through.
“Ready?” Ash’s voice is casual, but there is an undercurrent of amusement in it.
“Not even close,” I mutter under my breath, the uncertainty creeping in. The very idea of stepping through something so . . . unstable, so alien, is still unnerving.
“Just relax, Lyra,” Ash urges, knowing how I feel about this form of travel. “A quick step, and you’re through.”
I glance over at Oberon, who is standing beside me. He hasn’t said a word yet, but his presence feels like a solid anchor in the midst of my rising panic. “Don’t overthink it,” Oberon says softly, as though reading my mind and taking another step closer.
I shoot him a warning glare just in case he is getting ideas about trying to carry me again.
Oberon’s lips quirk into a brief smirk, his hands moving slowly toward me, as if measuring my every reaction.
My heartbeat speeds up as his fingers brush against the small of my back. The gesture is subtle, comforting even, but it doesn’t stop the flutter of nerves that prickles my skin.
“Don’t think,” he adds softly, his voice barely above a whisper, “Just follow me. You’re not alone.” His hand lingers there, a steady warmth radiating through the thin fabric of my blouse.
I stiffen, but it is hard to ignore the feeling of reassurance that spreads through me at his touch. Oberon is solid, unyielding, and somehow, that steadiness is grounding.
The weight of his words settles over me. A fleeting moment of doubt tries to claw its way to the surface, but I shove it down. Being weak isn’t an option. The fear will not win. Not when everything is at stake.
With a deep breath, I take a cautious step toward the spiraling vortex. But my foot hesitates before fully crossing the threshold.
Oberon, ever the perceptive one, doesn’t push, but he takes a half-step closer, standing just behind me so close I can feel his breath.
His voice, as gentle as it was moments ago, brushes against my ear, “I’ve got you, every step of the way, I’ll be at your side.
” His words carry more than just the challenges at hand, but a promise of a future where I am not alone.
Surprisingly, I believe them. Giving me the last of the strength needed to take the next step.
“See you on the other side,” he adds, before the warmth of his hand disappears and the village opens before me.
A landscape of bright sunny skies, bleached clay, and warm, golden sands.
The houses, made from clay and thatched with straw, sit low and sturdy against the land, their earthy tones blending seamlessly with the surrounding dunes.
The roofs slope gently, adding to the village’s quiet, timeless atmosphere.
The air smells of salt, the breeze carrying the tang of the distant sea while mingling with the dry, sunbaked fragrance of sand.
Small, worn paths weave through the village, their edges smoothed by countless footsteps, connecting humble homes with a sense of purpose and rhythm.
Sand shifts lightly beneath my boots as I take my first steps.
It feels alive, the fine grains sinking beneath me with every shift of my weight.
The gentle breeze teases the loose strands of my hair.
The village has a quiet pulse to it, a peaceful hum that seems to settle into the bones of the land.
“Welcome to the Southern Territories,” Oberon says, his tone lighter than usual.
Ash is already a few steps ahead, looking back over his shoulder. “You’re going to love it here, Lyra,” he calls, his usual playful grin on his face. “Get used to the sand in your boots, though. It’s everywhere.”
The Fae here move with purpose, their clothing simple but practical, made for the warmth of the sun.
They go about their daily tasks: some gather around the market square exchanging goods, while others work outside their homes, tending to gardens or drawing water from the well.
Their movements are effortless, as if the village itself guides them, and the harmony between them and the land is palpable.
Palm trees sway in the breeze, their long fronds casting dappled shadows across the ground.
Simple wooden huts with open sides line the edges of the streets, offering a shaded reprieve for those seeking a moment of rest. Time seems to move more slowly here, the pulse of life much gentler than what I am used to.
As I survey the village, a strange, unfamiliar sense of peace washes over me. This place, so different from the dense forests and rocky cliffs I am accustomed to, holds a quiet beauty I didn’t know I was longing for.
Oberon leads us through the winding sandy paths, the warm breeze sending my hair whipping across my face, and I can’t help but stare in awe at the village unfolding around me.
It is nothing like I have ever seen markets bustling down the main path, Fae moving lazily from one booth to another, conversations low and flowing like whispers in the air.
It is a peace I can hardly grasp, a tranquility I’m not sure I will ever truly belong to.
Zander lingers behind us, his usual black attire stark against the lighter surroundings. His face is impassive, as usual, but the tension in his stiff posture tells me that he isn’t impressed by the change of scenery.
I glance back at him, catching the furrow of his brow, the faint scowl etched on his face. He mutters something under his breath about the heat and the sand, but I can’t catch it all.
Ash, on the other hand, seems right at home. He flits from booth to booth with the enthusiasm of a child in a candy shop, chatting easily with the locals. They greet him like an old friend, offering goods with wide smiles, and he responds with a grin of his own, as though he belongs here.
Meanwhile, Oberon walks just beside me, his usual quiet presence grounding me. His face, unreadable and impassive as always, doesn’t betray much emotion, but I can sense a subtle protective tension in the way he stays close.
We are nearly past the market square when a voice calls out from one of the stalls. “Well, I’ll be damned. Didn’t expect to see you here, Elias.”
I barely have time to react before a burly male with scaly skin and salt-and-pepper hair steps forward, clapping Oberon on the shoulder like an old friend.
Oberon, to my surprise, doesn’t flinch. His lips only twitch into the faintest of smirks as he clasps the male’s forearm in return.
“Good to see you again,” Oberon—Elias—replies smoothly, his voice casual.
The male chuckles, shaking his head. “Thought you were done with the South. But you always did have a habit of showing up out of the blue.” He gives Oberon a knowing look before stepping back. “Stay out of trouble, yeah?”
Oberon only gives a curt nod before moving on. I watch the exchange with narrowed eyes, arching a brow in silent question as we walk. He doesn’t offer an explanation, and I don’t press. But the name Elias settles uneasily in my mind.
After a few moments, we reach one of the clay homes that dots the village, and Oberon gestures for us to enter, holding the door open as we file in one by one.
I wait until the door shuts behind us before I turn to him, arms crossed. “Elias?”
Oberon exhales through his nose, removing his cloak with deliberate care.
“It’s not my first time in the Southern Territories,” he admits, meeting my gaze evenly.
“Whenever I am in untrusted company, I use the same name. It’s the name of a well-known rebellion leader, one who’s never been seen.
So, no one I don’t trust ever knows who I really am. ”
I study him for a moment, the weight of his words settling in my chest. It makes sense. It is smart. And yet, it reminds me just how much of him is still hidden, still carefully veiled behind layers of deception.
Ash, who has been lounging against the wall, snorts. “You mean you stole some poor bastard’s identity?”
Oberon shoots him a look. “There is no poor bastard. Elias is a myth, a figure the rebellion built up to keep the King looking in the wrong direction.”
Ash hums in amusement. “Clever. Devious. Exactly what I’d expect from you.”
I glance back at Oberon, who is already moving toward the window, his gaze scanning the village outside. Even now, he is calculating, planning his next move. And despite everything I think I know about him, I can’t shake the feeling that there is still so much more I don’t.
“We’ll be staying here for a few days,” he says, his voice steady, with a hint of determination. “After that, we’ll move on to the other villages.”
I raise an eyebrow, glancing around the room before I shoot him a sharp look. “Do I get my own room here?”
Oberon smirks, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. “Yes, there’s a room for each of us.”
Ash, who has been hovering close by, looks confused for a moment before a playful laugh bubbles up. “Why wouldn’t you get your own room—wait—he didn’t?” His words are lighthearted, but there is a mischievous glint in his eyes. He chuckles again. “Oberon, you really need to loosen up.”
I know he didn’t understand why Oberon had insisted on my staying close at night. I appreciate it, strangely, but I am also grateful for the space. It isn’t easy getting used to someone caring for you, especially in this way, whatever way this is.