Chapter 65
Elora
The wind carried the scent of living bark and open sky as Elora dangled her legs over the edge of the landing, watching the last rays of sunset paint Mythravar in gold.
Six months since they’d escaped. A year since the trials.
A lifetime since she’d been that frightened girl who believed she had been spared.
She traced her fingers over the intricate wooden decking of their home, feeling the grain respond to her touch, warming slightly beneath her fingertips.
The nightglider district homes were built directly into the branches of large trees that neighbored Sol’morah, not nearly as high as the elder tree herself, but still with a significant drop to the ground below.
The first time she’d stepped onto this landing her heart hammered with the memory of Kaela pushing her off the branches of Nyt’morah, making her shift to save herself or splatter on the jungle floor below.
Now it was one of her favorite sports, though it gave Rell a heart attack nearly every time she jumped from it.
Behind her, the house bustled with his nervous energy and Vye’s efficient preparations. Cabinet doors opened and closed. Glass clinked against wood. Voices murmured about whether they had enough blackberry wine.
“Are you sure we have enough cups?” Rell called from inside.
“We have plenty,” Violette responded, a tinge of annoyance in her tone. “Stop worrying.”
Elora smiled faintly but remained where she was, content to let them handle the details while she sat with her thoughts.
The anniversary had crept up on her, marked by nothing more than changing seasons and the slow healing of wounds both visible and hidden.
No bells tolled the hour in Al’tera, no schedules dictated when to rise and when to sleep.
Time flowed differently here, where tree rhythms and truthkeeper songs at dawn and dusk marked the passage of days.
How strange it was to mark this day in freedom instead of captivity.
Last year on this date, she had chosen the only option that made sense, save her friend, not realizing the consequences that would come of it.
Now she sat in a home she shared with the man she loved, waiting for friends who had become family.
The breeze caught her hair and cooled the nape of her neck. She closed her eyes, imagining a different path—the one she might have walked if she had remained passive and obedient like the Empire expected.
She would be wearing alchemist’s robes, black with gold trim marking her as fully qualified, ones that actually belonged to her.
Perhaps she’d have her own laboratory in the capital, where the most promising graduates conducted their research.
Her days would be filled with precise measurements and careful notes, the satisfaction of watching elements transform under her hands.
In that other life, her colleagues would respect her technical prowess but keep their distance.
The Empire discouraged personal attachments—bonds led to divided loyalties, after all.
There would be no shared laughter, no nights spent tangled in another’s arms, no time existing in someone else’s world.
That Elora would be hollow inside; a vessel filled only with formulas and procedures. She would speak when spoken to, smile when appropriate, and keep her true self locked away so deeply she might eventually forget it existed at all.
Her vertebrae turned to ice, one by one, as she contemplated that hollow existence. That version of herself would be breathing but not living—a technical success and a human failure.
A flutter of wings and a soft thud on the wooden platform pulled Elora from her reverie. A truthkeeper perched nearby, its sleek black feathers tipped with gold catching the last rays of sunlight. The bird cocked its head, regarding her with intelligent eyes that held a distinctly human spark.
The transformation melted from one form to the other—feathers folding into skin, wings elongating into arms, the small form expanding until Symond knelt where the bird had been.
Golden leaves and vines clung to him, his Al’teran garb designed to provide far more coverage than hers.
A fitted tunic that completely covered his chest and back, with what could only be described as organic pants covering his legs.
“I thought you’d show up last,” Elora said, smiling as he settled beside her, legs dangling over the edge like hers.
Symond snorted, a sound halfway between amusement and derision.
He hadn’t gone as far as the others, choosing to come back every few weeks if just to see Vye and flutter his wings in Rell’s face just for good measure.
They still hadn’t found a solution to bring his voice back, but Elora had been working with some musicians in the air district.
She had an idea to use an enchanted harmonica to translate breath patterns into speech.
But with the empire’s uses of alchemy and MahōKi sap not being common here meant her experiments took longer.
More wings rustled through the leaves above them. A truthkeeper landed on a nearby branch, transforming into Rian with a graceful shimmer. She was closely followed by another bird that shifted into Rowan, his arms immediately wrapping around a lush green vine dotted with tiny purple flowers.
“Elora!” Rowan exclaimed, his face lighting up. “Look what we found near the eastern tributary!” He bounded over, practically vibrating with excitement as he held out the plant. “It has alchemical properties. The sap changes color depending on the acidity of the soil!”
Elora leaned forward to examine the delicate blooms, inhaling their subtle fragrance. “Fascinating. Have you tested it with other compounds?”
“Not yet. I thought maybe we could try together?” Hope colored his voice, the eager student still alive within him despite everything.
Before she could answer, more truthkeepers arrived in a flutter of wings. They perched on various surfaces—railings, branches, the edge of the roof—before transforming one after another into familiar faces.
Amara shifted with elegance, already donned in a flowing dress of Al’teran design.
“You should come see The Mother Tree, Elora.” She sat in a branch across from the landing.
“I found a new secluded grotto where the water there is tinged with amber from the roots. I’ve been collecting samples to study its properties. ”
Another chimed in. “No, you all have to see Cabit. The coastline has these underwater caves that glow blue at night.”
Elora’s ribcage seemed to expand, making room for the growing sense of belonging as she watched them. Rowan was gesturing wildly about some discovery he’d made, while Symond sketched something rapidly on a piece of bark with charcoal, occasionally holding it up to interject into the discussion.
The voices around Elora blurred into a pleasant hum as she studied the faces of her friends, cataloging the changes the months of freedom had etched into them: animated faces, the easy way they gestured, the confidence in their postures.
These weren’t the same people who had huddled together on that ship six months ago, eyes downcast and shoulders hunched in perpetual anticipation of punishment.
These weren’t wards or apprentices anymore.
The Institute’s labels had fallen away like shed skin, revealing the individuals beneath—curious, passionate, determined.
They had walked away from the Empire’s path, chosen their own, and now returned not because they were summoned but because they wished to share what they had found.
They moved freely through the space, speaking without glancing over their shoulders, laughing without restraint. No one monitored them. No one measured their worth by obedience.
The difference was stark enough to make her reconsider what she had once called protection. Guidance. Care.
Tehvan’s hands, steady and patient as he guided her through a complex transmutation. The reassuring weight of his palm against her shoulder when she’d cried after her first failed assessment. The fierce protectiveness in his eyes when he’d stepped between her and an irate instructor.
But other memories surfaced alongside these tender ones.
The subtle pressure of surveillance, knowing her every move was monitored by him.
The way he had shaped her talents toward his own purposes, cultivating her abilities not for her sake but for his vision.
His protection had always come with conditions, his affection tempered by strategy.
Where once these conflicting memories would have torn her apart with their contradictions, she no longer needed to reconcile these opposing truths. She didn’t need to justify his actions or condemn them.
Heavy footsteps approached from behind. Rell sat down next to her, his warmth radiating against her side as he draped an arm over her shoulders. He laid a kiss on her temple, his lips lingering against her hair.
“Your thoughts are louder than the truthkeepers’ songs,” he murmured.
Elora tilted her face up to meet his gaze.
The sunset cast his features in amber light, softening the angles of his face.
What she found in his eyes made her chest tighten—no hidden agenda, no calculation of what her value might be to him, just affection freely given.
He wanted nothing from her except her presence, expected nothing beyond what she chose to offer.
“Just remembering,” she replied, leaning into his unwavering heat.
“Good memories or bad ones?” His thumb traced lazy circles on her shoulder.
“Both. Neither.” She smiled slightly.
The contrast between Tehvan’s conditional protection and Rell’s chosen partnership was palpable. Between being sheltered because of her potential usefulness and being loved simply because she was herself. She held onto that, onto him, letting his warmth ground her in the here and now.
More truthkeepers arrived as the light faded, their wings catching the dying sun as they transformed. The landing filled with bodies and voices, laughter spilling over to music.
Elora leaned back on her hands. A year ago to the day, they had gathered in silence. She remembered the damp earth beneath her knees, the weight of grief pressing down on her shoulders, the frustration over others gathering around when she just wanted to grieve alone.
This gathering wasn’t about grief. It was about remembrance—acknowledging the moment that had cracked the illusion and led them here.
“So, what do we do now?” Rowan asked, the question hanging in the air with simple openness.
Elora stood. “Let’s go for a flight over the lake,” she suggested. “The sunset on the water has been beautiful this season.”
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the gathering. Nobody bothered with the stairs, already shifting and launching themselves off the platform in graceful arcs. Others moved toward the edge, excited chatter rising as they debated who could skim closest to the water without getting wet.
Rell reached for Elora’s hand, pulling her close.
“Have fun,” he whispered against her lips before pressing a quick, firm kiss to her mouth.
His eyes crinkled at the corners, his expression balancing on that knife-edge between wanting to protect her and knowing he shouldn’t. “Just try not to stay out too late.”
Elora squeezed his hand. “I’ll be back before you notice I’m gone.”
“I doubt that,” he said with a soft laugh, releasing her fingers.
She turned toward the edge of the platform, where several truthkeepers had already transformed and taken flight. The familiar anticipation tingled along her spine, her skin already prickling with the prelude to shifting.
A light nudge at her elbow made her glance sideways. Symond stood beside her, his expression a challenge. He gestured toward the darkening sky with a tilt of his chin, then at the others already circling above the lake’s glimmering surface.
Elora grinned. Without another word, they stepped to the very edge of the platform.
Three. Two. One.
They leaped together, bodies arcing into empty space.
The wind rushed past her ears as gravity claimed her for one breathless moment.
Then the nightglider surged from within, bones shifting and reforming with practiced fluidity.
Dark fur rippled across her skin, wings bursting from her shoulder blades to catch the air with a powerful snap.
Beside her, Symond’s feathered form emerged, smaller and swifter than her nightglider shape. They plummeted together, the lake surface rushing up to meet them, before pulling up in perfect synchronicity. Her wingtips skimmed the water, sending tiny ripples across its mirror-like surface.
She banked left, following the curve of Sol’morah’s massive trunk. Wind whistled through her fur as she accelerated, relishing the pure freedom of movement. The nightglider’s instincts hummed beneath her consciousness—not a separate entity, but a harmonious extension of herself.
Below, the lake reflected the first evening stars like scattered diamonds. Above, the vast canopy of leaves rustled with life. And all around her, people who had once been caged now carved their own paths through open air.