Chapter 1 Elena #3
Aeldrin sighed. “We had feared they may have attempted to venture through the portals without authorization, but...”
I leaned forward, my eyes narrowing with concern. “But? Have there been no unauthorized activations of the portals?”
Aeldrin shook his head, his lips pressed into a thin line.
“None, my lady. The portals have remained dormant, save for the scheduled trade and supply runs.” He cleared his throat.
“But that is not to say that someone could not have tried to sneak past the wards. My men seem to think this is a case of runaway teens and people outrunning their creditors.”
“But you cannot be sure,” I said heavily.
Aeldrin nodded slowly. “We cannot be sure.”
I fell silent, my mind racing as I contemplated the implications of this troubling news. Could it be that some dark force had infiltrated our hidden sanctuary, preying upon the most vulnerable of our people? The thought sent a shiver of unease through me.
“Gather your best trackers,” I commanded, my voice ringing with authority. “Scour the city, leave no stone unturned. I want answers, Aeldrin, and I want them now .”
The head guardian nodded, his expression resolute. “It will be done, my lady. We will not rest until we have uncovered the truth of this matter.”
As the guardians filed out of the audience chamber, Aeldrin stayed back. He sighed as he massaged his temples. With a start, I realized he looked old today. Not just older than I remembered—old in the way trees grow old: gnarled at the edges, weary in the rings.
“You didn’t sleep well, did you?” I said.
He offered a faint smile. “Just as well as usual.”
We sat in silence for a while. Comfortable. Almost companionable.
The quiet that exists only between people who have known each other across decades.
“You’re worried about the youth,” I said at last, watching his fingers as they fiddled with the edge of the scroll before him.
Aeldrin nodded. “They don’t understand the danger. They never saw the wars. The plagues. The threats that forced us to remain hidden.”
“They never will,” I replied, “if we keep them caged.”
His eyes flashed, just briefly, with something sharp. “It isn’t a cage, Elena. It’s protection. These wards—your wards—they shield us all. We don’t want to risk—”
“You mean you don’t want to risk them learning what I am .” My voice came out softer than expected. No anger. Just truth.
He didn’t deny it.
“They don’t need to know,” he said eventually, resting his hands on the table. “You are sacred. That knowledge is sacred. You know what would happen if outsiders found out—”
“Yes. I know,” I interrupted, standing. “But I also know this: the longer we bind them here, the more they’ll resent us. They already do. You’ve heard the whispers. You know they sneak to the edge of the wards. You’ve caught them.”
He looked away.
“They are not our prisoners,” I said, stepping closer. “They are our people.”
“But how can we trust them with your safety?” he whispered. “They are just…callow youths. Silly children, dreaming of adventure without thought of the consequences.”
“Aeldrin,” I said softly, “You were once one of them. Don’t you remember?
You used to dream of flying beyond the peaks.
You spoke of venturing to the Four Kingdoms, of seeing the castles of Merovia, seeing the snow in Drakazov, visiting the great bazaar of Pratihara.
You told me you wanted to see the Elves. ”
He smiled at that, rueful. “I was fifteen.”
“And now?” I asked.
“I’m fifty-five.”
“Is that what makes you afraid?” I asked. “Your age? Or the fact that they won’t fear as you do?”
He was silent.
“They dream, Aeldrin. Like we once did. Let them.”
“If they leave and speak of you—”
“Then they speak. And perhaps the world is not so cruel as we believe.” I touched his shoulder. “If we silence them, we only become the thing we fear.”
He stared at me for a long time. The room was quiet but for the crackle of the hearth.
“You have always believed too deeply in the goodness of people,” he said, finally.
“And you,” I said, smiling faintly, “have always believed it would kill me.”
“It still might.”
We both laughed. The sound surprised me—how light it was. How human.
“I’ll speak to the Elders,” I said after a long pause. “They won’t agree, not easily. But I can make them see reason. Perhaps a trial period — one portal. One group of volunteers, watched, prepared. Maybe it’s time Solaris stops hiding.”
He sighed. “If they hear it from you, perhaps they’ll listen.”
“They will,” I said. “Or they’ll try to stop me. Either way, the choice will be mine.”
Aeldrin looked at me, truly looked, and for a moment I saw the young priest he had been. The boy who had snuck into my chamber with sweet pastries and questions about fire magic. The one who had called me Elena— no titles—and believed I was invincible.
“I still remember the first time you healed someone in front of me,” he said suddenly. “That boy who fell from the acolyte stairs. You touched him, and I thought—gods, I thought you broke time .”
I laughed. “It felt like that. The power rushing out of me. It always does. It never stops being... too much.”
“You never told me that,” he murmured.
“There are many things I’ve never told you,” I said, not unkindly.
We stood together, finally, moving toward the long windows that overlooked the western peaks.
A storm brewed in the distance—faint, distant thunder. Not here. Not yet.
But soon.
I reached out, and from my fingertips bloomed a small orb of light—golden, flickering, alive.
“I trust them,” I said. “The youth. The city. Even the world, a little.”
Aeldrin didn’t respond.
But he didn’t stop me.
And that, from Aeldrin, was permission enough.
We chatted for a few more minutes, before Aeldrin excused himself.
I rose from my seat, my crimson robes swirling around me. Left alone again, worry gnawed at the pit of my stomach as I thought of all the disappearances.
With a heavy sigh, I turned and made my way towards the balcony, my gaze sweeping across the sprawling expanse of our hidden sanctuary. The people below went about their daily lives, oblivious to the troubles that weighed heavily upon my heart.
As the sun continued its graceful arc across the sky, casting its warm, golden glow upon the towering spires of Solaris, I found myself drawn back to the balcony overlooking the bustling city below.
From this vantage point, I could see the intricate web of life that thrummed through the heart of our hidden sanctuary—the merchants haggling in the vibrant marketplace, the children at play in the central plaza, the faithful ascending the steps of the temple to offer their devotions to the Sun God.
It was a sight that never failed to fill me with a sense of pride and purpose, for I had sworn an oath to protect this city and its inhabitants with my very life.
The first time that soldiers had come to Solaris was when I was young—truly young, just a child. Solaris had still been a village then, small and verdant, nestled in the crook of the mountain like a gem in the dirt.
When the soldiers came to pillage, I had begged the Sun God aloud, knelt in the temple ruins with my skirts covered in the blood of my sister, and asked—no, demanded —that He give me the power to protect what remained.
He did.
In fire and light, I rose. Wings of flame, my brown hair turning to molten gold. My voice burned the sky.
The soldiers fled. Most died in the retreat. My own people feared me, at first.
But they followed me.
I had rebuilt Solaris from that scorched earth. I had driven off the invading army, raising magical wards to keep others out.
Ever since then, Solaris had become the City of Light, and I had become the High Priestess of the Sun God, protecting my people with my powers.
But for all my power, all my divine gifts, I was utterly alone in this world—the sole phoenix shifter, my mortality sacrificed to the Sun God in exchange for the ability to heal, transform, and shield this city from harm.
A soft sigh escaped my lips as I turned my gaze skyward, drinking in the warmth of the sun's rays. It was in these quiet moments, when I allowed myself to be vulnerable, that the weight of my immortality truly began to bear down upon me.
The endless cycle of watching my people grow old and pass on, while I remained forever young and unchanging, was a lonely burden that grew heavier with every year that passed.
“If only there were others like me,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. “Others who could understand the weight of this burden, the price of immortality.”
But alas, my prayers had gone unanswered, and I was left to shoulder the responsibility of my divine gift alone, forever bound to this city and its people.
A sudden commotion from the courtyard below drew my attention, and I leaned over the balcony, my keen eyes scanning the scene.
The guardians were gathered in the middle of the stone courtyard, surrounding a messenger who had come from the districts. They were talking quickly, their expressions grim, and I felt a knot of dread form in the pit of my stomach.
Swiftly, I made my way down the winding stairs, my robes billowing behind me as I approached the gathered priests.
“What have you discovered?” I demanded, unable to muster up any politeness in the face of my urgency.
Aeldrin whirled around. “Elena!” Then, glancing around at the guardians that surrounded us, he cleared his throat.
“High Priestess,” he amended, “We have received grave news regarding the disappearances.” He waved a hand in the direction of the audience room.
“The Elders have convened. They have asked to see you.”
I felt a chill run down my spine, my heart quickening with a mixture of trepidation and determination. “Then let us not keep them waiting, Aeldrin,” I replied, my voice steady and resolute. “I must know the full extent of this threat, so that I may take the necessary steps to protect our people.”