Chapter 18 Dario
We walked toward the city of Solaris, our steps muffled by our magic.
The time had come to confront the Elders.
The city was quiet in the dead of night, the only sound the faint rustle of wind through the banners that lined the stone buildings, emblazoned with the golden sun sigils of her god. I had left a reluctant Meryn behind in my forest, unwilling to risk her safety again.
Elena walked a step ahead of me, her movements sure and graceful, her presence a soft, pulsing light against the darkened cityscape.
After our interlude in the forest, there was a strange new peace between us, a silence of shared sighs and remembered intimacies.
Every so often, Elena walked ahead of me, and I found myself staring at the curve of her cheek as she turned her head, the swing of her hip, arrested by the way her golden hair shone with its own brilliance.
We stopped near the city’s edge, and Elena motioned for me to stop, her voice barely a whisper as she spoke.
“Before we enter, I need to dismantle the wards protecting Solaris. They’ll block you from entering.”
I raised a brow, intrigued despite myself. “You created them?”
She nodded, glancing back at me, her expression solemn. “The Elders… they gave me the spells. I cast them myself, binding them with my blood so that only I could break them.”
A chill ran down my spine at her words.
Binding spells made with blood magic—sacred, dangerous, and deceptively powerful. “And you trusted the Elders’ spells for this?”
Her gaze shifted, and I saw a flicker of doubt in her eyes, a hesitation that spoke volumes. “I thought I could. I thought everything they did was for Solaris.”
My chest tightened at the quiet pain in her voice, the realization that her loyalty had been twisted, manipulated by those she’d trusted most.
And yet, she was still here, standing with me, a force of light and fire against the darkness that had spread through her city.
The wards shimmered faintly in the night air, invisible to most but glaring to me like glass walls. They pressed outward from the Temple like a heartbeat, each pulse whispering: You do not belong here.
Elena stood before them, her palms lifted, her lips moving in soft incantation. Her voice was low, melodic, and yet each syllable thrummed with enough power to shake the marrow in my bones.
I had seen her wield light in combat, seen her burn with the fury of the Phoenix. But this—this was different. This was not fire meant to sear or shield. This was unmaking.
Sweat beaded her brow as she chanted, golden strands of light snaking from her fingertips. They laced into the wards, tugging at knots only she could unravel. Her shoulders tensed with the strain, and I felt a flicker of unease.
She was dismantling her own work. The bindings she had sworn would keep her people safe. I could almost taste the conflict in her magic—hesitation woven with determination.
Her hands trembled. A faint hiss escaped her lips.
“You doubt yourself,” I said, not accusing, simply observing. My shadows curled at her feet, drawn to her power.
Her eyes flashed open, molten gold meeting mine. “Of course I doubt,” she whispered fiercely. “Every stone in this city rests under these wards. I built them with my blood. And now I’m tearing them apart.”
The anguish in her voice struck deeper than any blade. She was not just unraveling spells. She was unraveling faith, duty, the very foundation of her identity.
I took a step closer, my voice rougher than I intended. “Then let them see what you’re made of without chains. You are not their puppet, Elena. You’re more than they ever allowed you to be.”
Her breath caught, and for a heartbeat, the wards wavered violently, golden light flaring. I thought she might falter. But then her chin lifted, her jaw set with iron resolve.
“No more chains,” she said, almost to herself.
With a sharp motion, she thrust her hands forward. The wards convulsed, shrieking without sound.
And then, they simply…faded away.
She sagged slightly, and without thinking, I reached out, steadying her by the arm. Her skin was warm beneath my fingers, her pulse racing. She didn’t pull away.
Her eyes lifted to mine, weary but blazing. “It’s done,” she whispered.
I nodded, but inside I felt something I hadn’t in a century. Awe.
Not for her god. Not for the Elders. For her.
As we moved deeper into the heart of Solaris, Elena began to point out landmarks, her voice soft but filled with pride as she showed me the city she had fought so hard to protect.
I kept my gaze fixed on her, watching the way her figure moved through the city she had called home, the place she had protected and served with unwavering devotion.
And now, she was leading me through it, showing me the hidden paths, the winding alleys, her trust a privilege.
The streets of Solaris were unlike any place I had walked before.
Even under cover of darkness, the city glowed faintly, its stones kissed by centuries of sunlight.
My shadows whispered uneasily across the golden cobblestones, as if they sensed the hostility of this place—the seat of the god who stood in opposition to the one who had cursed me to this half-life.
Yet Elena walked through it as though she were born from its very stones, as though the city itself bent toward her. She did not hurry. She did not fumble. Her steps were measured, steady, confident even in betrayal.
She lifted her hand at one point to gesture toward a marble fountain in the center of a square. Its waters, though muted in the moonlight, caught a silvery sheen, rippling faintly.
“The Fountain of Dawn,” she murmured, almost to herself. “It’s where the Sun God’s blessing is renewed each equinox. Children toss in coins for luck. I did, too—when I was still a child who thought coins bought miracles.”
Her voice was distant, but not without affection. It startled me, that tenderness. To me, this fountain was a symbol of blind faith. To her, it was memory, bittersweet and fragile.
“You never struck me as the coin-tossing type,” I said softly, trying to cut through the heaviness I heard in her tone.
A faint smile touched her lips, quick and gone. “I wasn’t. I only did it once. But I remember clutching the copper so tightly it left a mark in my palm.” She looked down at her hand, flexing her fingers. “I thought if I prayed hard enough, the Sun God would bring my parents back. Foolish.”
Something twisted in my chest. I wanted to tell her it wasn’t foolish. That even I, long ago, had prayed to the night for things it never gave me. But the words stuck in my throat. My shadows had no use for comfort.
We passed through another district, narrower now, the homes pressed shoulder-to-shoulder like anxious villagers clinging to each other.
Here, the air carried the scent of spices—faded remnants from merchant stalls long since shuttered for the night.
Elena touched a wooden post still marked with faded banners.
“This street… it used to be full every morning with silk merchants, jewel traders. I knew all their names.” Her shoulders stiffened. “But when the drought worsened, most of them left. The city thrives still, but only at its center. Out here, it frays.”
I studied her face, the tautness around her mouth. She carried every crack in these walls as if it were carved into her skin. She did not simply live in Solaris. She bore it.
“You love this place,” I said at last, my voice rough.
Her golden eyes flicked toward me, sharp as the sun itself. “Yes,” she said simply.
We reached the heart of Solaris, its plazas vast and hushed, each one adorned with statues of her god, the Sun, his form towering and imposing, bathed in the silver light of the moon.
“This is where we hold the Festival of Light every year,” she murmured as we passed a grand square, her voice tinged with bittersweet pride. “The entire city gathers here to honor the Sun God, to celebrate the light that guides us.”
There was a wistfulness in her tone, a quiet sadness that lingered beneath her words.
“Do you think…” I began, my voice quiet, almost hesitant, “That after this, you’ll still lead the priests? Will still lead the temple?”
She paused, her gaze distant as she considered my question. “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice soft, raw. “I believed in the Elders for so long, believed that they were guiding me, protecting me. But now… I see how blind I was. I trusted them with everything, and they betrayed me.”
I reached out and placed my hand on her shoulder. “You’re stronger than they ever gave you credit for,” I murmured, my voice rough with unspoken emotion. “And whatever happens, you’ll survive this.”
She looked up at me, her gaze meeting mine, and for a moment, we were back under the trees and the distance between us felt like nothing more than a whisper, a soft, fragile thread that connected us in a way I couldn’t quite explain.
Her lips parted as if she wanted to say something, but the words never came. Instead, she simply nodded, a quiet determination settling in her gaze, a resolve that reminded me of why I had been drawn to her in the first place.
By the time we reached the Sun Temple, the sky had begun to lighten, the first hints of dawn casting a faint glow over the grand stone facade.
The temple was vast, its golden spires reaching toward the heavens, the walls etched with intricate carvings of the Sun God and his followers.
Elena glanced at me, her expression somber as she gestured toward the entrance. “Are you ready?”
I met her gaze, a faint smirk tugging at my lips. “I was born ready.”
She rolled her eyes, but there was a faint smile on her lips. Without another word, we slipped into the temple, moving through the grand hallways with practiced silence, our footsteps muffled against the marble floor.
The interior of the temple was dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of Elena’s magic, casting long shadows across the ornate walls.